Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The heavy oak door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom creaked open on rusted hinges, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the tense silence of the corridor.

Amelia Bones raised her wand, the tip glowing with a harsh, concentrated white light. ”Standard Basilisk protocol,” she instructed the team in a sharp, low whisper. ”Eyes down or shielded until the perimeter is secure. If you see movement that isn’t one of ours, close your eyes immediately and cast blindly. Do not risk direct visual contact.”

The Hit Wizards nodded in grim unison. They slipped into the damp, foul-smelling room like shadows, wands raised, their postures rigid with combat readiness.

Kingsley Shacklebolt followed close behind, his deep purple robes swishing over the wet tiles. Dumbledore entered next, a protective hand resting on Harry Potter’s trembling shoulder. Snape and McGonagall flanked them, creating a physical barrier between the students and the potential threat.

Orion brought up the rear, his face a mask of polite, academic interest as he stepped over a puddle.

The bathroom was exactly as he had left it after his confrontation with Harry. It was a localized disaster zone.

”Clear!” the lead Hit Wizard barked, lowering his wand slightly after sweeping the stalls and the dark corners. ”No sign of a Class XXXXX entity.”

Amelia Bones stepped fully into the room, her monocle glinting as she took in the scene. The central pillar of sinks remained untouched, but the surrounding area was a testament to violent magic.

One of the curse breakers, an older wizard with a scarred face, whistled low as he examined the shattered mirror and the deep gouges in the stone walls.

”A duel occurred here,” the curse breaker noted, running a gloved hand over a scorched tile. ”And recently. Residual magic is still thick. I’m reading the signatures of a deadly Severing Charm, a heavy Stunner, and... interesting. Multiple concentrated spells for incapitation. Someone was fighting for their life.”

He looked back at Amelia. ”These are high-level, combat-grade spells, Madam Bones. Not the usual schoolyard jinxes. Perhaps the work of a dark wizard.”

The Hit Wizards shifted uneasily, tightening their grips on their wands. If a dark wizard capable of that level of destruction had been here recently, the threat level of the operation had just skyrocketed.

Dumbledore sighed, a profound, weary sound that seemed to age him ten years. He looked down at Harry, his blue eyes filled with disappointment. Harry flushed a deep, humiliated red, his gaze dropping to the floor.

”It was not a dark wizard, gentlemen,” Orion’s voice cut smoothly through the tension, cool and utterly unbothered.

Every head in the room snapped toward the twelve-year-old Slytherin standing calmly near the door.

”That,” Orion continued, gesturing vaguely to the blasted masonry and shattered glass, ”was the result of a rather spirited disagreement between myself and Mr. Potter earlier this evening.”

Amelia Bones stared at him, her monocle nearly popping out of her eye. ”You two caused this?”

”A slew of misunderstandings, Madam Bones,” Orion offered a shallow, dismissive bow. ”Mr. Potter was operating under a flawed narrative regarding my involvement with the Chamber. He reacted... emotionally. I was forced to defend myself.”

He paused, a tiny, arrogant smirk touching the corner of his mouth as he adjusted his cuffs.

”The misunderstanding has since been cleared up, and there is no need to dwell on the property damage. Though,” Orion added, casting a brief, sidelong glance at Snape, ”for the record, I won the duel.”

A stunned silence descended on the Ministry personnel.

The Hit Wizards looked from the pristine, unruffled Slytherin to the bruised, singed, and utterly miserable-looking Boy Who Lived. Harry didn’t protest the claim. He didn’t shout a denial. He simply glared at the floor, his fists clenched in impotent fury.

He defeated the boy who lived? The unspoken thought echoed clearly around the room. A second-year student caused this level of destruction and walked away without a scratch?

Snape’s black eyes bored into Orion, a mixture of intense irritation and unmistakable, vindicated pride warring on his face.

”Fascinating as your interpersonal conflicts may be, Mr. Malfoy,” Amelia said briskly, recovering her composure faster than her subordinates. ”We are not here to grade your dueling prowess.”

She turned to Kingsley. ”Have you located the entrance?”

”Verified, Madam Bones,” Kingsley rumbled, pointing his wand at the central pillar. ”The copper tap on the far side. It bears the mark of a serpent. The magical resonance is ancient.”

”Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore said gently, guiding the reluctant boy forward. ”If you would be so kind.”

Harry stepped up to the sink. He looked terrified. He stared at the tiny, etched snake, his breathing shallow. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

”I... I don’t know how to do it on command, Professor,” Harry admitted, his voice trembling. ”It just... happens when I’m scared or angry. Or when a snake is real.”

”Try to visualize a living serpent, Harry,” Dumbledore encouraged softly. ”A real snake. Not just a carving.”

”I doubt the password is particularly complex, Potter,” Orion sighed, sounding incredibly bored by the delay. ”Just imagine a snake and say ’Open’. Salazar Slytherin was an architect of terror, not a poet. He wouldn’t have locked his greatest weapon behind a riddle; he locked it behind a biological key.”

Several of the Hit Wizards looked skeptical, but Harry closed his eyes. He screwed up his face in concentration. He swayed slightly, imagining the black serpent Draco had conjured on the dueling stage.

He opened his eyes and stared hard at the copper tap.

”Open,” Harry hissed.

To the rest of the room, it sounded like a strange, sibilant spitting noise.

To Orion, thanks to the All-Speak, it sounded exactly like the English word.

Instantly, the copper tap glowed with a brilliant white light. The sink began to move. In fact, the entire sink vanished, sinking completely out of sight, leaving a large, dark pipe exposed. A pipe wide enough for a man to slide into.

The Hit Wizards instantly raised their wands, forming a defensive semi-circle around the opening.

”Revelio Maxima!” Kingsley commanded, casting a complex, sweeping charm over the dark hole.

The magic hummed, probing the depths.

”Clear,” Kingsley reported after a tense moment. ”No immediate biological signatures within the pipe structure. The path is open.”

He stepped up to the edge, looking down into the abyss. ”It’s a sheer drop. It looks like it goes down for miles. We’ll need cushioning charms and perhaps a slow-descent rig to deploy the team safely.”

”A slide?” Orion scoffed loudly from the back of the group.

Amelia Bones frowned. ”I beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy?”

”Come on,” Orion said, shaking his head in profound, aristocratic disbelief. He stepped forward, gesturing disdainfully at the gaping pipe. ”It cannot possibly be a simple, undignified slide.”

He looked around at the assembled adults, his expression one of pure, pureblood incredulity.

”Can you honestly imagine the Heir of Slytherin—a Dark wizard, a man obsessed with image and power—throwing himself down a slimy, dark plumbing pipe like a toddler on a playground slide every time he wanted to visit his secret lair?”

He pointed a finger at the hole.

”Can you imagine Salazar Slytherin himself arriving at the bottom covered in muck and sewer water? The ego involved in constructing a hidden fortress beneath a school demands an entrance befitting a king, not a rodent.”

The logic was flawless, and undeniably rooted in the psychology of dark wizards.

”Obviously,” Orion stated, crossing his arms, ”there is a secondary mechanism. Something civilized.”

He turned his gaze back to Harry.

”Potter,” Orion instructed, his tone shifting back to the impatient tutor. ”Try again. But this time, ask for stairs.”

Harry stared at him, bewildered by the sheer audacity of the request.

Amelia Bones looked at Dumbledore, seeking permission to overrule the arrogant child.

Dumbledore, however, stroked his silver beard, a twinkle returning to his tired eyes. ”It is a fascinating hypothesis, Orion. The psychology of architecture. Mr. Potter, if you please... it is certainly worth a try.”

Harry frowned, turning back to the dark pipe. He focused his mind on the serpent image again.

”Stairs,” Harry hissed.

For a long, agonizing second, nothing happened.

Then, a deep, grinding rumble echoed from the very foundations of the castle. The stone floor beneath their feet vibrated violently, causing several Hit Wizards to stumble and raise their wands in alarm.

From the smooth, dark interior of the massive pipe, the stone began to shift and fold.

With a sound like tearing earth, a grand, sweeping, spiraling staircase carved from ancient, black marble extended outward from the rim of the pipe, winding its way down into the impenetrable darkness below. The steps were wide, perfectly proportioned, and utterly free of slime.

It was an entrance fit for an emperor descending into his crypt.

Orion looked at the staircase, then back at the stunned faces of the Ministry professionals.

A slow, satisfied, perfectly arrogant smirk spread across his face.

”See?” Orion said mildly, dusting off his robes. ”Much more dignified.”