Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

Harry’s hands were still balled into fists, his chest heaving with every ragged breath. He glared at Orion, the sheer, unfiltered grief and rage making his green eyes burn like Avada Kedavra fire.

”You will never understand,” Harry spat, his voice trembling with a ferocious, helpless anger. ”You live under your rich parents’ shadows. You get pampered by them every day. You have your family. You won’t ever understand my anger. So fuck off, Malfoy. And don’t give me that patronizing attitude.”

Orion’s expression didn’t change. The cold, analytical mask remained perfectly intact. He didn’t rise to the bait. He didn’t defend his family or his upbringing. He simply looked at the grieving boy, recognizing that logic was currently useless against a decade of trauma.

He remained completely silent.

The tense standoff was broken by the sharp, familiar sound of the heavy oak door swinging open.

Professor Severus Snape swept into the room, a small, crystal vial of clear liquid clutched tightly in his hand. He stopped abruptly just inside the doorway, his black eyes sweeping over the scene.

Snape took in the furious, trembling Potter, the pale Weasleys, a tearful Granger, and the rigid, defensive posture of Lupin and McGonagall. The environment was aggressively hostile.

He looked at Orion, who was leaning casually against a bookcase, watching the drama unfold.

Snape let out a long, slow breath, a look of profound, exhausted resignation settling over his sallow features.

Orion cocked his head. This was the third time he had caused this particular expression on someone else’s face, just by existing, that too in the span of a single night. Amusing.

Snape ignored the boy, his gaze finally dropping to the floor in front of the Headmaster’s desk. He saw the squirming, bound figure.

Snape froze.

His black eyes widened, the vial in his hand dipping slightly. For a man who built his life on absolute emotional control, the shock on his face was staggering.

”What...?” Snape breathed, staring at the balding, terrified man groveling on the carpet.

”Thank you, Severus,” Dumbledore said gently, stepping forward to break the Potions Master’s shock. ”Though it appears that, perhaps, the Veritaserum will not be needed after all. Peter has been... surprisingly forthcoming.”

Dumbledore turned his attention back to the bound traitor, his blue eyes hard as diamonds.

”Now, Peter,” Dumbledore commanded, his voice dropping the grandfatherly tone entirely. ”Before the authorities arrive, I wish to hear the rest of it. Tell me about the confrontation on the Muggle street. Tell me how you framed Sirius for the mass murder.”

Pettigrew blubbered, squirming against the magical ropes. ”He... he cornered me! He was going to kill me! I yelled that he betrayed James and Lily... to make the Muggles hear! To create witnesses!”

”And the explosion?” Dumbledore pressed coldly.

”I... I cast a Blasting Curse behind my back,” Pettigrew whined, tears mixing with the grime on his face. ”I hit a gas line under the street. It was chaos! The Muggles screamed, and the smoke... I cut off my finger, transformed, and ran into the sewers before the Aurors arrived!”

Snape stared at the whimpering man, his face twisting into a mask of pure, unadulterated loathing. He had spent twelve years hating Sirius Black for Lily’s death, and hating himself for his own part in it. To find out the true architect was this pathetic, sniveling rat... it was a bitter, confusing pill to swallow.

”Severus,” Dumbledore requested softly. ”Keep a close watch on Peter. I do not want him attempting to transform, even bound.”

Snape stepped forward instantly, raising his wand and aiming it directly between Pettigrew’s eyes. ”Give me an excuse, Pettigrew,” Snape hissed venomously. ”Please.”

”Minerva, Remus,” Dumbledore turned to the others. ”If you would guide the students to the side of the room? I must contact the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. And...” Dumbledore paused, looking thoughtfully at Ron and Percy. ”I believe it is best we contact Molly and Arthur as well. They have a right to know what has been living in their home.”

Lupin gently but firmly placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, guiding the still-furious boy away from the center of the room. The other students followed, huddling near the window. McGonagall sank back into her armchair, pressing a hand to her forehead, trying desperately to calm her racing heart.

Orion remained where he was, watching Dumbledore move to the fireplace.

The Headmaster threw powder into the grate, making the calls quickly and efficiently.

Scarcely a minute after he stepped back, the emerald flames roared.

Molly and Arthur Weasley tumbled out of the fireplace, coughing slightly as they brushed soot from their robes. They looked incredibly disheveled, their clothes rumpled and mismatched, as if they had literally been pulled from the middle of their evening dinner.

”Ron! Percy!” Molly shrieked the moment she spotted her sons. She rushed forward, enveloping a very bewildered Ron in a crushing hug, before pulling a stiff, fumbling Percy into the embrace as well. ”Are you alright?! The Headmaster sounded so urgent!”

Arthur Weasley, however, did not rush to his sons. His eyes had fallen immediately on the bound man groveling on the floor beneath Snape’s wand.

Arthur’s jaw dropped. He looked at Lupin, who was standing nearby, looking grim.

”Remus?” Arthur asked, his voice trembling with sheer disbelief. ”Is this... is this true? Is that... Peter?”

”It is, Arthur,” Lupin confirmed heavily. ”None of us can truly believe it.”

Arthur stared at Pettigrew. He thought of the rat that had slept in his children’s beds, eaten from their table, and lived in their home for twelve years. A wave of profound, sickening revulsion washed over his face.

He turned to Dumbledore, seeking reassurance in the madness. ”Albus... how? How did we not know?”

”A question for the ages, Arthur,” Dumbledore sighed, watching Molly, who had finally released her sons and was now checking Harry as well.

The quiet, tense murmurings of the adults were suddenly interrupted by the sharp, crackling sound of the Floo Network activating once more.

”Albus? Permission to enter.”

The crisp, no-nonsense voice of Amelia Bones echoed from the grate.

Dumbledore straightened his robes, adjusting his half-moon spectacles.

”Granted, Amelia,” Dumbledore replied, his voice firm and steady. ”Please, come through.”