The atmosphere in the basement was quite somber.
In stark contrast, the living room of number twelve, Privet Drive, was vibrant with a chaotic yet lively symphony.
Tom Riddle, currently in an utterly uncharacteristic position for someone who was a Dark Lord eight months ago (though he is now just an eight-year-old boy), lay sprawled out on the carpet, his legs propped on a lemon pie and Kate Cat (cheetah)'s head, his whole body spread out like a star, plastered firmly against the sofa—
The boy propped himself up on his elbows, clutching the latest game controller that William Richard had somehow procured, fully focused on the television screen.
Beside him, Kabuda was also holding a controller—though it was somewhat too complex for a Niffler with three-pronged paws; it lay over the controller entirely, but despite the awkward posture, it had just managed to reduce its character's health by a mere layer—
"Ah, damn it!"
Upon seeing the screen's mysterious red-haired male character deliver a Shoryuken that knocked out his opponent, an observing Sirius was the first to vocalize an indignant roar, yet what he got in response was the silent mockery of a certain Niffler.
Yes, this Niffler was the strongest gamer in the house.
Although a certain unnamed William Richard never admitted to this fact because he had often trounced Kabuda in games.
But that probably didn't count, because every time before the battle, William would utter a mysterious spell like, "If you win, homework will double."
"...I lost."
Only when the big "K.O." disappeared from the screen did Tom finally snap back to reality, his cheeks flushed from the tension. He dejectedly put down the controller and silently hung his head down.
"It's okay, that was already impressive—we all couldn't beat it."
Harry sighed, patting the boy's shoulder, planning to forget the fact that Tom had just defeated him only five minutes ago—it was precisely because Tom had consecutively beaten Harry and Sirius that he earned the right to challenge Kabuda.
"I can see that."
Tom nodded at Harry, speaking earnestly.
"..."
Harry clutched his hurt feelings and lay back on the sofa, secretly resolving to hone his skills. By the time Ron came over before summer vacation ended, he'd regain his confidence—after all, Ron clearly couldn't access video games, and a champion must thoroughly crush the weak!!
"My turn—"
William appeared in the living room, unnoticed. He took the controller from the somewhat dazed Tom and looked at Kabuda—the Niffler's pupils trembled frantically, clearly realizing that William was about to use a "mysterious spell"—and right then, Lupin's voice rang out from the kitchen.
"Dinner's ready. Remember to wash your hands."
"...That sounds so familiar."
...
Fortunately, Lupin hadn't devised any groundbreaking recipes this time, and during such occasions, his culinary skills were quite excellent.
Thus, the atmosphere at the dining table was exceptionally harmonious; Tom was drastically different from his earlier cautious demeanor—he was even a bit rowdy, chattering noisily, even louder than the Diricawl that had just emerged from Harry's hair.
Harry blinked in bewilderment, clearly having trouble reconciling that young Voldemort would be like this; he always thought the guy had been bitter and brooding from childhood.
"...By the way, I forgot to mention something to you."
As dinner was winding down, desserts—several slices of honey cake—were brought to the table. Dumbledore was evidently pleased with the overwhelming amount of sugar on the cakes, and he looked up at William as if suddenly remembering something, "Your appointment letter has arrived—"
"Appointment letter?"
Sirius instinctively repeated, blinking in confusion, "What do you mean?"
"You're really lacking in culture—"
William sighed, not bothering to explain specifically for this man, and instead looked at Dumbledore. "So, what is it? Defense Against the Dark Arts? Or Potions? To be honest, I prefer the first one, as for Remus..." William glanced at Lupin who just lifted his head, "I think Hogwarts' kitchen might still need a head chef—"
"Hey!"
Lupin shouted in mock annoyance.
"None of them, stop guessing, the current professors are all doing quite well; I have no intention of dismissing any of them."
Dumbledore shook his head, dismissing William's guesses, and reassuringly patted Lupin's shoulder.
"...Then what is it? You can't possibly want me to guard the Forbidden Forest... though that wouldn't be too bad?"
William stroked his chin, thinking that if he were in charge of the Forbidden Forest—he could earn Hogwarts two years of tuition in just three months, turning it into a magical creatures' wildlife park sounded quite profitable—he wouldn't fear any dangerous endeavor.
"Hagrid is doing quite well—I applied for a new position for you, specifically, a new subject, William."
"What is it, Professor Dumbledore?"
Harry instinctively asked, thinking that William was leaving Hogwarts. During the last days of the term, he'd been betting with Ron and Neville whether his senior would work for the Ministry of Magic, as although he hadn't taken twelve subjects, he scored Outstanding in every exam he took—
Ron even speculated wildly, thinking that in another two months, Fudge might be ousted by William.
Ron had even prepared some Golden Galleons for the Prophet Daily's Minister of Magic prediction, intending to make some unexpected profit.
But Harry hoped his senior would stay at Hogwarts—now, it seemed his wish was coming true?
"Dueling—the full name is, the Practical Application of Wizard Magic Teaching—"
Dumbledore didn't keep them in suspense and revealed the answer.
"So basically expanding my club?"
William nodded, somewhat disappointed at not getting the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, but dueling...wait, why was he so obsessed with this class anyway?
"It's not that simple, William, teaching and running a club are entirely different, you'll need to prepare—"
"I know, I know."
William waved his hand—he had prepared the lessons a hundred and three years ago, "Always be prepared!"
Seeing this, Dumbledore didn't say much more, "That's good, the professors will all welcome you—"
...
"No, I don't welcome him!!"
A few days later, in the Hogwarts Headmaster's Office, a Potions Class professor who thought he had completely rid himself of a certain scourge was finally overwhelmed upon hearing Dumbledore's disillusioning announcement and let out a poignant cry of despair.