Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

The sharp scratch of chalk against the slate was the only sound in the expanded trunk-study as Orion drew a thick, aggressive line connecting ’Halloween Breakout’ to the ’Hogsmeade Swarm’.

”This is the second major Dementor incident in less than a month,” Orion continued, his voice tight with concentration. ”With Dolohov’s undeniable involvement in the Hogsmeade attack, we can definitively categorize this swarm as a staged event. And if this was staged... I think we can now be absolutely certain that the Azkaban breakout on Halloween was also orchestrated.”

He stepped back, staring at the web of connections.

”But here is the logistical impossibility,” Orion muttered. ”Death Eaters, even inner-circle ones, are fundamentally unable to control Dementors on their own. They can negotiate with them, perhaps, if they offer them souls, but they cannot command a swarm with this level of precision. Voldemort can, because his aura of despair is potent enough to dominate them. But random Death Eaters? No. Not without an external catalyst.”

”Or internal Ministry help,” Sparkle suggested, her interface glowing a cold, analytical blue.

”Exactly,” Orion nodded, picking up a different colored piece of chalk. ”There is only one person currently operating within the upper echelons of the Ministry who has a documented, canonical history of illegally manipulating Dementors for personal agendas.”

He wrote a name on the board in bright, ugly pink chalk.

Dolores Umbridge.

”She used Dementors to attack Potter in Little Whinging in the original timeline, completely bypassing standard Ministry protocols,” Orion reasoned. ”If she possesses the authority and the sheer, malicious disregard for the law to do that... she can most certainly be the bureaucratic key behind these swarms.”

He frowned, tapping the pink name.

”Again, to what end she would facilitate a mass Death Eater breakout is a complete mystery. Perhaps she didn’t orchestrate the breakout itself, but merely provided the distraction that Pettigrew exploited that day. Either way, the possibility of her involvement exists, and it is terrifyingly high.”

”So, you need proof,” Sparkle deduced.

”I need irrefutable proof,” Orion agreed. ”And proof of that magnitude can only be acquired from someone else directly involved in the conspiracy. Meaning, a Death Eater.”

He tossed the chalk into the tray, a grim, determined smile touching his lips.

”And luckily, we are being evacuated back home tomorrow morning. Where there is a statistically high chance that we might get to have a lovely, intimate family reunion with my newly discovered, utterly psychotic godmother.”

Orion crossed his arms, staring at the board. ”There is absolutely no way Bellatrix Lestrange has no idea about the mechanics of her own escape, or Dolohov’s operations.”

”Yeah, but how exactly are you going to get her to tell you that?” Sparkle asked, sounding incredibly skeptical. ”Without, I don’t know, swearing allegiance to the Dark Lord and becoming a junior Death Eater yourself? She’s a fanatic, Orion. She doesn’t just hand out operational intelligence over tea.”

”We will see,” Orion replied softly, his blue eyes glinting with a dangerous, calculating light. ”I am a Malfoy, and she believes I am the ’true Black’. I am sure I can leverage that familial obsession into a conversation.”

He turned away from the chalkboard, the tactical breakdown complete for the night.

”I suppose what I should truly be focusing on now, alongside surviving the holidays, is the logistical planning required to collect the remaining two Horcruxes,” Orion mused, looking toward the corner where the Vanishing Cabinet stood. ”The Ring and the Cup. And, eventually, dealing with them.”

He let out a long, weary sigh.

”From my analysis of the Diary, the Locket, and the Diadem using the Scrying Glasses... it seems I have no choice but to simply destroy them,” Orion admitted, a hint of genuine disappointment in his voice. ”They don’t seem to possess any tangible utility. There is no ancient knowledge to safely absorb, no unique magic to acquire without risking severe soul-corruption. They are just jagged, miserable shards of a broken soul locked in historical artifacts that need to be obliterated for that noseless megalomaniac to finally die.”

”It’s a shame,” Sparkle agreed. ”But destroying them is the primary objective.”

”I know,” Orion murmured. He stretched his arms above his head, feeling the profound exhaustion of the day finally catching up to him. The adrenaline from the Dementor fight and the subsequent strategizing was fading rapidly.

”Sigh. I suppose I should go to sleep,” Orion decided, moving toward the ladder.

”Don’t you want to check the achievement you got for the Patronus save?” Sparkle asked, the interface pulsing with a bright, eager gold light. ”It’s a good one.”

”Not in the mood right now, Sparkle,” Orion declined, shaking his head. ”My brain is full. I will check it tomorrow morning. Or afternoon. Or maybe evening. We’ll see.”

He climbed the wooden ladder, pushing the heavy trunk lid open and stepping out into the cold, silent dormitory. The other third-year boys were already fast asleep, exhausted by the sudden change in schedule and the tension of the day.

Orion walked over to his four-poster bed and practically jumped onto the mattress, burying his face in the soft pillows.

The sudden movement startled Robin, who had been sleeping peacefully near the foot of the bed.

The Niffler jerked awake with a squeak, his beady eyes wide. He looked at the sprawled form of his master, sniffed the air, and then simply decided that returning to sleep was the most pragmatic option.

Robin curled back into a furry black ball, aggressively cradling a highly polished, clearly stolen silver soup spoon against his chest like a stuffed animal.

Orion let out a quiet, muffled chuckle into his pillow. He drew the heavy velvet curtains shut with a lazy flick of his wand, plunging the bed into absolute darkness.

The storm was coming to Malfoy Manor, and Orion needed all the rest he could get before he had to face his godmother.