Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The center aisle of the Great Hall was no longer a pathway; it was a brightly colored, high-velocity war zone.

Professor Snape, whose finely tuned Slytherin survival instincts had immediately overridden his initial, paralyzing horror, had backed away rapidly the moment Orion jumped on the table. He threw up a hasty, shimmering Protego shield just as the chaos erupted.

His shield flared brilliantly as it was hit by a rapid, successive volley of at least five Aqua Bubbles. Through the translucent magical barrier, Snape’s black eyes narrowed venomously as he clearly identified the distinct, identical throwing arcs of Fred and George Weasley.

Deciding that dignity was best preserved from a distance, Snape didn’t attempt to shout over the din or cast a suppression charm. He simply maintained his shield and swiftly retreated toward the relative safety of the High Table, abandoning the center of the crossfire.

The students, meanwhile, had lost all semblance of restraint.

The initial volley between Gryffindor and Slytherin rapidly devolved into a free-for-all. Balloons were flying everywhere, hitting anyone in the immediate vicinity regardless of house colors. Some of the more fragile bubbles were bursting in students’ hands as they scrambled too frantically to grab them, soaking themselves before they could even aim.

The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, initially stunned bystanders, were quickly dragged into the fray as stray balloons arched over the tables and splashed into their laps. Retaliation was swift and enthusiastic. Within three minutes, practically every student in the Great Hall was dripping with bright pink, green, yellow, and blue water.

Orion ducked, narrowly avoiding a massive yellow balloon hurled by Seamus Finnigan, before retaliating with a quick, underhand flick that caught Dean Thomas in the shoulder.

As he scanned the battlefield, Orion took a moment to observe the High Table. He was expecting the booming, magically amplified voice of Dumbledore to halt the madness, or perhaps the sharp, cracking hexes of McGonagall demanding order.

Instead, the professors’ reactions were bafflingly varied, and distinctly lacking in fury.

Other than Snape—who had reached his chair, dropped his shield, and was currently utilizing a vicious, silent hot-air charm to dry his robes and hair while glaring at the room with murderous intent—no one looked particularly angry.

Professor McGonagall simply looked profoundly exhausted, resting her chin on her hand and watching the chaos with the resigned expression of a woman who had given up trying to control the weather. Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout were actually smiling, clearly entertained by the vibrant, harmless display of magic. Hagrid was letting out booming, jolly laughs that echoed over the shrieks, clapping his massive hands together when a particularly impressive throw connected.

Professor Lupin was standing near his chair, a fond, incredibly nostalgic smile touching his scarred face as he watched the Marauder-esque prank unfold.

And Albus Dumbledore? The Headmaster was sitting serenely in his golden chair, his blue eyes twinkling madly as he watched the colorful water arc through the air.

Why isn’t anyone stopping this? Orion thought, genuinely confused by the lack of authoritative reaction as he sidestepped a blue balloon. Have they simply accepted that attempting to police a thousand teenagers armed with water balloons is a logistical impossibility?

He decided to ignore the sociological implications and focus on the tactical opportunities at hand. He was here to have fun.

Despite his best efforts at dodging and deflecting, Orion himself had not escaped unscathed. He was currently sporting several large, wet splotches of varying colors across his pristine robes.

One particular hit had been surprising. He turned just in time to take a pink balloon squarely in the chest. He traced the trajectory back and saw Astoria Greengrass standing near the end of the Slytherin table, giggling behind her hand. When she realized Orion had spotted her, she blushed a brilliant, vivid scarlet and quickly ducked behind a taller third-year to hide.

Targeted assassination by a first-year, Orion smirked, wiping pink water from his lapel. Daphne must be so proud.

As the buckets emptied, Orion noted with satisfaction that Dobby and the kitchen elves were working flawlessly. The moment a bucket was drained, it vanished with a soft pop, replaced instantly by another one brimming with fresh ammunition. The supply chain was unbreakable.

He sought out specific targets in the crowd.

Hermione Granger, clearly prioritizing safety over aquatic warfare, had been pelted early on and was now taking strategic cover underneath the heavy oak table, peering out occasionally like a badger in a foxhole. Several other girls had followed her lead, abandoning the surface entirely.

Near the main doors, Orion spotted Luna Lovegood. She was standing serenely in the corner, wearing her bright yellow raincoat adorned with ducklings, which was now splattered with every color of the rainbow. She wasn’t throwing balloons; she was simply watching the colors mix.

Standing right beside her was Nymphadora Tonks. The trainee Auror was laughing uproariously, clearly enjoying the break from her dull patrol, until a stray, massive green balloon nailed her directly on the side of the head.

Tonks’s laughter died instantly. Her hair shifted from a happy pink to a violent, aggressive red, and she glared into the crowd, reaching for her wand with clear retaliatory intent.

Orion seized the moment. The chaos was peaking, the ammunition was plentiful, and the opportunity was too perfect to ignore.

He grabbed two vibrant blue balloons, testing the weight in his hands.

He didn’t aim at a student. He aimed at the true architects of his stress. Two major targets.

He launched them one after another with rapid, practiced precision. The first arched high across the hall, aimed directly at the center of Professor McGonagall’s chest. The second followed a split-second later, targeted squarely at the twinkling blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore.

Orion watched the balloons fly, anticipating the glorious, colorful splash that would finally break their serene composure.

The balloons approached the High Table.

They hit an invisible wall three feet in front of the professors.

SPLAT. SPLAT.

The magical tension broke, the blue water cascading down a shimmering, golden, invisible barrier that spanned the entire length of the High Table.

McGonagall blinked, slightly confused, as the blue water ran down the air in front of her.

Albus Dumbledore, however, didn’t blink. He lowered the Elder Wand slightly, peering through the dripping blue water, and locked eyes directly with Orion.

The Headmaster offered a slow, knowing, incredibly amused smile.

Orion sighed heavily, dropping his hands. Dammit, he muttered internally. The old codger is always one step ahead. He had a localized shield up the entire time.

Eventually, the relentless barrage of balloons began to slow. The final, magically replenished buckets emptied, and no new ones appeared. The students, thoroughly soaked and panting with exertion, slowly lowered their arms, surveying the colorful, dripping wreckage of the Great Hall.

The silence returned, broken only by the sound of dripping water and the occasional giggle.

Dumbledore stood up slowly. He raised his hands and began to clap, a slow, resonant applause that echoed through the damp hall.

”Very entertaining,” Dumbledore boomed cheerfully, his voice amplified. ”A most vigorous display of inter-house camaraderie. A brief, much-needed respite in this time of stress.”

He lowered his hands, his expression turning slightly more practical.

”However, now that the fun is over, I do believe it is time for everyone to return to their places. Dinner was interrupted, after all, and I suspect many of you are quite hungry.”

Dumbledore gave the Elder Wand a wide, sweeping wave over the entire hall.

A sudden, warm, powerful draft of wind swept through the room. It wasn’t the harsh, biting chill of the outdoors; it was the comforting heat of a roaring hearth. It washed over the students, drying their soaked robes, their dripping hair, and the puddles on the floor in a matter of seconds. The vibrant colors vanished, leaving everything pristine.

Luna smiled, her yellow raincoat dry once more, and hopped happily back to her seat at the Ravenclaw table.

As the students scrambled back to their benches, the empty iron buckets vanished with a chorus of pops, and the golden plates miraculously refilled with steaming roasts, pies, and gravy.

Orion slid back into his seat next to a dry, still-fuming Draco. He picked up his fork, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips. The prank had been a flawless, colorful success, and the tension in the castle was significantly lighter.

Now, he just had to survive the inevitable fallout.