Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

Back inside the quiet sanctuary of his bedroom, Orion peeled off his evening cloak and tossed it onto the armchair.

”I hope you’re mentally prepared for this all-nighter,” Sparkle chimed in, her digital voice dripping with theatrical pity. ”You thought Lucius was bad with his ’pureblood legacy’ monologues? Bellatrix is going to be ten times worse. It’s going to be ’the Dark Lord’s magnificent eyes’ this, and ’the Dark Lord’s glorious vision’ that, until your ears bleed.”

”Which is precisely why I have zero intention of being there physically,” Orion replied smoothly.

He closed his eyes and channeled his magical core.

Reflection Clone.

The silver, ethereal light peeled away from his chest, solidifying into an identical duplicate of himself.

The clone adjusted its cuffs, raising an eyebrow at Orion. ”Let me guess. I get to play the doting, power-hungry godson while you lounge around down here?”

”Naturally,” Orion smirked. He walked over to his desk, opening the top drawer. He pulled out the neatly clipped, framed copy of the Daily Prophet detailing his duel with Harry Potter, along with several other articles highlighting his academic achievements. ”Take these. Feed her ego. Ask her about the Dark Arts, let her rant about Azkaban, and occasionally drop hints that you find the Dark Lord’s historical methods ’fascinating but inefficient’.”

He gestured toward the velvet display case on his nightstand.

”And if you feel the theatricality requires an extra push, grab the Order of Merlin medal and pin it to your chest. It’s not like anyone in this house is brave enough to question you.”

The clone rolled its eyes, taking the clippings. ”You really do treat human interaction like an automated farming game, don’t you?”

”Passively gaining experience and reputation points while I allocate my active hours to macro-strategy is basic optimization,” Orion countered unashamedly. ”Go on. Be charmingly psychopathic.”

With a sharp salute, the clone opened the bedroom door and slipped out into the dimly lit corridor of the East Wing, heading toward the West Wing quarters of Bellatrix Lestrange.

Orion locked the door behind it, pulled open his expanded trunk, and descended into the quiet, warm study below.

For the next four days leading up to Christmas Eve, a profoundly bizarre, almost comical dynamic settled over Malfoy Manor.

To the rest of the household, Orion Malfoy had seemingly formed an instantaneous, inseparable bond with his escaped-convict godmother. The two of them were frequently spotted in the conservatory, pacing the frozen gardens, or lounging in the drawing room, engaged in low, animated discussions.

Lucius Malfoy went out of his way to maintain a three-corridor buffer between himself and his sister-in-law at all times. Whenever the two were in the same room, Lucius looked like a man expecting a live grenade to roll across the carpet.

Narcissa, driven by an agonizing mix of maternal terror and fierce curiosity, had cautiously approached the pair several times. She had even forced herself to sit with them for afternoon tea, fully prepared to draw her wand if Bellatrix showed the slightest hint of unstable aggression toward her son.

However, after enduring two hours of conversation, Narcissa had quietly, gracefully excused herself, thoroughly baffled.

Their ”terrifying, dark discussions” consisted almost entirely of mercilessly roasting everyone in the wizarding world.

The clone, armed with Orion’s sharp wit and Bellatrix’s vicious disdain, had turned the afternoon into a comedy routine. They tore apart Albus Dumbledore’s terrible fashion choices, mocked Harry Potter’s abysmal dueling posture, ridiculed the Weasleys’ financial management, and, to Narcissa’s secret, profound amusement, thoroughly dissected Lucius’s absolute lack of an iron spine.

Realizing that Bellatrix wasn’t torturing her son, but rather treating him like her favorite, snarky confidant, Narcissa breathed a massive sigh of relief and decided to let them be.

Draco, on the other hand, was having a psychological breakdown.

He rarely left his bedroom. Whenever he was forced to interact with Orion in the corridors, Draco stared at him as if Orion had grown three heads, sprouted horns, and begun speaking in tongues. Draco couldn’t fathom it. How on earth was his brother casually sharing tea and laughing with a woman who looked like she actively murdered people for recreation? It defied every instinct of self-preservation Draco possessed.

Meanwhile, deep inside the subterranean sanctuary of his trunk, the real Orion Malfoy was running a full-scale war room.

He stood before his chalkboard, which was now dominated by a complex, multi-tiered blueprint labeled: OPERATION: GRAND THEFT GRINGOTTS.

”The Diadem is secured. The Locket is secured. The Diary is secured,” Orion murmured, tapping a piece of chalk against the slate. ”Which leaves the fourth anchor: Helga Hufflepuff’s Cup.”

He began listing the known defense parameters of the subterranean goblin stronghold.

”The target is located within the Lestrange Family Vault. One of the oldest, deepest, and most heavily fortified vaults in Gringotts.”

He wrote down five distinct points, his handwriting sharp and precise:

The Thief’s Downfall (Waterfall designed to wash away all magical enchantments, Polyjuice, illusions, and mental compulsions).

2. Guardian Dragon (Specifically a half-blind, abused Ukrainian Ironbelly guarding the deepest cavern).

3. Vault Curses (Geminio and Flagrante—infinite burning duplication upon touch).

4. Goblin Security (Gringotts guards, Clankers, lock-down blast doors).

5. Ministry/Auror Rapid Response (If the alarm is tripped at the surface).

”A formidable gauntlet,” Orion analyzed, crossing his arms. ”And those are just the known canonical defenses from the original timeline. Goblins are an autonomous, paranoid race; their security protocols undoubtedly feature localized anti-apparition wards, structural collapse failsafes, and kinetic barriers.”

”I have a wildly crazy, revolutionary idea,” Sparkle’s interface chimed in, hovering beside the chalkboard. ”Why don’t you just ask your brand-new, totally obsessed familiar to walk down to Diagon Alley and bring the Cup to you? She literally owns the vault! She has the key!”

Orion let out a dry, patronizing chuckle, shaking his head.

”Think it through, Sparkle. This isn’t the seventh year of the canon timeline. The Ministry has not fallen. Voldemort does not control the government.”

He pointed the chalk toward the ceiling.

”Bellatrix Lestrange is currently the most wanted, high-profile fugitive in the entire magical world. There is an active ’Shoot to Kill’ or to be precise, a ’Kiss on Sight’ order on her head. If she walks into the lobby of Gringotts, what happens?”

”The goblins claim neutrality,” Sparkle countered.

”Goblins claim whatever serves their gold,” Orion shot back. ”Gringotts is politically autonomous, yes, but that does not mean a goblin wouldn’t immediately sell the information of her arrival to Amelia Bones for a diplomatic concession or a bag of Galleons. The lobby would be surrounded by Hit Wizards and Aurors within five minutes.”

He drew an arrow connecting ’Bella at Gringotts’ to ’Voldemort Alerted’.

”Furthermore, it raises catastrophic suspicion in both factions. The Ministry would wonder why an escaped Death Eater risked everything just to open an old family vault. More dangerously, Voldemort would hear about it. His wraith would wonder why his most fanatical servant was suddenly checking on the Horcrux he entrusted to her. It would immediately alert him that his anchors are compromised.”

Orion tossed the chalk onto the tray, turning to face the interface with an intense, predatory grin.

”No. I cannot risk her approaching the vault legally. Not until the Cup is already safely in my Inventory. The heist must be silent, untraceable, and clean.”

He cracked his knuckles, the thrill of the impossible challenge buzzing in his blood.

”Besides... come on, Sparkle. It is Grand Theft Gringotts.”

His indigo eyes flashed with brilliant, chaotic ambition.

”The most impenetrable bank in the world, guarded by ancient magic and a dragon? And I have an Invisibility Cloak, the ability to freeze Time itself, an omni-directional threat sense, a stasis-enabled Inventory, and house-elves that bypass human wards?”

Orion laughed, a quiet, thrilling sound.

”It would be an absolute crime not to rob them blind. I have to do it.”