Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The frivolity of Valentine’s Day faded, leaving behind the stark, familiar chill of late February.

Orion Malfoy sat in the expanded study of his trunk, the soft blue light of his Ring of the Midnight Reader illuminating the the plan he had created over the past week.

His plan for the Chamber of Secrets was the antithesis of Gryffindor heroism. It was an extraction and reconnaissance mission, designed with multiple layers of redundancy.

”Objective one,” Orion murmured, tapping the chalkboard. ”Breach the entrance. Objective two: map the immediate layout of the Chamber without triggering the Basilisk’s defensive protocols. Objective three: If the beast is spotted, deploy the roosters. Objective four: Evacuate immediately.”

He wasn’t going to fight a thousand-year-old, sixty-foot serpent in single combat. The very concept was suicidal vanity. He wanted to understand the architecture, loot any artifacts Salazar Slytherin might have left behind, and leave the monster to rot in the dark.

CRACK.

Dobby appeared at the foot of the ladder, looking tense but ready. ”Dobby is here, Master Orion! The noisy birds are safe in the big man’s hut!”

”Good,” Orion said, turning to face the elf. ”We move tonight. You will stay by my side, completely invisible. The moment I give the signal, you pull us out. Do not wait. Do not ask questions.”

Dobby nodded vigorously. ”Dobby will be a shadow! Should Dobby take Master directly into the snake’s house?”

”No,” Orion rejected the idea instantly, his voice sharp. ”Absolutely not.”

He pointed to the chalkboard.

”We have two major unknowns regarding the Chamber’s interaction with the castle’s wards, Dobby,” Orion explained, adopting his analytical tone. ”If the Headmaster is entirely unaware of its location—and considering he hasn’t sent a team of Aurors down the drain, we must assume he is—then either the Chamber exists entirely outside the Hogwarts ward network, or it is integrated so deeply into the foundational magic that the wards are specifically designed to ignore the Basilisk’s presence.”

Orion crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing.

”If the Chamber is outside the wards, and you attempt to Apparate us inside... we might hit a physical or magical barrier and Splinch ourselves into paste, while also alerting the headmaster about it. If it is inside the wards, but heavily shielded, your blind jump might land us directly on top of a sleeping, highly venomous apex predator. The risk of a blind jump is unacceptable. We do this the old-fashioned way. Through the front door.”

”Dobby understands! No popping into the dark!”

”Excellent,” Orion checked his Astrum Navigator. The castle was asleep. ”Let’s go.”

The journey to the second floor was a masterclass in stealth. Orion moved under the cover of a localized Disillusionment Charm, his eyes glued to the Marauder’s Map. Filch was patrolling on the fifth floor. Snape was in the dungeons. The path was clear.

He reached the heavy wooden door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

He stopped. He closed his eyes, extending his perception, listening carefully. He waited for the heavy, scraping sound of scales on stone. He waited for the cold, sibilant whispers of murder.

Nothing. Just the distant, echoing drip of a leaky faucet.

”Clear,” Orion whispered, pushing the door open.

The bathroom was exactly as damp and depressing as ever. The mirrors were clouded, the sinks stained.

As he stepped fully into the room, a loud, dramatic wail erupted from the U-bend of the furthest toilet. Moaning Myrtle floated up, her pearly-white, translucent form shimmering in the gloom. She looked miserable, as usual, until her thick-lensed glasses focused on the boy standing near the sinks.

”Oh,” Myrtle blinked, her wailing cutting off abruptly. She drifted closer, hovering a few feet away, inspecting him with sudden, intense interest. ”You must be the boy Harry Potter keeps talking about.”

Orion raised a polite eyebrow, though he kept his wand hand loose by his side. ”He talks about me? I’m flattered and also slightly worried about his sexual fascinations.”

Myrtle giggled, a sound like a rusty hinge. ”He mostly just glares at the wall and mutters about how sneaky you are. But you certainly are... quite handsome.” She drifted a little closer, batting her ghostly eyelashes. ”Much better looking than that spotty Weasley boy.”

”Thank you, Myrtle,” Orion offered a shallow bow. ”Your taste is impeccable.”

He turned his attention away from the flirtatious ghost and focused on the central pillar of sinks. He approached the copper tap adorned with the tiny, etched snake.

He took a deep, steadying breath. This was it.

He focused his intent, visualizing the mechanism unlocking, the stone grinding away.

”Open,” Orion commanded clearly.

He waited.

Nothing happened. The tap remained a tap. The sink didn’t move.

Orion frowned. He stepped closer, leaning over the basin. ”Open.”

Still nothing.

Myrtle floated up beside him, resting her ghostly chin on her hands as she watched him glare at the plumbing.

”You should try hissing,” Myrtle suggested casually. ”Simply saying ’open’ won’t work, you know. It’s not a voice-activated door.”

Orion turned his head to look at her. ”Hissing?”

”That’s what the girl has been doing all year,” Myrtle nodded sagely. ”Hissing and spitting around the sinks. I didn’t stay to watch, of course. I have very bad memories of hissing in this bathroom.” She shuddered theatrically. ”But I don’t remember her ever actually saying the word ’open’.”

Orion froze.

The realization hit him like a physical blow, shattering his carefully constructed plan with the brutal simplicity of a mechanical flaw.

The Chamber opening is not a magical command, Orion deduced rapidly, his mind racing. It is an acoustic key.

He stared at the copper snake.

The Heir of Slytherin speaks Parseltongue. When they want the Chamber to open, they speak the command. But the sink itself doesn’t possess sentience to translate intent. It is a lock designed to respond to a specific auditory frequency. It responds to the sound of hissing.

”My All-Speak,” Orion whispered, horror dawning on his face.

When he heard a snake or a Thestral, his ability translated their noises into clear, understandable English in his mind. But when he spoke, he spoke English. His intent was translated for the creature to understand.

But he was standing in front of a piece of plumbing. A brass tap couldn’t understand intent. It only understood the physical vibration of Parseltongue.

He needed to hiss.

And Orion Malfoy, for all his prodigious talent, all his reality-bending perception, and his localized translation ability... did not know how to physically pronounce a snake’s hiss. He didn’t know the vocabulary. He couldn’t mimic the sound because, to his ears, the snake was just speaking English.

That’s why Ron Weasley was able to open it in the seventh year, Orion realized bitterly. He didn’t learn Parseltongue. He just mimicked the weird, hissing sound Harry made in his sleep. It’s an audio password.

”Damn it,” Orion cursed softly, slapping a hand against the cold porcelain of the sink.

He had the map. He had the gear. He had the plan. And he was locked out because he couldn’t roll his Rs like a reptile.

”Well,” Sparkle’s voice buzzed, sounding remarkably unhelpful. ”That is a massive oversight. We should have tested the linguistic output parameters of the All-Speak.”

”Not now, Sparkle,” Orion snapped internally, his frustration boiling over.

He turned away from the sinks, abandoning the mission for the night. He needed a recording of Parseltongue. He needed to hear Potter speak to a snake again so he could memorize the phonetic output.

He took two steps toward the door.

The heavy wooden door swung open before he reached it.

Standing in the doorway, wands drawn, chests heaving, and faces set in expressions of absolute, triumphant vindication, were Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

Harry’s green eyes blazed as they locked onto Orion standing next to the secret sinks.

”Caught you red-handed,” Harry said, his voice trembling with adrenaline. ”I told you, Ron. I told you he was the Heir.”