"Let's move on to the Dark Numbers round, shall we?" Richard Whiteley waved toward Carol Voldemort. She lazily twirled her wand in response, summoning the cursed numbers board.

"Grumbledore, you're up first." Carol’s voice dripped with sarcasm as the telepathic link with Gary Potter lingered in the back of her mind.

"One large number and five small ones," Grumbledore replied, eyes gleaming behind his half-moon glasses.

Carol snapped her fingers, and six floating numbers appeared, whizzing over to the hexagonal board: 100, 7, 3, 4, 9, and 2.

"Now, the target number is...666. How... à propos," Richard quipped, his voice filled with dark amusement.

As the countdown clock ticked down, Snaype’s hands trembled as he scribbled feverishly. Grumbledore calmly stared at the numbers, his long fingers twirling his beard absentmindedly.

Far from the studio, Gary Potter tuned into his psychic connection. He could feel Carol's annoyance at his constant interference, but the Chosen One was already working out the solution before the countdown even started.

“I’ve got this,” Gary thought, smugly admiring his reflection in some sunglasses as his mind effortlessly calculated the cursed number.

The clock ran out, and Richard Whiteley flicked his wand once more. "Time’s up, gentlemen! Grumbledore, your solution?"

Grumbledore waved his hand with an air of superiority. "100 times 7, add 4, subtract 2. Simple."

Richard nodded approvingly. "Spot on. 666."

Snaype gritted his teeth. "Same method," he muttered bitterly, glaring daggers at Grumbledore.

Back in the pub, Gary glugged his Firewhisky, triumphantly. He leaned back, savoring the quiet victory, even if no one other than Voldemort knew.

Carol, feeling the lingering presence of Gary in her mind, rolled her eyes. "Not the vegan lasagne, Potter." But deep down, she knew she was wasting her energy.

"Well done, Grumbledore," Richard Whiteley declared before turning to Dictionary Corner for a chat. "And now, before we head to the adverts, let's see what’s cooking over in Dictionary Corner with our special guest, Professor Trelawney, who has some... fascinating insights for us today."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The camera panned to Dictionary Corner, where the famously disheveled Professor Sybill Trelawney was seated, adjusting her oversized, jewel-encrusted spectacles.

"Thank you, Richard," Trelawney said in her usual breathless tone, peering dramatically into the ball. "I have consulted the ancient spirits this morning, and they whispered to me about the word... 'destiny.' A very important word, wouldn't you say?"

Richard, unfazed by her eccentricities, raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, destiny is a crucial word. But I believe we’re here to discuss its definition, not to divine it from a crystal ball."

Trelawney ignored him, continuing to ramble. "You see, 'destiny' derives from the Old French word destinée, which, in turn, came from the Latin destinare, meaning 'to make firm or establish.' Firm! Yes, just like the bond between Gary Potter and Carol Voldemort, a fate no mere mortal can escape! They are entangled, as foretold in the prophecy I made last week in the Daily Prophet."

Carol Voldemort, sitting on the other side of the studio, glared across the room. "Please, Sybill, let’s not start with the Gary thing again. We’ve been over this. The prophecy doesn't even involve me, it’s always about Potter," she snapped, pulling a face as she heard Gary’s distant chuckle echo in her mind.

"Speaking of words," Richard Whiteley smoothly interrupted, attempting to steer the conversation back on track, "what else do you have for us today, Professor? Any thrilling linguistic predictions?"

Trelawney tilted her head dramatically. "Yes, Richard. The spirits revealed that today is an auspicious day for the word 'calamity.' It means a great disaster, much like the time I misread my own fortune and showed up at Hogwarts wearing a Muggle tracksuit to a formal faculty meeting."

Carol stifled a laugh while Richard pressed on. "Fascinating, Sybill, truly fascinating. And, uh, calamity is derived from the Latin word calamitas, which meant—"

"Misfortune!" Trelawney interjected, her wide eyes gleaming behind her enormous glasses. "Which, coincidentally, is what Gary Potter will encounter in the coming days, according to my crystal ball.

Richard blinked. "I believe we were discussing etymology, Professor."

"Oh yes, of course, destiny and calamity... two sides of the same coin, Richard. Much like myself and my crystal ball," Trelawney added, before knocking over the teacup that had been wobbling dangerously close to the edge of her table for the entire segment.

The tea spilled across the crystal ball, sending it rolling off the table and straight into a bowl of enchanted vegan hummus Carol had been dipping carrot sticks in between rounds. There was a brief flash of sparks as the ball hit the hummus, sending a puff of smoke into the air along with the smell of fresh falafel.

“No, that isn't a new recipe Potter,” Voldemort blurted loudly and to the amusement of the live audience.

"Right, well, on that note," Richard said, barely concealing a grin as the studio filled with the faint scent of cooked chickpeas. "We'll be right back after these messages. Stay tuned for more Countdown, where we’ll see if Grumbledore can keep his winning streak…”

The camera zoomed out as Trelawney wiped down her soggy crystal ball, muttering, "I foresaw this... I knew the hummus would betray me..."