Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

Wentworth took a deep breath, then closed his eyes. After a brief pause, he raised his wand and aimed it straight ahead.

"Fiendfyre!"

In an instant, a ghostly blue flame—eerily similar to Grindelwald's own—flared to life before him. As Wentworth moved his wand, the fire curled and expanded, forming a new circle of flames around him.

Moments later, the two rings of fire met. Neither yielded. The flames rose higher, licking toward the ceiling of the chamber.

Wentworth knew full well that his Fiendfyre could not possibly match Gellert Grindelwald's. And so, he pushed himself relentlessly, pouring his magic into the fire without pause.

Sweat trickled down his forehead as time wore on. But even with exhaustion setting in, Wentworth didn't dare let up for a second—not when his life hung in the balance.

Teeth clenched, face pale, Wentworth remained firm. And in his eyes, bright as morning stars, there was no sign of surrender.

When Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore finally arrived at the doorway, one behind the other, they found Wentworth collapsed inelegantly on the floor. Propped up on one trembling hand, his sweat was dripping from his hair, pattering onto the ground.

Hearing footsteps, Wentworth struggled to lift his head. Upon seeing the two old wizards standing in the doorway, a wicked urge rose in him—to lift a hand and flip them off. But after a moment's consideration, remembering who they were and what they were capable of, he decided against it.

Instead, Wentworth pushed against the ground, trying to stand. After several failed attempts, he gave up and slumped where he was, panting heavily. Glaring at the pair, he said irritably:

"What is this? A welcome gift? An intimidation ritual? Honestly, Headmaster, Grandfather, the two of you combined are nearly three centuries old. Does it really amuse you to bully someone my age?"

Dumbledore chuckled and was just about to respond when Gellert Grindelwald held out a hand to stop him.

Dumbledore shrugged and gestured toward Grindelwald. "Your family's business, Gellert. You handle it."

Grindelwald didn't protest. He strode over to Wentworth and stopped just beside him. Looking down from above, his expression unreadable, he asked coldly:

"Do you realize what you've done wrong?"

Wentworth: "???"

Confused, Wentworth was utterly lost—his mind filled with question marks.

Wrong? What did I do wrong? Ever since arriving at Nurmengard, I've barely done anything!

After a moment's thought, he cautiously ventured:

"Did I interrupt something?"

Grindelwald's face twitched at the words. His expression shifted through several shades before he finally spoke—his voice tight, controlled, and brimming with disappointment.

"Look at yourself. Just look at this pitiful display. Tell me—what is the most important quality to the Grindelwald family?"

Wentworth pondered briefly. Digging through the inherited memories of this body yielded nothing. Hesitantly, he offered:

"Elegance?"

A stifled laugh echoed from the doorway. Turning toward the sound, Wentworth saw Dumbledore hurriedly composing himself, trying to wipe the grin off his face.

Grindelwald, meanwhile, was staring up at the ceiling, and after a long silence, he asked dryly:

"And who told you that?"

Without hesitation, Wentworth deflected, "Grandmother Rosier. She told me, no matter the circumstance, never forget to be elegant."

Grindelwald fell silent for a long beat upon hearing the name, then finally said:

"She was only half right. The value we prize most... is courage. So tell me—what is courage?"

"Fearless in the face of death!" Wentworth blurted out.

Grindelwald sneered and shook his head. "That's either idiocy or blind recklessness."

Before Wentworth could respond, Grindelwald's voice rose, firm and accusing:

"Let me be frank with you—I'm not impressed. In fact, I haven't been impressed for quite some time."

"The new leader of the Alliance? The heir to the Grindelwald name? How grand. How impressive."

Wentworth opened his mouth to speak, but Grindelwald raised a hand to silence him and continued:

"You want to say you've done well, don't you? You've pressured the British Ministry of Magic, wiped out the American Auror squad dispatched to London, schemed within Gringotts to revive an ancient inheritance, and destroyed two useless Horcruxes. You think that's enough?"

Wentworth wanted to nod—but a glance at Grindelwald's thunderous expression convinced him otherwise. He stayed silent.

Grindelwald let out a low, derisive laugh and said:

"Dumbledore told me all about your exploits. He sounded almost proud. One might think he raised you himself."

Albus Dumbledore: "???"

Ignoring Dumbledore's discomfort, Grindelwald pressed on bitterly:

"Don't forget, Wentworth—you have the backing of the Alliance, an organization that once threatened to upend the entire magical world. And as much as I hate to admit it, you're also under the protection of Albus Dumbledore—Chairman of the International Confederation of Wizards."

"Forget everyone else—what about those two young men who've been by your side all this time? Do you really think they would've done any worse in your place?"

At this, Wentworth muttered softly under his breath, "I wasn't that bad…"

Grindelwald snorted, then jabbed a finger toward the door and said:

"Just now, outside that door, two of the greatest wizards alive were dueling. And what did you do? You stayed inside. Hiding. Why? Afraid some stray spell might hit you?"

"You have any idea how disappointed I was when I realized you didn't even come out to watch?"

"Do you understand what an opportunity that was? Two of the most powerful wizards in the world casting their signature spells right before your eyes—and you stayed in your room?"

"Do you think the Alliance you now lead just appeared out of nowhere? I forged it—spell by spell, battle by battle. You think I commanded legions of Dark wizards because I was charming? No. It was because I was the strongest."

"When I was your age, expelled from Durmstrang, I crossed four continents, visited six wizarding schools, challenging their champions one by one—just to experience stronger, more diverse magic."

By now, Wentworth's head hung low. Sweat dripped from his face in silence. He had no words left to offer.

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