Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The heavy wooden door of Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom swung open with a mournful creak.

Orion stepped over a cracked tile, his dragon-hide boots clicking softly against the floor. Draco hurried in behind him, his eyes immediately drawn to the blast marks scoring the walls and the shattered glass that still littered the floorboards near the central sinks.

The rest of the Ministry and Hogwarts delegation filtered in.

Orion leaned casually against the cold porcelain of an intact sink. He surveyed the room, his brow furrowing in a display of polite, puzzled inquiry.

”Excuse me, Minister,” Orion called out, his voice cutting through the echoing drip of the plumbing. ”Are we missing someone?”

Dumbledore turned, offering a gentle smile. ”I spoke with Harry this morning, Orion. He must be on his way. We need him to—”

”No, Headmaster, not Potter,” Orion interrupted smoothly, waving a dismissive hand. ”Though, of course, our main character is obviously late for his own entrance. I meant... from your delegation.”

Orion turned his sharp blue eyes back to the sputtering Minister of Magic.

”We seem to be missing someone here, Minister,” Orion mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. ”Some woman whose name I seem to have forgotten again. Short? Pink? Exuded the general aura of someone dissatisfied with everything else in the world?”

A few of the grizzled harvesters snorted, quickly covering their mouths. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling a long, slow breath of profound exasperation.

Amelia Bones sighed, her tone brisk and entirely devoid of amusement. ”You mean Dolores Umbridge, Mr. Malfoy.”

”Ah, yes,” Orion nodded, snapping his fingers in mock realization. ”The Under-the-Bus woman. Where is she? I was hoping to offer her a lozenge for her chronic throat condition.”

Fudge’s face flushed a deep, uncomfortable magenta. He cleared his throat loudly, puffing out his chest in a desperate attempt to regain control of the room.

”Madam Umbridge has... some outstanding, highly sensitive work left at the Ministry,” Fudge stammered, adjusting his collar. ”Very important administrative duties. So, she returned back immediately after our talk today. She is such a hardworking woman, you see. Indispensable to my office.”

”Obviously,” Orion murmured quietly, his tone suggesting the exact opposite. He turned back to the sinks, a satisfied smirk touching his lips. Umbridge was a liability, and Fudge had clearly decided that bringing here to be publicly humiliated by a twelve-year-old boy again was a political nightmare he couldn’t afford.

Before the awkward silence could stretch further, the bathroom door burst open.

Harry Potter practically stumbled into the room, looking breathless and panicked. He was flanked instantly by Ron Weasley, whose face was a mask of furious red, and Hermione Granger, who looked pale having run behind them.

The moment Ron’s eyes landed on the tall, dark-robed figure leaning against the sinks, his face contorted in absolute outrage.

”What is he doing here?!” Ron shouted, pointing a trembling finger at Orion.

”My presence here, Weasley,” Orion drawled, pushing off the sink and standing up straight, ”is significantly more necessary than yours. What, exactly, are you doing here? Did you come to inspect the plumbing you flooded with Polyjuice?”

Ron took a furious step forward, his fists clenched. ”We’re here because Harry has to open the door! We didn’t come to help you, you slimy—”

”Ronald,” Dumbledore’s voice was soft, but it echoed with absolute, unyielding authority, instantly silencing the red-haired boy.

The Headmaster stepped between the two factions, his blue eyes moving from the furious Gryffindors to the composed Slytherin.

”Just as you requested permission for Draco to join us today to witness a piece of school history,” Dumbledore explained calmly to Orion, ”Harry requested that Ronald and Hermione accompany him. They have all endured a great deal this year. They are joining us.”

He looked at Harry, offering a reassuring smile. ”We are all here for the same purpose, Harry. To ensure the safety of the castle and to finalize this Chapter.”

Orion noticed Rita Skeeter lurking near the doorway, her Quick-Quotes Quill hovering eagerly. Her heavily painted eyes were darting between Harry and Orion, the scent of a story clearly overpowering her earlier terror.

She wants the rivalry, Orion analyzed instantly. She wants the Golden Boy versus the Slytherin Prince. Let’s give her a headline.

He turned his gaze back to the ruined bathroom, shaking his head with a theatrical sigh of disappointment.

”You know, Headmaster,” Orion said loudly, his voice echoing off the damp tiles, ensuring Rita caught every syllable, ”you could have at least sent the house-elves to repair the place before the Ministry arrived. The bathroom looks dreadful given my duel with Potter last night. Several of the stalls are still broken, the mirrors are shattered, and I imagine Myrtle will be terribly upset by the mess when she returns.”

The silence that fell over the room was absolute.

”Wait. Duel?” Hermione blurted out, her brown eyes snapping to Harry in shock.

”A duel?” Draco echoed, his jaw dropping. He whipped his head toward Orion. ”You dueled Potter here? Last night?”

Orion smirked. The secret had clearly been kept tightly under wraps by the Upper echelons. Even Potter did not tell Granger about the humiliating defeat he had suffered before the kind Professor arrived to rescue him.

”Yes, Granger,” Orion said smoothly, turning his cold, blue gaze to the bushy-haired girl. ”I had a rather intense, impromptu duel with Harry Potter right here on these very tiles last night.”

He swept an elegant hand toward the scorch marks on the wall and the shattered glass on the floor.

”One in which Potter lost rather badly to me, I might add. Hence the destruction.”

The reaction was instantaneous.

Rita Skeeter’s quill hit the parchment like a woodpecker on caffeine. The harvesting team, previously focused entirely on their equipment, stopped and stared openly at the small, dark-haired boy who had just casually admitted to dismantling the Boy Who Lived.

Harry’s face burned a brilliant, furious scarlet. ”That’s not what happened! I didn’t—you trapped me!”

”I disarmed you and bound you in seconds, Potter,” Orion corrected brutally, his voice devoid of any boastfulness, simply stating a clinical fact. ”You fired a lethal Severing Charm, and I put you on the floor. It was over before it began.”

Before Harry could draw his wand or shout another denial, Dumbledore stepped heavily into the center of the room.

”Now is not the time to discuss interpersonal conflicts, nor the details of yesterday’s disciplinary infractions,” Dumbledore commanded, his voice ringing with a sharp, final authority that brokered no argument. He shot a warning look at Rita Skeeter, who immediately lowered her notepad, though her eyes still gleamed with journalistic hunger.

”Harry,” Dumbledore said, turning to the trembling boy, his tone softening but remaining urgent. ”Please. Open the door and create the stairs. Let us allow the harvesters to begin their work. Time is of the essence.”

Harry swallowed hard, glaring dagger at Orion one last time before turning his back. He stepped up to the central pillar, staring at the tarnished copper snake. He closed his eyes, his chest heaving as he focused.

”Open,” Harry hissed. ”Stairs.”

The grinding groan of ancient stone moving against stone echoed through the bathroom as the sink vanished and the black marble staircase spiraled into the darkness below.

Orion stepped back, his expression perfectly neutral, allowing the Ministry vanguard to move forward.

But internally, a slow, satisfied smirk spread across his mind.

The damage was done. The seed was planted. The harvesters had heard it. Rita Skeeter had recorded it. And Draco, standing beside him with wide, awe-struck eyes, would ensure the entire Slytherin house knew by dinner.

The Prophet is going to have a field day tomorrow, Orion thought, watching the first member of the team descend into the gloom. The Boy Who Lived... defeated by a Malfoy.