Harry Potter: Most Annoying System Ever

Christmas morning arrived at Malfoy Manor beneath a blanket of pristine, heavy snow.

In terms of social obligations, Orion hadn’t needed to lift a finger. His Reflection Clone, operating in tandem with Dobby over the previous two nights, had handled the packaging and dispatch of gifts with ruthless, mechanized efficiency.

There was, however, one singular gift that Orion insisted on delivering personally. A gift that required absolute, surgical precision.

He found Bellatrix in the smaller, secondary parlor on the ground floor. She was leaning against the stone mantle of the fireplace, casually listening to Lucius, who was stiffly attempting to explain the Ministry’s latest security directives regarding the border patrols. Lucius looked as though every word out of his mouth might cause his sister-in-law to sever his vocal cords.

”Aunt Bella,” Orion spoke smoothly from the doorway, breaking the suffocating tension.

Both adults turned. Lucius looked immensely relieved by the interruption, while Bellatrix’s face underwent an immediate, almost unsettling transformation. The manic, vacant coldness in her eyes melted instantly into a fierce, bright fondness.

”Orion,” she purred, pushing off the mantle. ”My little star.”

”Walk with me to the South Gardens for a moment?” Orion asked, tilting his head toward the frost-covered glass doors. ”There is something I wish to discuss.”

”Of course,” Bellatrix agreed without a heartbeat of hesitation.

She glided past Lucius without sparing him a second glance, falling naturally into step beside her thirteen-year-old godson.

Behind them, Lucius blinked, staring at their retreating backs with an expression of stunned, bewildered disbelief. For a woman who took orders from literally no one except the Dark Lord to instantly abandon a conversation simply because a teenager asked for a walk was a display of absolute compliance that defied all known logic.

The familiar bond is solidifying rapidly, Orion noted inwardly as they stepped out onto the frozen gravel path. The winter wind was biting, but Bellatrix seemed entirely impervious to the chill, her black robes billowing like smoke around her.

”Has there been any progress from the others?” Orion asked casually, hands clasped behind his back as they strolled past a frozen marble fountain. ”The search for the Dark Lord?”

Bellatrix’s jaw tightened, an ugly sneer twisting her aristocratic features.

”Nothing,” she spat, venom lacing her voice. ”Pathetic, incompetent fools, the lot of them. Dolohov is hiding like a beaten dog after that mess in Hogsmeade, Rookwood is running in circles chasing rumors in the north, and Pettigrew hasn’t even bothered to report back since our last contact weeks ago. The rat has gone completely dark.”

Orion hummed softly, his sharp mind analyzing the intelligence.

Pettigrew hasn’t reported back, Orion deduced. Which means he either hasn’t located the wraith yet, or... he has found him, and they are actively keeping their location hidden even from the inner circle until the ritual can be prepared. Have they already relocated to the Riddle House in Little Hangleton? Or are they still lingering in the Albanian forests?

It was a crucial variable, but one he was about to decisively resolve.

”It must be frustrating,” Orion said, his tone dripping with soothing, calculated empathy. ”Carrying the weight of his return while the rest of his followers flounder in incompetence.”

Bellatrix stopped on the path, turning to face him. Her chest heaved with a mixture of fanatical grief and exhaustion. ”They do not understand him, Orion. They do not love him as I do. They seek him out of fear. I seek him because he is the only truth in this rotten world.”

”I understand your stress, Aunt Bella,” Orion replied gently. He reached into his heavy winter cloak, tapping into his mental Inventory grid.

Retrieve.

”That is why I have prepared a very specific gift for you this Christmas,” Orion continued, pulling his hand from his pocket. ”Consider it a retroactive compensation for the twelve holidays we missed while you were... away.”

He held out his palm. Resting on his black leather glove was the heavy, intricately engraved brass artifact: The Wayfinder Compass.

Bellatrix frowned, staring down at the brass instrument. ”A compass? Orion, I have no need for Muggle trinkets—”

”This is no mundane compass,” Orion interrupted softly.

He unlatched the silver clasp, letting the glass face catch the grey winter light. The needle spun lazily for a fraction of a second, completely unmoored from the magnetic north.

Orion looked down at the needle, his voice calm, clear, and ringing with absolute intent.

”Point me to Tom Marvolo Riddle Junior.”

The needle froze. Then, with a violent, sharp snap, it pivoted aggressively toward the northeast, locking onto a distant vector and pulsing with a faint, crimson luminescence.

Orion watched Bellatrix closely.

She did not flinch. She did not scream in blasphemous rage at hearing the mortal name of her master spoken so casually into the cold air.

Fascinating, Orion analyzed in the quiet space of his mind. Either the name means absolutely nothing to her because Voldemort never deigned to tell his followers his dirty Muggle heritage... or the familiar bond is so deeply rooted now that her mind simply refuses to register hostility toward me, even for addressing her god by his birth name.

Bellatrix tilted her head, her dark curls spilling over her shoulder as she looked at the glowing needle, then up at Orion’s indigo eyes.

”Whose name was that, Orion?” she asked, her voice hushed, genuinely curious rather than angry.

”That,” Orion revealed smoothly, maintaining an air of scholarly detachment, ”is the birth name of the Dark Lord. The name he held before he transcended it and took the mantle of Lord Voldemort.”

Bellatrix’s breath hitched in her throat. Her eyes widened, a sudden, electric shock of awe rippling through her frame. ”His... true name?”

”Indeed,” Orion continued seamlessly, weaving the pre-constructed narrative. ”My research in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts has been... extensive. Albus Dumbledore, as Tom Riddle’s former Transfiguration professor, is an arrogant old man who occasionally lets slip fragments of history when speaking with students he finds promising. Tom was brilliant. An exceptional student. Head Boy, in fact. A paragon of Slytherin excellence before he shed his mortal identity.”

He held the compass out, pressing it gently into her pale, trembling hands.

”This artifact does not point north, Aunt Bella. It aligns itself with the magical signature of the person named. It tracks the soul across any distance, piercing through standard concealment charms and physical barriers.”

Orion smiled, a cold, elegant expression.

”That needle is currently pointing directly to the exact location of the Dark Lord’s lingering spirit.”

Bellatrix stared down at the brass casing. Her hands shook so violently the needle trembled against the glass. Tears of pure, manic euphoria welled in her heavy-lidded eyes, spilling over her pale cheeks.

To her, this was not a gift. It was a holy relic. It was the resurrection of her entire existence, handed to her on a silver platter by the boy she had claimed as her own blood.

”You found him...” Bellatrix whispered, her voice cracking with religious fervor. She looked up at Orion, her face glowing with a terrifying, breathtaking adoration. ”You brought him back to me. My godson... my brilliant, perfect little star...”

She lunged forward, clutching his forearms with desperate, trembling strength.

”He will reward you beyond imagination for this, Orion!” Bellatrix gasped, a wild, breathless laugh tearing from her lips. ”When I bring him back... when he takes his throne... he will give you anything you desire! You will stand at his right hand! I will tell him everything you have done! He will honor your name above all others!”

Orion didn’t smile.

He didn’t pull away from her grip, but the atmosphere around them shifted instantly. His indigo eyes hardened, dropping into a cold, terrifying, abyssal stillness that cut straight through her manic ecstasy like a guillotine.

”I would not do that, Aunt Bella,” Orion stated.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried the heavy, suffocating weight of an absolute command.

Bellatrix froze, the breathless laughter dying on her lips as she looked into the eyes of a thirteen-year-old boy who suddenly felt older, colder, and far more dangerous than the winter around them.

”In fact,” Orion continued, his gaze pinning her in place, ”I want you to make sure that you never speak my name in front of the Dark Lord.”

He leaned in, his words dropping like lead into the frozen air.

”Ever.”