They had survived against all odds, yet neither Wentworth nor Cassandra seemed particularly shaken or elated by their narrow escape. Instead, the first words Cassandra spoke to Wentworth were:
"Wentworth, you defeated the Second Dark Lord!"
But Wentworth merely shook his head, dismissing the notion.
"No, that wasn't truly Voldemort's power. At best, I only defeated one of his puppets. Of course, I will defeat him—eventually."
He paused, then looked at Cassandra with a hint of guilt and added:
"Cassandra, if it weren't for me, you wouldn't have—"
Before he could finish, Cassandra gently placed a finger against his lips, silencing him.
She smiled, her expression softening as if she had something to say, but before she could speak, they were interrupted.
Harry suddenly rushed over, standing between Wentworth and Cassandra, his face alight with excitement.
"Wentworth, what just happened? Why did Quirrell—when I touched him, he just—"
Before Harry could finish, Hermione pulled him back, her face flushed red.
"Harry, you can ask Wentworth about that later. Right now, everyone needs to rest!"
Cassandra chuckled, stepping back with a knowing smile.
"I'm going to check on Kirk and Cedric."
With that, she turned and dashed away, her steps light and graceful.
Wentworth, however, rolled his eyes at Harry and said dryly:
"How are you feeling, Harry? Does it feel good to be the Chosen One—proud and exhilarated, perhaps?"
Harry's excitement faded. His smile stiffened into something more solemn, and he let out a quiet sigh.
"Not at all," he admitted. "If anything, I feel a little lost. Because I know that this wasn't my own strength. And if I ever face Voldemort again… I'm afraid I won't stand a chance."
Wentworth studied Harry for a moment, surprised by his self-awareness. He had expected Harry to bask in the glory of victory, but instead, he was grappling with doubt.
After a brief pause, Wentworth finally spoke:
"Harry, if you had asked someone else that question, they might have told you, 'It's because of love.' But my answer is different—this is simply the power of magic."
He continued, his voice measured:
"Your mother used her life as a price to cast an ancient protection spell, shielding you from Voldemort's harm. On top of that, Quirrell had consumed unicorn blood, which placed him under an eternal curse. That's why things unfolded the way they did."
Wentworth smirked slightly before adding:
"Put simply, your mother sacrificed herself to ensure your safety. And you just happened to face an opponent who was already carrying a heavy debuff. Understand?"
Harry's eyes widened as understanding dawned. It wasn't some hidden talent or divine destiny that had saved him—it was his mother's sacrifice. She had paid the price long before he even realized there was a battle to be fought.
His expression grew somber.
Wentworth, however, had no interest in delving into Harry's emotional turmoil. He knew well enough that Harry was resilient—after all, despite everything he would go through in the years to come, the man would still end up happily married with children. If it were anyone else, they'd probably have crumbled under the pressure.
With a glance at Hermione, Wentworth signaled her with his eyes before turning away, heading towards Cedric and Kirk. Hermione, understanding his unspoken request, stayed behind with Harry.
But just as Wentworth passed Hermione, she spoke in a quiet voice:
"Don't worry, Wentworth. About what happened tonight—we won't say a word about the things that shouldn't be spoken."
Wentworth halted for a brief moment before nodding. Then, without another word, he strode away.
He knew what Hermione was referring to—his identity.
At this point, though, he wasn't particularly concerned about keeping it a secret anymore. But the fact that Hermione had thought about it, and had even reassured him in such a subtle way, spoke volumes. It was no wonder she would one day become Minister for Magic.
As Wentworth approached Cedric and Kirk, he saw that Kirk had managed to sit up, though his face was pale and his body weak from magical exhaustion.
Without hesitation, Wentworth turned to Cedric and Cassandra and instructed:
"You two—take Kirk back to Hogwarts. Cassandra, take him straight to Professor Snape. Cedric, report everything that happened here to Headmaster Dumbledore."
Cedric hesitated for a moment before asking:
"What about you, Wentworth?"
Wentworth blinked, then grinned.
"I'll stay behind, of course. Someone has to secure the scene."
Cedric and Cassandra exchanged a glance. They knew Wentworth well enough to understand that he had his own plans. So, without further questions, they did as they were told.
With Cedric supporting Kirk, and Cassandra motioning for Hermione and Harry to follow, the group left the Forbidden Forest, leaving Wentworth alone in the clearing.
He watched their silhouettes disappear into the darkness. Then, after a moment of silence, he spoke.
"How long do you plan to stand there watching, Headmaster Dumbledore?"
The words had barely left his lips when, as if on cue, Albus Dumbledore materialized before him. The old wizard stepped forward, his expression one of quiet regret as he gazed at Quirrell's lifeless body.
Wentworth wasn't the least bit surprised by Dumbledore's presence.
After all, their entire operation had been anything but discreet. Wentworth had even lingered in front of Hogwarts for an extended period to ensure Dumbledore noticed them. And the magical clash between his fire serpent and Quirrell's water serpent had illuminated half the Forbidden Forest—it would have been impossible to miss.
Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of their time. There was no way he hadn't sensed the disturbance.
With a sigh, Wentworth looked at the headmaster and said, his tone tinged with exasperation:
"Professor Dumbledore, do you have that much faith in me? Or do you simply believe in Harry Potter's so-called destiny—that he would, of course, defeat Voldemort effortlessly?"
Dumbledore, however, responded unhurriedly:
"As it turns out, you all did quite well, didn't you? Quirrell… He was once my student. I find it difficult to act against him."
Wentworth scoffed, unimpressed.
"Just like you did with Tom Riddle?"
A heavy silence fell over the clearing.
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