Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

While Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore were discussing a letter from Thomas Vole, the Head of the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic, in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, Wentworth was drenched in sweat in the Room of Requirement.

At that moment, Wentworth no longer carried his usual grace. As he looked up at the ceiling of the Room of Requirement, where a life-like mannequin hung suspended upside down, a satisfied smile spread across his face.

The following afternoon, Wentworth and a group of first-year Hufflepuff students made their way excitedly to the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. That day's lesson was a joint flying class with the Slytherins.

"I heard that every year, some first-year student falls off their broomstick. Around this time, there's always someone in every house breaking an arm or a leg!"

"Don't worry. I heard Madam Pomfrey is always waiting at the Quidditch pitch in advance. If anyone falls off, she'll treat them on the spot!"

"Thanks for that reassurance. Now I'm even more nervous!"

As the Hufflepuff first-years chatted and laughed their way toward the pitch, the student leading the group suddenly slowed their pace. Seeing this, Wentworth looked ahead and noticed a group of figures in dark green robes approaching from another direction.

The most eye-catching among them was Cassandra, surrounded by her fellow Slytherins like a queen.

If Wentworth had already become something of a lucky charm for the Hufflepuffs, then Cassandra was undoubtedly the de facto leader of the Slytherin first-years.

This status wasn't because of Cassandra's family background this time, but due to her undeniable skill demonstrated in the duel the day before. Her prowess had solidified her reputation as the top first-year in Slytherin.

Both groups stopped simultaneously, their gazes meeting with unmistakable hostility.

"Cassandra, it's great to see you're all right! I thought you'd need a few days to recover," Wentworth said, stepping forward to greet her.

Though Cassandra's face was still pale, she appeared in good spirits. As Wentworth approached, some of the Slytherin first-years tried to block him, but Cassandra waved them off and stepped forward herself.

"Disappointed to see me here, are you?" she said with a mocking smile.

"Of course not! You know I didn't mean it that way," Wentworth replied, waving his hands apologetically.

Cassandra raised her chin proudly. "If you'd overexerted your magic, you'd probably be stuck in the hospital wing for days. But don't forget—our Head of House is Professor Snape, Hogwarts' renowned Potions Master! All it took was one potion to get me back on my feet."

Wentworth nodded with a grin. "Oh, I know! But wasn't it Professor Sprout who provided the herbs for that potion?"

At this, Cassandra blushed faintly, lowering her head briefly in embarrassment. But she quickly recollected herself, raising her head defiantly.

"Wentworth, do you remember what you promised me?"

"Of course! You name the time and place, and I'll be there. I'd never go back on my word," Wentworth said with confidence.

"Good. Tonight then!" Cassandra declared. "We'll settle this tonight. I'll let you know the place later. Be ready!"

"Tonight? Are you sure? You just recovered—are you sure you're up for it?" Wentworth asked, startled by her urgency.

"I'm perfectly fine! Don't even think of backing out. Bring that useless stick of yours!" Cassandra retorted, pointing at the edge of Wentworth's robe, where the tip of his wand peeked out.

Seeing there was no room for negotiation, Wentworth shrugged and agreed. "Fine, tonight it is! If you don't mind, then neither do I."

The two turned to rejoin their respective groups, only to be startled by the sight behind them. Their classmates had gathered closely, listening intently to their conversation.

Embarrassed, the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins quickly scattered, heading toward the Quidditch pitch in small groups. However, fragments of their whispered debates still drifted in the air.

"Who do you think is stronger?"

"Obviously Wentworth! Didn't you hear him worrying about Cassandra's recovery?"

"Nonsense! Cassandra's clearly stronger. Didn't you hear her mock Wentworth just now?"

"Wentworth's the best!"

"No, Cassandra's the best!"

"Are you Hufflepuffs looking for a fight?"

"Bring it on! Don't forget we beat you Slytherins last night!"

As the two houses bickered their way to the Quidditch pitch, Wentworth and Cassandra stood frozen in place, momentarily stunned.

"Wentworth... you'd better be ready tonight!" Cassandra said, her pale face now flushed as she stomped her foot and stormed off toward the pitch.

Wentworth sighed and followed her from a distance, a wry smile on his face.

By the time he reached the pitch, Madam Hooch was already waiting. In front of her, a neat row of broomsticks lay on the grass.

Wentworth hurriedly rejoined the Hufflepuff group. At his feet lay one of the broomsticks.

But as Wentworth looked closer, his heart sank.

The broom was clearly ancient—its bristles uneven and thinning, its handle bearing visible cracks.

Wentworth suddenly realized that the stories about first-years falling off their brooms during flying lessons might not be just rumors after all.

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