Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The descent from the Great Hall to the Dungeons was swift. Professor Snape was already waiting near the entrance, his black cloak a stark contrast to the pale stone. He didn’t speak as Orion fell into step beside him, leading the way toward the Headmaster’s office.

Orion’s mind was a flurry of calculated probabilities. He had considered using the Phial of the Silver Tongue. A potion that guaranteed supernatural persuasiveness was a potent weapon in a room full of politicians and educators.

But no, Orion decided, dismissing the thought as they walked. The situation is already highly favorable. The beast is dead. Dumbledore owes me for locating the entrance and preventing a student massacre. Madam Bones respects competence, and Fudge is a sycophant for the Malfoy name. Using a consumable, non-renewable resource to grease wheels that are already turning in my direction is inefficient.

Now he just needed the official paperwork to legitimize his presence and perhaps secure a few extra, high-value scales.

Snape stopped before the stone gargoyle, his dark eyes flickering down to Orion.

”Remember your place, Malfoy,” Snape murmured softly, the warning devoid of its usual venom but heavy with genuine instruction. ”The Minister is here. So is his... Senior Undersecretary. They will attempt to spin this disaster into a triumph of Ministry oversight. Do not contradict them unnecessarily, but ensure your contributions are noted for the official record. I will handle the allocation of the biological assets.”

”I understand perfectly, Professor,” Orion replied, adopting a mask of polite, aristocratic deference.

Snape nodded once, then spat the password. ”Lemon Drops.”

The gargoyle ground aside, and they ascended the moving stairs.

Snape pushed open the heavy oak door. The Headmaster’s office was crowded, smelling faintly of old parchment and expensive cologne.

Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, looking serene despite the high-stakes political maneuvering occurring around him. Amelia Bones sat rigidly in a chintz armchair, her monocle glinting. Professor McGonagall stood near the window, looking exceptionally stern.

And occupying the center of the room, exuding a nervous, boisterous energy, was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Beside him stood a short, squat woman who looked remarkably like a large, pink toad wearing a velvet bow on top of her head.

”Ah, Severus! And Orion!” Dumbledore greeted them warmly, his eyes twinkling. ”Come in, come in. We were just concluding our initial, preliminary discussions and finalizing the operational parameters for the afternoon.”

Amelia Bones offered a crisp, respectful nod to Snape and Orion.

Fudge, however, practically bounded forward, his lime-green bowler hat clutched in his hands.

”My boy!” Fudge exclaimed, beaming as if he had personally orchestrated Orion’s birth. ”I learned of your contribution to this entire... unfortunate business! Truly remarkable! Standing your ground against a mythical beast! It is exactly the sort of bravery and cunning one expects of a Malfoy!”

Orion offered a shallow, impeccable bow. ”I am glad to see you again, Minister. I merely utilized the resources available to me to ensure the safety of my peers. And, of course, Professor Flitwick’s earlier instruction proved invaluable.”

He turned slightly, offering polite nods to the others. ”Madam Bones. Headmaster. Professor McGonagall.”

He entirely ignored the squat woman in pink.

The woman bristled.

”Ahem, ahem.”

The sound was a high-pitched, girlish, and profoundly irritating clearing of the throat. It was not a cough; it was a demand for attention.

Orion didn’t even glance in her direction. He kept his focus entirely on the Minister, his expression shifting to one of mild confusion.

”I must admit, Minister,” Orion said smoothly, adopting a look of innocent inquiry. ”Given the severity of the situation and the involvement of the Board of Governors, I was fully expecting my father to be present for this debriefing.”

Fudge puffed out his chest, waving a dismissive hand. ”Oh, Lucius desperately wanted to be here, my boy! Naturally! But when I heard the reports of what had transpired within these walls... well, I felt it was my absolute duty as Minister to oversee the situation personally. I left Lucius to handle the more... tedious administrative matters at the Ministry in my stead. Your father is a remarkably trustworthy man, after all.”

Orion bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted copper. He left Lucius Malfoy to run the Ministry while he came to take photos with a dead snake. The sheer, staggering incompetence of the man was breathtaking.

”Ahem, ahem.”

The pink toad cleared her throat again, louder this time, her small, pouchy eyes narrowing at the twelve-year-old boy who continued to pretend she was a particularly ugly piece of furniture.

Orion ignored it.

Snape stepped forward, his black robes billowing, his voice slicing through the political pleasantries.

”Minister,” Snape drawled, turning his attention to Amelia Bones. ”If we might dispense with the congratulations. Has the specialized harvesting team been dispatched? I wish to lay down my specific parameters regarding the extraction process before they begin dismantling the specimen. There are certain... delicate organs and fluids... that I would rather not see ruined by incompetent butchery and stripped of their potion values.”

Amelia Bones adjusted her monocle, her expression turning strictly professional.

”The team will arrive by mid-afternoon, Severus,” she confirmed. ”Their first priority will be a complete anatomical analysis of the specimen. They will provide us with an estimation of the structural integrity and a comprehensive list of parts that can be safely harvested without compromising the remains.”

She glanced at Dumbledore, then back to Snape.

”As agreed with the Headmaster, Hogwarts will have the right to requisition a set percentage of those parts for educational and medical purposes. Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Potter, given their active participation in the discovery and neutralization of the threat, will also be allocated a share of the non-restricted materials.”

Amelia fixed Orion with a stern, warning look.

”However, there are stringent legal restrictions placed upon the two of you, as you are still minors. You will not be permitted to handle or possess the venom, the fangs, or the raw ocular fluid. Your shares will likely be limited to scales, perhaps a portion of the hide, or bone fragments. Appropriate for study, but not for... dangerous experimentation.”

Orion nodded solemnly, projecting an aura of perfect, understanding compliance.

”I accept those terms completely, Madam Bones,” Orion said. ”The safety regulations are entirely sensible.”

I already have a dozen vials of the venom and the blood safely locked in a pocket dimension you can’t even perceive, Orion thought with a vicious, silent smirk. Keep your own bottles.

”Ahem, AHEM.”

The sound was sharp, aggressive, and entirely impossible to ignore any longer.

Orion stopped. He slowly turned his head, his blue eyes landing on the short, squat woman in the atrocious pink cardigan. She was glaring at him, her wide, flabby face flushed with indignation at being so thoroughly sidelined by a child.

Orion let out a long, heavy, incredibly loud sigh. It was a sound that conveyed profound, bone-deep exhaustion.

He didn’t look at her. Instead, he snapped his fingers sharply, addressing the empty air near Dumbledore’s desk.

”Could a house-elf please fetch a glass of warm water with honey?” Orion requested, his voice ringing with aristocratic exasperation. ”This woman appears to be suffering from a rather severe, chronic sore throat, and the constant wheezing is becoming disruptive to the proceedings.”

Professor McGonagall’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. Snape didn’t move a muscle, but a tiny, violent tremor went through his shoulders as he suppressed a laugh. Dumbledore quickly covered his mouth with a hand, coughing loudly into his fist.

The woman in pink turned a shade of violent, mottled magenta that clashed horribly with her cardigan.

”Do you know who you are speaking to, boy?” she demanded, her girlish, breathy voice shaking with sheer, unadulterated fury. She took a menacing, albeit waddling, step toward him.

Orion finally deigned to look directly at her.

He looked her up and down, his gaze traveling from the velvet bow on her mousy brown hair to her stubby, sensible shoes. His expression was completely blank, devoid of fear, respect, or recognition.

”I am afraid I do not,” Orion stated flatly, his voice dropping into a cold, dismissive register. ”My memory for trivial details is usually quite good, but I seem to have entirely misplaced you. Who exactly are you?”