Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

As Wentworth stood by Dumbledore's side, his first reaction was an overwhelming sense of dizziness.

Even though he had mentally prepared himself, the sight of tens of thousands of cheering and shouting wizards caused Wentworth's body to momentarily stiffen.

"Don't be nervous, Wentworth. Remember, you're representing Hogwarts," Dumbledore's calm voice sounded in his ear, prompting Wentworth to suppress the urge to roll his eyes.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, was this your arrangement? At this rate, it won't take long before every student at Hogwarts knows I accompanied you to the Quidditch World Cup final. Isn't that a bit inappropriate?"

To Wentworth's surprise, Dumbledore shook his head.

"You're mistaken, Wentworth. I'm no Seer—I had no prior knowledge of this event and certainly didn't plan it in advance," Dumbledore explained.

Seeing Wentworth's puzzled expression, Dumbledore elaborated further:

"The truth is simple: I know you're an orphan and likely have never had the chance to attend a Quidditch World Cup in person. Most of the other students at Hogwarts, guided by their parents, have experienced this spectacle firsthand."

"As my student, you too deserve to see what they've seen," Dumbledore said warmly.

Though Wentworth still harbored some doubts, his heart felt a rush of warmth, and he quickly set his reservations aside.

Adjusting his robes with a light touch and wearing a composed smile, Wentworth followed the staff toward the center of the field.

By now, Wentworth felt significantly calmer. After all, he reminded himself, in this body, he was only an eleven-year-old child. Whatever he did, he assumed most people would forgive him—especially with one of the most powerful wizards in the magical world standing behind him.

As Dumbledore watched Wentworth's retreating figure, there was one thought he kept to himself:

"As my kin, you're entitled to see the sights that others haven't."

When Wentworth arrived at the center of the field, the announcer—who had been waiting—let out an exaggerated squeal of delight.

"Wow! What an elegant and dashing young wizard! Is this what all Hogwarts students look like nowadays? Seeing you reminds me of my own Hogwarts days. Back then, wizards as handsome as you were often the secret crushes of many young witches!"

The announcer had hoped his words would make Wentworth blush with embarrassment. Unfortunately for him, Wentworth, whose soul was far older than his youthful appearance suggested, simply smiled and quipped back,

"It's the same today."

For a moment, the announcer was at a loss for words.

Meanwhile, in the stands, Cornelius Fudge leaned toward Dumbledore with a sycophantic grin.

"Headmaster Dumbledore, it's clear that Hogwarts students are all incredibly self-assured!"

This time, Dumbledore didn't feign modesty. Instead, he nodded.

"Indeed, he's quite bold."

After a brief exchange with the announcer, Wentworth accepted a brand-new prototype Firebolt from him. Just as he was about to mount the broomstick, the announcer leaned in and whispered,

"Young man, as your senior, let me give you some advice. This broomstick is nothing like the school brooms you've practiced on at Hogwarts. Take it slow."

"No need to rush after the Golden Snitches—it's just a performance. They're enchanted, and their speed will decrease over time. It'll be easier to catch them later. I wouldn't want you getting hurt."

Smiling in gratitude, Wentworth nodded his thanks.

Moments later, with the crowd's cheers resounding around him, Wentworth shot into the sky, leaving the announcer alone in the field below.

"Well, it seems my advice fell on deaf ears," the announcer muttered, smoothing his wind-tousled hair.

High above the field, Wentworth felt an exhilarating freedom. The Firebolt beneath him was undoubtedly the wizarding equivalent of a top-tier Muggle supercar.

He began executing sharp turns and abrupt stops mid-air, each maneuver smooth and precise. The crowd's cheers grew louder with every move.

"Well, it seems my advice wasn't needed after all," the announcer mused, watching Wentworth's display of skill with a mix of amusement and resignation.

Suddenly, a flash of gold caught Wentworth's eye. A Golden Snitch darted through the air, and without hesitation, he turned sharply in pursuit.

From the field, the announcer exclaimed,

"Oh! Our young wizard has spotted a Golden Snitch! Let's see how he handles it!"

"What a stunning turn! In mere moments, he adjusted the broomstick's trajectory and is now racing straight for the Snitch. I was worried this young wizard might struggle with such a high-speed Firebolt, but it's clear that Hogwarts trains its students well—even before they graduate!"

The announcer's enthusiastic commentary drew cheers from parts of the crowd, while others grumbled, muttering under their breath. Nevertheless, the atmosphere grew even more electric.

Up in the air, Wentworth was oblivious to the noise below. The wind roared past his ears, and his focus remained fixed on the glint of gold ahead.

The Snitch weaved and darted unpredictably, but Wentworth closed the gap steadily and deliberately.

"Look! He's getting closer! But the Snitch's erratic movements seem to be giving him trouble. What will he do?"

Just as the announcer finished, Wentworth seized the perfect moment as the Snitch changed direction. With a burst of speed, he surged forward.

"Wow! He's accelerating! I thought he was already at top speed! This young wizard's flying skills exceed my expectations. He's like a skilled hunter, waiting for the perfect moment to strike!"

"And there it is! He's caught the Snitch! Let's give our young wizard a round of applause as he returns to the field!"

However, Wentworth merely glanced at the Snitch in his hand before pocketing it. Rather than descending, he began scanning the sky, as if searching for something else.

The announcer, noticing this, hesitated. When it became clear Wentworth had no intention of landing, his expression faltered.

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