Magnolia Crescent Number 4 Banquet

Night fell, and the front garden of number 4, Magnolia Crescent, was brightly lit.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, a tall, stout man and a tall, thin woman, were constantly busy within their garden fence.

At the same time, they would loudly discuss the reason for their busyness...

"Pochis made the right decision."

Mr. Dursley craned his non-existent neck, "The Riddle Consortium, they invited me before, but I recommended Pochis."

"Yes."

Mrs. Dursley chimed in, her slender neck peeking left and right, observing their neighbors—though no one was in sight, she guessed they were all hiding behind their doors, eavesdropping.

"Now Pochis is successful, yes, he is successful."

Mr. Dursley's voice remained loud, "He wants to repay me, he wants to invite me to work with him."

"Will you go?" Mrs. Dursley asked loudly as she added charcoal to the grill.

"Of course not, I like it here, and I like my current job."

Mr. Dursley set up the dining table and said loudly, "But I must politely refuse him, because he is my friend, and because it is the Riddle Consortium."

"My heavens, the Riddle Consortium, a rising star of wealth in the City of London, and you refused it."

Mrs. Dursley came to her husband's side, cupped his neckless face, "Darling, you are too excellent."

Mr. Dursley proudly kissed his wife, then took a deep breath, preparing to brag further...

"I want pork sausages, Piers likes them too, but they're not on the table, why aren't there pork sausages..."

Their precious son, Dudley, roared in anger, even showing signs of flipping the table, which made the couple immediately abandon their boasting.

"I've prepared them, Dudley, I've prepared them."

Mrs. Dursley immediately left her husband, saying this as she walked into the dining room to get the prepared pork sausages.

At this point, a crisis was averted, and not long after, a silver Rolls-Royce slowly drove into Magnolia Crescent and stopped in front of the Dursley's house.

"Piers, why are you only just arriving?"

Dudley, who had been clamoring for pork sausages, yelled and rushed out of the yard gate.

"My father had a meeting, we came as soon as it ended."

Piers got out of the car but didn't rush into the familiar number 4, Magnolia Crescent. Instead, he led a purebred poodle out of the car.

"Is this the Jeffney you mentioned?"

Dudley roughly picked up the poodle and asked while playing with it carelessly.

Piers paid no mind to the poodle's pleas for help. In fact, he had no interest in owning a dog; it was his father's idea.

"It's her, Dudley. I'm hungry, I want pork sausages," the small Piers said, clutching his stomach.

"Everything is ready, come in, Piers, and my friend Pochis and his wife," Mr. Dursley came out and warmly greeted them with cheek kisses.

The group entered the small courtyard, and the barbecue banquet began.

The men chatted about work, the women about family matters, and the two children played with the dog. Everything seemed so happy until Mr. Pochis raised a question...

"I heard you have another child, Harry, I think that's his name, right?"

Pochis's words made Mrs. Dursley, who was chatting nearby, pause.

"Uh... yes, I mean... he might... probably..."

Mr. Dursley's gaze flickered to the cupboard inside the house. He nervously rubbed his hands, unsure how to answer for a moment.

"He's a rude child," Mrs. Dursley said. "Rachel can attest to that; she's met Harry."

"Yes," Mrs. Pochis corroborated without hesitation. "It's best not to let him out. Last time, on Dudley's birthday, he caused a huge disaster."

"He talked to snakes and made them bite me," Piers, eating pork sausages, shouted.

"If that's the case, then there's really no need for him to come out," Mr. Pochis said, which slightly eased the Dursleys' minds. However, the next turn of events caught them completely by surprise. "But for the long term, it would be better if I met him."

"Keen," Mr. Dursley asked in confusion, "what's the point of meeting him?"

"Vernon, you know, I'm on good terms with the boss of the consortium. He intends to cooperate with me more deeply, such as letting me enter the consortium's management, becoming part of its core family."

His words made Mr. Dursley's small eyes widen immensely—if this were true, the Pochis family would surely prosper.

"But my family has limited members, and you were the one who recommended me to the consortium."

Pochis looked at Dursley seriously. "Vernon, I owe you a lot."

"Keen, don't say that," Mr. Dursley replied humbly, his face flushing with excitement. He eagerly awaited Pochis's next words.

As expected, Pochis spoke again and did not disappoint him.

"I want to invite you into the consortium, and our children and future generations will all enter it."

Before Dursley could speak, Pochis stopped him and said earnestly, "The conglomerate is huge. We need more nephews involved if we're to control more wealth. And I heard from Piers that the child listens to Dudley..."

"Vernon, this is an advantage. We must fully utilize our resources."

Pochis's words moved Mr. Dursley. He looked back at his wife--

Mrs. Dursley, a typist by profession, didn't know how to make the decision. She merely gave Mr. Dursley a look that said, "It's all up to you."

"Call Harry out. He should meet Mr. Pochis and learn to respect him."

Mr. Dursley ordered, and Mrs. Dursley immediately sprang into action.

"We can share food with him," Pochis said, blinking. "Assistants must be trained from a young age."

Mr. Dursley nodded with a knowing smile. He had already begun to scheme in his mind, but he said firmly, "I won't leave Groning. You know how hard it was for me to get to this point."

"Then do even better. At the right opportunity, I'll propose the conglomerate acquire it. Someone will have to be in charge of Groning Company then, won't they?"

Pochis smiled and raised his wine glass. After a moment of surprise, Dursley, unable to hide his excitement, raised his glass, and they clinked.

"Ding..."

A crisp sound, the clinking of gold coins.

In an apartment two blocks away from Magnolia Crescent, Voldemort sat in a rocking chair, fiddling with the Yew Wand in his hand.

In front of him, on the central television of dozens of screens, a barbecue scene from the backyard of Number 4 Magnolia Crescent was playing, with the sound also being recorded.

"Dark Lord, is it necessary to be so cautious?" asked the Vampire Wizard Danylis.

"Of course. This child was..."

His voice abruptly cut off. Voldemort leaned forward sharply, his gaze fixed on the screen, where a frail boy had appeared.

His frame was much smaller than Dudley's, his face gaunt, his knees protruding, his hair jet black, and behind his broken round glasses, a pair of emerald green eyes.

And on the screen, though unclear due to the low resolution, was the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, which was undoubtedly there.

"Harry Potter... is he the Child of Destiny, or the Child of the Plane?"

Voldemort couldn't help but murmur in his heart.