Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The biting wind whipped down the narrow, cobbled street as Orion and Daphne left the Hog’s Head behind, heading back toward the main thoroughfare of the village. The snow was beginning to fall harder, thick, heavy flakes that clung to their cloaks.

”I must admit,” Daphne murmured, pulling her silver-threaded hat tighter over her ears. ”I was not expecting that kind of atmosphere. It was surprisingly... normal.”

”What were you expecting, Daphne?” Orion teased, his breath pluming in the freezing air. ”Curses flinging across the tavern? Dark rituals? Tap-dancing werewolves?”

Daphne shot him an icy, unamused glare. ”I was expecting a recently escaped convict and a man the entire wizarding world thought was a mass-murderer to be slightly more... unhinged. Not arguing over teenage poetry.”

”Trauma manifests in strange ways,” Orion noted philosophically. ”For the Marauders, it seems to manifest as aggressive nostalgia.”

They continued their walk, the conversation drifting toward the upcoming holiday galas and the political shifts of the wizarding world.

They were just turning a corner, stepping onto a slightly wider side street lined with shuttered shops.

Suddenly, Orion stopped dead in his tracks.

A sharp, violent, electric shock lanced directly into the base of his skull. It wasn’t pain; it was a blaring, absolute alarm.

His Universal Sense had activated.

He froze, his hand dropping instantly to the hawthorn wand holstered at his side. His blue eyes darted rapidly, scanning the snow-covered street, the rooftops, the shadows between the buildings.

The ’ping’ in his awareness was frantic. It was a generalized, omni-directional threat warning, but the core density of the hostility was radiating strongly from the path directly in front of them.

”Orion?” Daphne asked, turning back, her hand also moving toward her pocket. ”What is it?”

Before he could answer, the street ahead erupted into chaos.

A group of three older students—sixth-year Hufflepuffs, by the look of their scarves—burst out of a smaller, branching side-route fifty yards ahead. They weren’t just walking; they were sprinting in sheer, unadulterated panic, their faces pale and terrified.

They ran straight past Orion and Daphne, ignoring them completely, desperate to escape from the area.

”What’s going on?” Daphne asked, her voice tight with sudden alarm.

Orion didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

The temperature around them, already freezing, plummeted with an unnatural, terrifying swiftness. The light drained from the sky, leaving a suffocating, grey gloom in its wake.

Orion knew this feeling. He recognized the bone-deep, soul-sucking cold immediately.

Wait, Orion thought, his mind racing, trying to reconcile the sensation with established facts. That’s not possible. The Dementors were officially recalled back from Hogwarts grounds weeks ago. Madam Bones confirmed it.

From the same alley the students had just fled, a witch burst into the open street. She wore the dark cloak of a trainee Auror. She didn’t run; she spun around the moment she cleared the corner, planting her boots firmly in the snow and raising her wand high.

”EXPECTO PATRONUM!” she screamed, her voice cracking with terror.

A burst of ragged, pulsing silver light erupted from her wand, forming a wide, shimmering shield just in time.

A towering, cloaked figure, moving with a gliding, rotting grace, drifted out of the alleyway and slammed bodily against the silver barrier.

The Dementor recoiled, letting out a rattling, sucking breath that echoed horribly down the street. The Auror’s shield held, but she was trembling violently, struggling to maintain the memory required to power the spell.

The few remaining shoppers on the street finally registered the threat. Panic erupted. People began screaming and running in every direction, desperate to escape the creeping despair.

Orion didn’t panic. His mind shifted into its hyper-focused, tactical state.

He grabbed Daphne’s arm, his grip bruising.

”Come on,” Orion ordered, hauling her backward. ”We have to return back to the Hog’s Head. We need to inform Remus and Tonks immediately. The Auror can take care of herself, we have to go.”

”Dementors!” Daphne gasped, stumbling as she tried to keep up with his rapid pace. ”But they were recalled!”

”Apparently they missed the memo,” Orion muttered darkly, navigating through the fleeing crowd.

As they ran, Orion’s mind was a flurry of enraged accusations.

”What the hell, Sparkle?!” Orion shouted internally, the mental transmission sharp with fury. ”Is this some kind of a setup? Don’t tell me this is the Protagonist Halo doing this!”

”Hey!” Sparkle’s interface flashed a defensive, irritated red in his peripheral vision. ”How many times do I have to tell you? The Halo does not pull danger out of its own pockets! It doesn’t magically spawn Dementors just to annoy you! This is clearly some background activity happening that you are not aware of!”

They were just turning back onto the narrow alleyway leading to the tavern when a sound cut through the chaos.

A scream.

It wasn’t a scream of general panic. It was high, sharp, and cut off abruptly, echoing from a different, darker alleyway branching off to their left.

Orion stopped. The Universal Sense pinged again, sharp and localized toward the source of the scream.

He looked down the alley. He looked at Daphne, who was breathing heavily, her eyes wide with fear.

”Daphne,” Orion said, his voice dropping into a harsh, commanding register that brooked absolutely no argument. ”Go to the inn. Run. Tell Remus and Tonks exactly what is happening. Tell them there are Dementors in the village.”

”What about you?!” Daphne demanded, grabbing his sleeve. ”You can’t stay out here!”

”I am going to check that out,” Orion stated, pointing toward the dark alley where the scream had originated.

”Are you insane?!”

”I know the Patronus spell, Daphne,” Orion assured her, his eyes cold and resolved. ”I can protect myself. But someone is trapped down there. I have to go and check.”

He didn’t wait for her to argue further. He pulled his sleeve free from her grip, drew his Hawthorn wand, and bolted down the narrow, shadowy alleyway, running headlong into the suffocating cold.