At the sound of Wentworth's furious shout, Quirrell froze in shock.
At Hogwarts, Wentworth had always been seen as refined and composed—an exceptional student who never sought trouble and rarely broke school rules (even when he did, he was never caught).
Today was the first time Quirrell had seen this commanding side of him.
Quirrell had assumed that simply revealing Wentworth's last name would be enough to startle him. Yet, as it turned out, Wentworth seemed entirely unfazed.
And then, what Wentworth said next made Quirrell realize that things might not go as he had planned:
"Quirrell, turn around and let Tom Riddle speak to me. You—you're not worthy!"
Quirrell desperately wanted to ask how Wentworth had known that Voldemort was possessing him, but before he could, a chilling voice suddenly echoed in the air:
"As expected of the leader of the Alliance. It seems I've underestimated you, Wentworth Grindelwald."
At Voldemort's command, Quirrell slowly turned.
As he moved, Voldemort's grotesque face gradually emerged into view, sending a chill through the group.
And at that very moment, Harry's scar erupted in searing pain.
He let out a sharp cry, clutching his forehead. Hermione, alarmed, hurriedly supported him as he wavered on his feet.
Voldemort's gaze first fell upon Harry, his expression unreadable, before slowly shifting to Wentworth.
This was the first time Harry had ever seen Voldemort in person.
For years, he had imagined this moment in his dreams—dreams filled with the burning desire for vengeance. Ever since learning the truth about his parents' deaths, he had pictured himself standing before Voldemort, ready to avenge them.
But now that he was truly facing the Dark Lord, an overwhelming wave of fear surged through him.
Voldemort's raspy voice broke the silence:
"I am Tom Riddle, but I much prefer to be called Lord Voldemort! Wentworth Grindelwald, you have indeed brought Harry Potter to me. You've made a wise decision."
Hearing this, Hermione gasped, her hands trembling. In an instant, she freed one hand to draw her wand—only to hesitate, glancing around frantically, uncertain whom she should be aiming at.
And then, Wentworth suddenly chuckled.
"The second Dark Lord?" he mused. "I'm honored that you invited me here, but your choice of invitation… that, I'm not so pleased with."
Voldemort sneered. "Wentworth, I don't think you quite grasp your situation. You have two choices: First, kill Harry Potter, and I will let you leave. Or second, refuse—and I will have Quirrell kill all of you."
At these words, Hermione's eyes widened in terror. She instinctively tried to back away but found herself trapped with nowhere to go.
But just then, she saw Wentworth shake his head—slowly, deliberately.
With an expression of almost amused disbelief, Wentworth turned to Voldemort and spoke:
"If I were to kill Harry in front of you, wouldn't that just leave me under your control forever?"
Voldemort hesitated for a fraction of a second. That was indeed his plan—yet he had not expected Wentworth to see through it so effortlessly.
Still, the Dark Lord showed no embarrassment. Instead, he spoke plainly:
"Kill Harry Potter as a show of loyalty. Swear allegiance to me and become a Death Eater. When I return to power, I will give you everything you desire."
Wentworth chuckled softly. The chuckle grew into a laugh, and then into a full, unrestrained roar of laughter that echoed through the Forbidden Forest.
Voldemort's face darkened with fury. "Wentworth Grindelwald! What are you laughing at?!"
Wentworth waved a hand as if dismissing the question, taking his time to stifle his laughter. Then, with a smirk still on his lips, he replied:
"Oh, come now. You told such a good joke—surely I should at least humor you?"
Then, in an instant, the amusement vanished from his face. His gaze turned cold, his voice sharp as a blade:
"Tom Riddle, I don't care if you call yourself the second Dark Lord or whatever other title you fancy. But this joke? I don't like it. And neither does the Alliance."
With that, Wentworth reached into his robes and drew his wand.
Cedric and Kirk wasted no time. Without hesitation, they stepped to Wentworth's sides, raising their wands, aiming directly at Voldemort.
Only then did Hermione exhale a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
She still didn't know why Wentworth had brought Harry here under Voldemort's orders, but one thing was clear: Wentworth had no intention of betraying him.
And then, to her astonishment, she saw Harry—who moments ago had needed her support to stand—straighten up, swaying slightly but firm. He reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. Under Hermione's stunned gaze, he stepped forward, positioning himself right behind Wentworth.
Seeing this, Hermione bit her lip, tightened her grip on her wand, and pointed it at Voldemort.
Voldemort, however, only smirked coldly. "Quirrell," he commanded, "show these children what real magic looks like."
At Voldemort's words, Quirrell turned to the group and sneered.
"Come now, let's see just how well you've learned what I've been teaching you."
With a snap of his fingers, a ring of fire erupted around them, encircling both Quirrell and the students.
Quirrell sneered mockingly. "Wentworth, I recall the last time we met in the Forbidden Forest. You used a similar spell, didn't you? I broke through it in a second."
"Today, it's my turn to test you. Do your best, Wentworth! If you fail to break my spell, all five of you will die here tonight!"
Wentworth scanned his surroundings, unimpressed. Then, with a casual smirk, he replied:
"Quirrell, the Forbidden Forest can be dreadfully cold on rainy nights. But if you want to start a fire for warmth, shouldn't the flames be a little closer to you?"
"Incendio Maxima!"
The moment Wentworth finished speaking, a fiery serpent shot from his wand, surging toward Quirrell.
The snake of flame twisted and grew, its fangs bared in a ferocious snarl as it lunged toward its target.
Quirrell's expression shifted. He did not dare underestimate it. With a flick of his wand, a serpent of water burst forth, coiling into the air and clashing against Wentworth's fire.
At that very moment, Cedric and Kirk struck as well.
The battle had begun—escalating instantly into an all-out war.
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