Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The silence in the flooded bathroom was thick and heavy, broken only by the rhythmic dripping of a broken faucet and the furious, ragged breathing of the paralyzed boy on the floor.

Orion Malfoy stood over Harry Potter, his Hawthorn wand held loosely in his right hand. He didn’t gloat. He didn’t sneer. He simply analyzed the situation with the cold, pragmatic detachment of an engineer assessing a structural failure.

”You really need to work on your situational awareness, Potter,” Orion murmured softly, his voice devoid of any real malice. ”Advanced spells are useless if your tactical positioning is flawed.”

He bent down and picked up Harry’s discarded holly wand from a puddle. It was a fine piece of magical craftsmanship, vibrating slightly with residual anger. He tucked it into the inner pocket of his dark robes.

He pointed his own wand at Harry.

”Finite Incantatem,” Orion cast.

The Full Body-Bind curse lifted instantly. Harry’s arms and legs unlocked, and the boy immediately drew a sharp, gasping breath, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and renewed fury. He scrambled to his knees, his hands balling into fists, clearly preparing to lunge.

Orion didn’t give him the chance.

”Incarcerous. Silencio.”

Thick, black magical ropes shot from Orion’s wand, binding Harry tightly from his shoulders to his ankles, snapping him back down to the wet tiles. The silencing charm hit him a fraction of a second later. Harry’s mouth opened in a scream of pure, unadulterated outrage, but no sound emerged. He writhed like a netted fish, his face turning an alarming shade of purple, but the bindings held firm.

”That’s better,” Orion sighed, stepping back. ”I can tolerate the glaring, but the shouting gives me a migraine.”

He turned his back on the struggling Gryffindor, his mind racing.

The footsteps are close, Orion thought, his heart rate finally slowing. McGonagall will be here in less than thirty seconds. Ron likely found her in the staff room or patrolling near the Grand Staircase.

He had won the physical confrontation, but the political battle was imminent. He needed a narrative that was airtight. He needed an alibi that fit his established persona: the brilliant, curious, but ultimately self-preserving Slytherin prodigy.

”Sparkle,” Orion whispered into the damp air. ”Run probability models on ’Accidental Discovery’ versus ’Calculated Investigation’.”

”Calculated Investigation yields a 94% higher rate of believability based on your academic profile,” Sparkle’s interface flashed instantly. ”McGonagall already knows you are researching advanced topics. If you claim you just stumbled in here to use the mirror, she’ll know you’re lying.”

”Understood.”

The heavy wooden door of the bathroom slammed open, rebounding off the stone wall with a violent CRASH.

Professor Minerva McGonagall stood in the doorway, her wand drawn and glowing with a fierce, combative light. Her emerald robes swirled around her like a storm cloud. She looked ready to duel a troll, a Dark Lord, or a very arrogant second-year.

She took in the scene in a fraction of a second. Orion standing calmly near the sinks. Harry Potter bound, silenced, and writhing on the wet floor.

”Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall barked, her voice tight with shock and sudden, terrifying authority. ”Explain yourself! Immediately!”

Orion didn’t flinch. He didn’t raise his wand defensively. He turned to face her, his expression a mask of polite, profound relief.

”Professor McGonagall,” Orion said, his voice smooth and remarkably steady. ”I am incredibly glad to see you. And I am even more grateful that you are willing to ask for an explanation before simply throwing hexes, unlike our friend on the floor.”

McGonagall’s wand didn’t lower. Her eyes darted from Orion to Harry, taking in the singed robes and the shattered mirror. ”Mr. Weasley informed me that you were caught attempting to open the Chamber of Secrets. He claimed you were the Heir. And given the state of this room, and Mr. Potter...”

”Given the state of this room, Professor,” Orion interrupted gently, gesturing to the broken glass and scorch marks, ”I was defending myself against a rather unprovoked and surprisingly lethal assault. Potter utilized a Severing Charm. I was forced to restrain him for my own safety.”

McGonagall’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of the Diffindo. She lowered her wand a fraction of an inch, her severe expression faltering into one of deep concern.

Orion took a slow, deliberate step away from the central pillar of sinks.

”Professor,” Orion said, his voice dropping to a serious, hushed tone. ”I would strongly advise you to step away from the center of the room. The sinks... they are not what they appear.”

He pointed a long finger at the tarnished copper tap adorned with the tiny, etched snake.

”That,” Orion stated flatly, ”is the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.”

McGonagall froze. The air in the bathroom seemed to plummet in temperature. She stared at the sinks, the sheer magnitude of the claim rendering her speechless for a long moment.

”The entrance?” she breathed, her grip on her wand tightening again. She looked back at Orion, her eyes narrowing with sudden, sharp suspicion. ”And how, exactly, do you know this, Orion? Were you planning to go down there? To play the adventurer?”

”That would be a monumentally foolish decision, Professor,” Orion scoffed, shaking his head with genuine disdain. ”I am twelve years old. I am not equipped to fight a monster that has evaded the greatest wizards in history for a thousand years. I value my life far too much for such Gryffindor theatrics.”

He leaned against the damp tiled wall, crossing his arms, adopting the persona of the detached, analytical scholar.

”I have been suspicious of this room ever since the incident on Christmas night,” Orion lied seamlessly, weaving truth with fabrication. ”When you discovered the Polyjuice laboratory here, it struck me as odd. An abandoned bathroom, haunted by a ghost who died fifty years ago... the exact time the Chamber was last opened.”

He held her gaze, projecting absolute intellectual honesty.

”I began researching the events of 1943 in the library. The restricted texts detail a student death. A girl found in a bathroom. Moaning Myrtle.”

McGonagall gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth as the terrible connection clicked into place in her own mind.

”It was a hypothesis,” Orion continued smoothly. ”I came here tonight to verify it. To inspect the plumbing. When I found the snake carved into the copper... my theory was confirmed.”

He uncrossed his arms, standing up straight.

”I was planning to leave immediately and inform the Headmaster. But Potter and Weasley burst in, jumped to the most dramatic, illogical conclusion possible, and started firing curses before I could even explain.”

Orion let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, looking down at the struggling, silenced form of Harry Potter.

”Regardless of whether you believe my intentions, Professor,” Orion said, his voice firm and pragmatic, ”I think it would be wise to leave this place. The entrance is confirmed. We need to speak with Professor Dumbledore immediately.”

He paused, letting the final piece of intelligence drop like an anvil.

”We must inform him that the location of the Chamber of Secrets is now a known fact. And more importantly...”

Orion looked McGonagall dead in the eye, his blue gaze cold and unwavering.

”...that the monster within it has been identified.”