Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

Rosier casually stowed her wand.

The man, trembling, turned to see his fallen companions. His legs gave out, and a dark stain spread across his trousers as he collapsed to the floor.

Wentworth, who had already been sprawled on the ground, barely managed to prop himself up on his hands, avoiding a complete fall.

Even though these people had seemingly come to rescue him, their adept use of the Unforgivable Curses quickly turned his initial excitement into sheer terror.

If not for the residual memories in his body reminding him that it was 1990—Harry Potter wouldn't enroll at Hogwarts until next year, and Voldemort wouldn't return for another year—Wentworth might have genuinely believed that these people were actual Death Eaters.

After all, even among the Death Eaters, there were plenty of impostors. But these people… their spellwork was alarmingly precise and fluid.

Rosier, holding her nose delicately, walked up to the trembling man and asked in a gentle tone, "Just now, which hand did you use to strike this child? Be good, tell me—be honest."

The man, shivering, raised his left hand.

Rosier smiled and raised her wand, gently tapping his left hand. Instantly, the man's hand began to fester and decay at an alarming speed. His anguished screams filled the room, and in no time, all that remained of his hand was bare bone.

Seeing his skeletal hand, the man rolled his eyes and fainted.

Rosier frowned at the sight and turned to one of the people nearby. "Wake him up, then question him about his background. Take him to another room—there's a child here."

Wentworth watched in stunned silence as an elderly man with greying hair dragged the unconscious man toward the kitchen. Moments later, a chilling voice came from the kitchen:

"Crucio!"

This was followed by the man's blood-curdling screams.

"Gulp." Wentworth swallowed hard as Rosier approached him. He quickly stood and called out respectfully, "Grandma Rosier!"

Rosier's face lit up with surprise and a hint of guilt as she said, "Wentworth, thank goodness you're alright!"

Someone nearby exclaimed in awe, "Incredible! To think that he, bearing the bloodline of the master's family, could recover so quickly after being hit with the Cruciatus Curse! It's simply astonishing!"

Rosier caressed Wentworth's cheek with pride. "To endure the Cruciatus Curse and recover so swiftly—it shows you possess an indomitable will! You've done your name proud, my child!"

Wentworth could only muster an awkward smile. He certainly couldn't tell these people—who wielded Unforgivable Curses as casually as they breathed—that this body had changed occupants entirely.

At that moment, the elderly man returned from the kitchen. Rosier turned to him and asked, "Abernathy, did you learn anything?"

Abernathy shook his head and replied impassively, "No, unfortunately. He died too quickly. But there was something… familiar about his scent."

Rosier nodded thoughtfully. Then, noticing Wentworth's confused and slightly disheveled state, she stepped forward and began adjusting his clothes. "Wentworth," she asked gently, "how much do you know about the wizarding world? What has Libby told you?"

Straightening his posture, the former Harry Potter superfan confidently replied, "I've heard many stories about the wizarding world! Libby told me a lot! But… Libby never told me my surname."

This had been a question that plagued the original Wentworth. He'd pestered Libby, the family's house-elf, many times, but Libby would rather bash her head against the wall than answer.

Rosier finished tidying Wentworth's clothes and studied him with a mixture of pride and sorrow. His golden hair gleamed, and his lithe frame seemed to radiate an inner light.

After a long pause, Rosier finally said, "Wentworth, remember this: no matter what happens, never lose your grace. Because your name is—Wentworth Grindelwald!"

"…Wentworth Grindelwald?" he muttered, the surname ringing faintly familiar. But after the night's emotional upheaval, he couldn't immediately recall where he'd heard it before. He assumed it was simply the name of another pure-blood family.

"Now that you know your surname," Rosier continued, her gaze piercing, "you must understand your heritage."

Looking up, Wentworth saw the intense expressions of Rosier and the others. It was as if the very name "Grindelwald" carried an almost magical power.

A wave of panic swept through him. If they discovered he was an imposter, merely inhabiting this body while the real Wentworth Grindelwald's soul had vanished, his fate would be worse than death.

This was a magical world, after all. Wentworth had no doubt these black magic practitioners, with decades of experience, were fully capable of performing Legilimency.

The only reason they hadn't done so yet was likely due to this body's identity and some unknown connection between them.

Straightening his back once more, Wentworth feigned pride and replied, "Of course! I am Wentworth Grindelwald, a proud member of the Grindelwald family!"

Rosier's expression softened with approval as she nodded. "Indeed. Your grandfather was the master's own brother. As the only surviving Grindelwald besides the master himself, you must carry yourself with that pride!"

Her gaze darkened suddenly, and she sighed deeply. "Your willpower and pride do justice to the Grindelwald name. But… if only you weren't a Squib."

"What?!"

Wentworth Grindelwald's eyes widened in disbelief.

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