"That's just awful!"
Sirius slapped his thigh in frustration, "Does that guy have any guts at all? If it were me or your dad, we would have punched Vernon right in the stomach by now—" The man swung his fist, clearly dissatisfied that he couldn't find a reasonable excuse to give Vernon a good beating.
"..."
Harry remained silent, unsure of what to say. He glanced at Sirius's fist and inexplicably felt a twinge in his nose.
At that moment, Lupin's voice came from the staircase, "Sirius! If you have nothing better to do, help us retrieve the spoon from that Niffler's stomach—or go calm those two Fire Dragons down, I think I heard them fighting again?"
Before he finished speaking, sharp but obviously suppressed dragon roars and claw-scratching sounds came from the direction of a bedroom beside the living room, accompanied by a low thudding sound.
That's where Norbert and Kakarong usually stay, the hotter the weather, the more energetic those two guys get. Without William to keep them in line, they frequently fight over a shiny stone.
"Oh dear, looks like our Salamander friends are restless again."
Sirius muttered, yet remained motionless, even snugging into the sofa more comfortably. Ashley displeasedly swiped his leg with her tail, seemingly annoyed at him being too cramped, but the man instead smugly cuddled Kate Cat's furry head closer to his chest.
Soon, Lupin appeared holding Kabuda, which had finally given up on the spoon in favor of trying to paw at the few Golden Galleons in his pocket. He stuffed the still-struggling Niffler into Harry's arms, "Harry, keep an eye on it for ten minutes, I need to handle those two fire-spitting ancestors and also check the pies in the oven – as for someone..."
He shot a glance at a certain large canine on the sofa, "Remember to clean up the fur on the carpet!"
"At your service, Master Lupin—"
Sirius deliberately drawled out his reply, finally sitting up a bit lazily as he stretched, causing the three big cats to let out disturbed whirring sounds.
Harry grabbed onto the excited Kabuda busy trying to find any shiny objects on him, watching Lupin roll up his sleeves as he walked into the nearby bedroom, hearing the faint dragon roars and nagging coming from inside, feeling that life should be like this—noisy and chaotic, rather than being locked in a cupboard by the Dursleys.
At dinner time, the basement door finally "clicked" and opened, and William walked out from inside.
He looked somewhat weary, black hair a bit disheveled, the hem of his robe dusted with some unidentifiable strange colored powders, a hint of bewilderment on his face.
"Senior? Dinner's ready."
Harry softly called, simultaneously grabbing Kabuda, who was attempting to jump onto the table to steal William's utensils.
At his words, William first blinked, then seemed to return to reality from another world, nodding before sitting down at the dining table, Kabuda immediately abandoned Harry and darted onto William, skillfully burrowing into his pocket—
Hence, no one knows where it will "refresh" next.
On the dining table, the aroma of toasted bread, stewed meat, and... a suspicious burnt smell lingered.
Lupin was bringing over a large plate of pie—the edges of the crust noticeably burnt.
"Uh, Remus?" Sirius cautiously poked the pie with his fork, "This... very chewy section, is there a special little touch in it?"
Lupin gave him a "come hither" glare, "Some parts got overcooked... eat it if you like, if not then buzz off..."
"Alright alright! I'm eating!"
Sirius surrendered raising his hand, resignedly sliced off a large piece and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing indistinctly while putting on a brave face.
William, on the other hand, continued eating without expression, even nodding, "Tastes alright, Remus, maybe... a bit sweeter would be better, thanks." His words seemed to carry magic, instantly dispelling the worry lines from Lupin's brow.
Because William was usually the most critical among them.
Later, halfway through dinner, William wiped his mouth with a napkin, preparing to get up and leave, but then remembered something, "By the way, in the coming days, uh, Professor Dumbledore will be bringing a... little boy to stay here for a few days."
"Professor Dumbledore?"
Lupin paused his actions, somewhat bewilderedly looking up at William, "What kind of boy? Do we need to prepare anything for him? Should I tidy up a guest room?"
"So..."
Sirius seemed to latch onto a different detail, "Wait, why would Dumbledore bring a little boy? His grandson? Wouldn't be his own, right? Who did he have a twilight romance with?"
"Don't worry, Remus."
William waved his hand, directly ignoring Sirius's question, "Just staying a few days, no need for much fuss, the little boy... well, nothing special, he's from a distant relative of mine, a wizard, but not old enough to attend school yet."
He spoke flatly, as if discussing a trivial matter.
But Harry blinked his eyes, he was one of the only two people at the table aware of the boy's true identity.
The fact that Voldemort had been transformed into an eight-year-old boy was certainly something that couldn't be publicly announced, so the Ministry of Magic's official statement was that the "Dark Lord" Voldemort had been completely vanquished, no trace of him left.
Additionally, they helped restore William's somewhat tarnished reputation that had suffered due to the trap for Voldemort.
Though the person himself isn't too concerned about this, Fudge repeatedly stated in public settings that Mr. William Richard was a person he deeply respected, even worthy of being on the same level as Professor Dumbledore.
And, there was no worry about anyone saying otherwise, as the Prophet Daily, Ministry of Magic, and the newly developing Magic TV Station, all mouthpieces were in William's hands.
Apart from The Quibbler, virtually all media confirmed the Ministry of Magic's statement—
Of course, no matter how much The Quibbler sings a different tune, it ultimately doesn't matter, since hardly anyone would believe that publication that should fall under the comedy category of magazines; it even has elaborate reasoning that Fudge was a victim of Voldemort's possession, so what could be more outrageous than that?
Finally, the next day, after Lupin, who somehow developed an obsession, checked the guest room for the thirteenth time, an old-fashioned yet sporting an unfittingly bright blue coat Ford Anglia car steadily parked in front of No. 12 Privet Drive.
The white-bearded old man clad in Muggle casual wear stepped out of the driver's door, his age made one doubt that his driving license might have expired a long time ago.