Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The sterile corridor of St. Mungo’s echoed with the sheer, terrified disbelief of Harry Potter.

”I am not doing that!” Harry sputtered again, stepping further away from Orion. ”Snape will kill me!”

Orion didn’t drop the smirk. Instead, he folded his arms, adopting an expression of profound, theatrical disappointment.

”Well, well, well,” Orion clicked his tongue softly. ”And here I was, under the impression that Gryffindors were supposed to be the brave ones. The daring, reckless lions who laugh in the face of danger.”

He tilted his head, looking Harry up and down critically.

”Perhaps,” Orion mused aloud, his voice dripping with condescension, ”the rumors are true. Perhaps you aren’t truly a Gryffindor at all, Potter. Did you force the Sorting Hat to put you there? Because right now, you are displaying the self-preservation instincts of a true Slytherin.”

Harry gaped, his face flushing, at the spot on deduction of his choice of house. He opened his mouth to defend his bravery, but the sheer insanity of the proposed task stopped him.

He shook his head violently, trying to derail the provocation.

”Why do you even want me to do it anyway?!” Harry demanded, his voice dropping into a frantic hiss. ”Why me?”

”It’s a prank, Potter,” Orion replied smoothly, as if that explained everything. ”You understand the fundamental reasoning behind a prank. It is designed to be entertaining.”

”It’s not a prank, Malfoy, it’s a suicide mission!” Harry argued, running a hand through his messy hair. ”If I throw a water balloon at Professor Snape... much less in the Great Hall, in front of everyone... detentions would be the absolute least of my problems! He would skin me alive! He would use my liver for potion ingredients! He already hates me!”

”Exactly!” Orion smiled brightly, uncrossing his arms. ”That is precisely why you are the perfect candidate.”

He stepped closer, tapping a finger against his chest.

”Think about it logically, Potter. Snape already despises you with the heat of a thousand suns. Your situation with him literally cannot get any worse. He is already going to dock points from Gryffindor because you breathe too loudly in his dungeon. He is already going to assign you detentions for looking at a cauldron wrong.”

Orion leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

”You are bound to lose those points and serve those detentions anyway,” Orion pointed out. ”At least this way, you will have actually earned them. You will have achieved something spectacular. Think of the glory. Think of the sheer, petty revenge. Getting to hit Severus Snape square in his face with a freezing cold water balloon?”

Harry stared at him, torn. The logic was twisted, horrifying, and incredibly persuasive. The idea of getting back at Snape, even for a fleeting second, was a tempting, dangerous thought.

”But I’ll be expelled,” Harry whispered miserably.

”You won’t,” Orion promised, his voice turning dead serious. ”Besides... you know me by now, Potter. You know I do not boast without being entirely capable of backing it up. And in this specific scenario, I will guarantee that you will not get into much more trouble than a standard point loss and a Saturday detention with Filch.”

He held Harry’s gaze. ”I control the narrative. I will ensure the fallout is managed.”

Orion turned his head slowly, his blue eyes landing on the two Aurors standing guard nearby. They had been listening to the entire exchange, their expressions a comical mixture of professional horror and profound, suppressed amusement.

”Say, gentlemen,” Orion called out politely, addressing the Aurors. ”Will you be relaying this conversation to Madam Bones?”

The two Aurors exchanged a long, complicated look.

The taller of the two cleared his throat, adjusting his stance. ”We only heard... casual schoolyard mischief, Mr. Malfoy,” he stated gruffly. ”Nothing that constitutes a threat to national security.”

”As for any particular, highly specific plan against Professor Snape...” the second Auror chimed in, perfectly deadpan. ”Nope. Didn’t hear a word of it.”

Orion smirked. ”Not Slytherins, I take it?”

”Hufflepuffs,” the first Auror admitted with a faint, nostalgic grin. ”And we both almost failed Potions our N.E.W.T. year if not for intensive, panicked self-study. Snape’s a terror.”

”Excellent,” Orion said, turning back to Harry.

”You have until next Friday to decide, Potter,” Orion delivered the ultimatum, his tone brokering no argument. ”Participate in the prank, and you get away with nothing more than a detention, a minor point loss, and a clean slate regarding our history. Back out, and we go right back to square one in our rivalry.”

He took a step back, offering a polite, chilling bow.

”You also have the opportunity to be a snitch,” Orion added casually. ”You can run to McGonagall or Dumbledore and tell them I am plotting against Snape. You would lose all respect as an honorable Gryffindor for tattling, of course. Though, this time, you would actually be one hundred percent correct about my plotting.”

Orion offered a bright, impossible smile.

”But then again... given your track record of accusing me of things, who will actually believe you anyway?”

Harry stared at him, utterly trapped. It was a flawless, inescapable matrix of manipulation. It was a loss-loss-loss scenario for him, with the first option—throwing a water balloon at his most hated teacher—being the only one that offered any tangible reward.

Before Harry could articulate a response to the terrifying proposition, the heavy oak door behind them swung open.

Albus Dumbledore stepped out into the corridor, looking serene and entirely oblivious to the extortion plot that had just occurred.

”I am glad to see the two of you have not resorted to another duel in the mere minutes you were left unsupervised,” Dumbledore noted, his eyes twinkling brightly as he looked between the paralyzed Gryffindor and the perfectly composed Slytherin.

”We were just discussing inter-house cooperation, Headmaster,” Orion replied smoothly.

”Splendid,” Dumbledore beamed. ”Now, it is time to return to Hogwarts.”

The Headmaster paused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. A sudden, almost childish delight lit up his ancient features.

”Actually,” Dumbledore amended, adjusting his half-moon spectacles, ”since we are already here in London, and the evening is still quite young... I believe it might be nice to stop by Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour in Diagon Alley for a scoop before we head back to the castle.”

Harry blinked, the whiplash from ’water balloon assassination plot’ to ’ice cream trip with the Headmaster’ nearly snapping his neck.

”Ice cream, sir?” Harry asked weakly.

”Indeed, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled, turning toward the lifts. ”I find that a scoop of raspberry and chocolate works wonders for clearing the mind. Shall we?”

Orion fell into step beside the Headmaster, his dark robes swishing.

”An excellent suggestion, sir,” Orion agreed politely.

He didn’t look back at Harry, but the smirk remained firmly planted on his face as they descended into the bustling atrium of St. Mungo’s. The trap was set, and the bait was irresistible. The Great Hall was going to be very entertaining next week.