Lucius cursed under his breath as he scrambled up from the pile of books. He looked absolutely miserable.
One side of his cheek was swollen high, the result of a kick from Fred's. His usually impeccably groomed platinum-blonde hair was an absolute mess, and Mr. Weasley had even yanked out a bald patch. His luxurious robes were covered in dust, so wrinkled and crumpled they looked like clothes worn by a street vagrant.
His eyes flashed with a vicious light as he glared at the Weasley family.
"You two. Very well. I will remember this."
That combo the twin brothers had just unleashed right in his face had knocked out at least five of his teeth. As a result, air kept whistling through the gaps when he spoke, making him sound not only entirely unthreatening but actually quite comical.
He angrily shoved the textbook belonging to Ginny back into her cauldron.
"Little girl, take your book! It's the best your father can give you!"
He then beckoned to Draco and shoved his way out through the crowd of onlookers gathered at the shop door.
Except, standing right in his path was a certain taijutsu expert—second only to Hagrid.
Kyle didn't budge an inch, whereas Lucius staggered backward a few steps, nearly falling flat on his rear. Fury surged within him, but the moment he clearly saw Kyle's face, he instantly cowed.
The child of the Dumbledore family was someone he absolutely could not afford to provoke.
"You shouldn't have bothered with him, Arthur," Hagrid said, reaching out to smooth Mr. Weasley's robes, nearly lifting him off the ground in the process.
Mrs. Weasley, meanwhile, was mad with rage, loudly scolding George and Fred. Earlier, she had been a sobbing, touched mess over her two sons finally knowing how to earn money to subsidize the household expenses. Now, she wanted nothing more than to tear these two brats apart with her bare hands.
"Brawling in public! What would Gilderoy Lockhart think!" Mrs. Weasley's roar echoed down the entirety of Diagon Alley.
"He was actually quite happy," Ron muttered under his breath. "He asked that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he could include the fight in the report. He said it would cause a sensation."
"Shut your mouth, Ronald!" Mrs. Weasley glared, and Ron instantly fell as silent as a mouse.
Generally speaking, when your mom calls you by your full name, it means you're in big trouble.
By the time they returned to the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, everyone had calmed down significantly. Harry and the Weasley family were going to use Floo Powder to return to The Burrow. Hermione and her parents, on the other hand, were driving back to the Muggle neighborhood where they lived.
Kyle had also driven himself there, and would be driving back.
"Goodbye, Hermione, Hannah. See you when school starts."
Kyle waved at the two girls, smoothly started his sports car, and drove off, leaving a trail of dust.
When Kyle arrived home, the very first thing he heard Dumbledore say was—
"We need to talk."
Don't be like that, Old Man Dumbledore. It's not like you're the Talk Hero. Back in his past life, when he was following the American TV show The Flash, Kyle had almost developed PTSD from that exact phrase.
"Old man, I'm very tired right now." When Kyle said this, there wasn't the slightest hint of fatigue on his face. "I don't want to talk about anything, nor do I need psychological counseling."
Dumbledore pushed the half-moon spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "Actually, I simply wanted to tell you not to carry too much of a psychological burden."
Kyle's footsteps, as he was slipping away toward his room, suddenly came to a halt. He thought back to the past between Dumbledore and Grindelwald. To be able to attract his family's evil-doing big bad, Old Man Gellert, Dumbledore must have definitely been no saint in his youth either.
"But seeing how you are now, it seems you don't need my guidance."
Kyle rubbed his nose. "I feel like it's pretty much the same as killing two NPCs while playing a video game."
"What is an NPC?" Dumbledore asked curiously.
Regarding the strange terms that frequently popped out of his son's mouth, Dumbledore had previously spent a lot of effort researching them, but hadn't found a single thing.
"Nothing."
Kyle didn't plan on explaining it. In case Dumbledore didn't understand what a computer was, or what a computer game was, he'd have to explain several more terms.
"Very well." Since Kyle wouldn't say, Dumbledore didn't intend to press the matter.
"I know that on the path you walk in the future, blood and slaughter will be inevitable." Dumbledore reached out and gently stroked Kyle's blonde hair, a touch of sorrow in his tone. "But you must promise me one thing. Do not slaughter the innocent and become someone like Voldemort, alright?"
"Relax, old man." Kyle patted Dumbledore's hand, signaling him not to worry.
He wouldn't become the next Voldemort.
Of course, if it was a "Voldemort" in PUBG, that would be a different story.
[Translator's Note: In Chinese gaming slang, a "Voldemort" refers to a player who heavily camps by hiding prone in the grass in battle royale games like PlayerUnknown's Battlegrounds (PUBG).]
Although both he and Voldemort could be said to have started with an orphan background, he was very lucky. He now had a family and friends. In the future, he would have a wife—maybe even more than one.
All the beautiful human emotions that Voldemort had never possessed, Kyle had them all. No matter how you looked at it, Kyle wouldn't sink to Voldemort's level.
Furthermore, Kyle hadn't been betrayed by his own clan, nor did he have a dearly beloved younger brother who died at the hands of his old rival's younger brother. Likewise, he hadn't experienced having Konan taken hostage, followed by his best friend being forced to die right before his eyes. Also, his best friend hadn't killed the love of his life right in front of him.
Things like making the wizarding world "know pain"—Kyle only said that stuff purely for fun.
"So, old man, if there's nothing else, I'll be heading back to my room?"
He had been extremely busy these past few days and hadn't been able to properly pet the Thunderbird, Lan, to satisfy his craving. As a veteran pooper-scooper, he couldn't wait to get back to his room and take a deep whiff of the Thunderbird chick.
Lan had already grown a short layer of feathers, making him as fluffy as an oversized Thunderbird plushie. Petting a Thunderbird chick like this felt significantly better than petting cats, dogs, Call ducks, or anything else.
"Go on." Dumbledore waved his hand, gesturing for him to run along and play.
The Gaunt Shack.
For over a month, Snape hadn't taken a single step away from this place. He was locked in a fierce struggle against the defensive magic Voldemort had left behind to protect the Resurrection Stone ring.
Given Voldemort's magical prowess, the defensive magic he left behind was naturally incredibly difficult to break. Even Dumbledore would have had to expend considerable effort. However, it was currently the summer holidays at Hogwarts. Without having to work, the one thing Snape wasn't short on was time.
Finally, right in front of him lay the very last magical trap. If he just had a few more minutes, he could break it.
A moment later, accompanied by a crisp sound akin to shattering glass, a look of profound ecstasy surfaced on Snape's face. He rushed into the room in sheer excitement, dropping to his knees and rummaging through a pile of bricks and rubble. He didn't even notice when his fingers were cut by the rough, sharp gravel, letting dark red blood well out.
Finally, beneath a pile of rubble covered by weeds, he found an antique ring set with an angular black stone.
Upon seeing it, Snape—who usually wore a completely stoic expression—could no longer maintain his Occlumency. A look of wild, unbridled joy broke across his face.
The Resurrection Stone on the surface of the ring emitted a dark, ghostly gleam. That gleam seemed to possess a soul-captivating power; Snape's mind became completely immersed in it.
With a crazed expression, Snape reached out his hand toward the ring. He wanted to pick it up and slip it straight onto his own finger.
But just as his finger was about to touch the ring, blaring warning bells going off wildly in his mind snapped him back to reality. Voldemort had laid down so many perilous magical traps inside the Gaunt Shack; it made no sense for the Resurrection Stone ring itself not to have any.
Snape yanked his hand back as if he had been electrocuted.
He drew his wand.
"Sectumsempra."
A dark light flashed, and the ring was blasted away. Snape hurriedly took a few steps forward to inspect the ring's condition.
But let alone separating the Resurrection Stone from the ring's base, the Sectumsempra curse—powerful enough to slice through iron like mud—failed to leave even a single scratch on the ring.
Snape took out a magic-isolating box from his robes and, without directly touching the ring, carefully maneuvered the Resurrection Stone ring inside it.
With a slight pop, Snape departed the Gaunt Shack.
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