As soon as Wentworth asked his question, a heavy silence fell over the room.
Sighing deeply, Wentworth no longer hesitated. He said firmly:
"Alright then. I'm going to take care of that Basilisk—tonight, I'm turning it into soup. Who's coming with me?"
At his words, Cedric and Kirk stepped forward without hesitation, standing firmly behind Wentworth. Harry and the others also raised their hands in support.
Seeing this, Wentworth paused in thought before speaking again:
"Harry, come with me. Draco, stay here with Hermione. Wait for Headmaster Dumbledore to return, and tell him where we've gone."
Draco and Hermione immediately protested, insisting that they could help too. But Wentworth shook his head and refused flatly.
"You two are still too weak. If you come, we'll have to look after you. Just stay put and wait here."
At that, Hermione bristled with indignation.
"And what about Harry? Why can he go? If Harry can do it, so can I."
Wentworth winced slightly at her response—he couldn't very well admit he was hoping to borrow a bit of Harry's narrative momentum, could he?
Thankfully, Draco stepped in, pulling Hermione gently aside.
"Come on, Hermione. Have you forgotten? Harry speaks Parseltongue. Maybe that's why Wentworth wants him to come."
Wentworth gave Draco a silent thumbs-up and then added with solemnity:
"Exactly. That's the reason."
Hearing the explanation, Hermione could no longer argue. She wasn't a Parselmouth—none of them were except Harry. She glanced at Cedric and Kirk and sighed. When it came to raw magical ability, she simply couldn't match them yet.
With everyone's roles clear, Wentworth prepared to lead his group out. But just a few steps from the door, he suddenly stopped, as if remembering something, and turned back toward Dumbledore's office.
Everyone outside looked at each other in confusion. Moments later, Wentworth emerged, holding a tattered, patchy old hat—it was the Sorting Hat.
Even as he held it, the hat was loudly complaining:
"Put me down at once! How dare you! Merlin's beard, I've been at Hogwarts for centuries, and never have I met a student as reckless as you!"
Wentworth, clearly annoyed, snapped back:
"That's because I got here too late. If I'd arrived earlier, you'd have met me sooner! Now shut your mouth—or I'll find a needle and stitch it shut myself!"
The Sorting Hat instantly fell silent. But after a moment, it muttered under its breath:
"Should've just Sorted you straight to Azkaban…"
Wentworth ignored the grumbling and casually tossed the Sorting Hat to Harry. Catching it, Harry looked baffled.
"Wentworth, what am I supposed to do with this—?"
But before he could finish, Wentworth cut him off, already halfway out the door:
"Hold onto it. If anything goes wrong—say, if the Basilisk charges at you—just chuck the hat at its head!"
The hat immediately began protesting again, but Wentworth was already gone, not bothering to listen.
Still confused, Harry clutched the hat and, after saying a quick goodbye to Draco and Hermione, hurried after Wentworth.
Watching them disappear down the corridor, Hermione felt a wave of frustration. Other than praying for their safety, there was nothing she could do. Her thoughts turned again to that mysterious group—the Secret Order.
"Is it that they were strong enough to join the Secret Order… or did joining the Secret Order make them strong?" she murmured.
Meanwhile, Wentworth had led Harry and the others somewhere entirely unexpected—a place they all knew well: the Room of Requirement.
Standing outside the hidden entrance, the others looked bewildered. Cedric was the first to speak:
"Wentworth… wait, are you saying the Basilisk is in there?"
Wentworth shook his head, pushing open the wooden door.
"Of course not. I'm just here to find something."
As they stepped inside, Kirk gasped.
"Merlin, Wentworth—what on earth kind of room did you ask for? A junkyard?!"
Before them lay towering heaps of discarded, forgotten, and enchanted objects piled in all directions. Kirk clutched his forehead and groaned.
Wentworth, unfazed, gestured at the mountains of clutter.
"Alright, start looking! What we need is in here somewhere!"
Both Cedric and Kirk sighed. Even Cedric couldn't hold back a groan.
"I really hope this thing we're looking for is hard to miss… what is it we're looking for, anyway?"
Still searching, Wentworth answered without looking up:
"A golden diadem."
Everyone froze for a moment. Kirk was the first to respond:
"A golden diadem? What kind of golden diadem?"
Wentworth straightened up and looked at them seriously.
"You've heard of it. The stuff of legend. Yes—that one. Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem."
Three simultaneous gasps echoed through the room.
Kirk stepped forward eagerly.
"Are you serious? The Diadem of Ravenclaw—the one that's said to grant the wearer boundless wisdom—it's here, in the Room of Requirement?!"
Wentworth nodded with absolute certainty.
Exchanging glances, the others were instantly energized. Kirk dove into the search, asking excitedly:
"Wentworth, you knew Ravenclaw's Diadem was hidden here all along? Does it really make the wearer smarter?"
Wentworth thought of its past owners—Helena, and then Tom Riddle. He curled his lip slightly.
"Whether it grants wisdom, I don't know. But its owners don't usually meet happy ends."
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