A spell, not particularly dazzling, whizzed past Wentworth's hair, heading straight for the cloaked figure.
The mysterious figure seemed completely unprepared for the attack, standing motionless, making no attempt to defend themselves.
Seeing the spell about to hit its mark, Draco felt a surge of excitement, ready to shout in triumph. However, what happened next left him utterly speechless.
The cloaked figure, facing the incoming spell, merely raised a hand again and made a casual flick of their fingers. Instantly, Draco's spell dissipated into nothingness.
Meanwhile, Wentworth, who had been knocked to the ground earlier, rolled backward, swiftly rising to his feet with his wand in hand. He pointed it at the mysterious figure, just in time to witness Draco's spell being effortlessly neutralized.
Compared to Draco's shock, Wentworth appeared far calmer.
Did Draco really expect a spell from a mere first-year to harm either the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor of Hogwarts—or even the Dark Lord himself?
Ridiculous!
"Wentworth, are we doomed this time?" Draco asked in despair, his confidence shaken by what he had just witnessed.
Without even glancing at Draco, Wentworth held his wand steadily and spoke softly:
"Sectumsempra."
This was the secret weapon Wentworth had kept hidden—the masterstroke of Severus Snape himself, a Dark curse that could rival even the Unforgivable Curses.
Perhaps the only difference between Sectumsempra and the Unforgivable Curses was that Sectumsempra had a counter-curse.
Behind him, Draco, noticing Wentworth's determination, felt a glimmer of hope return.
However, he quickly grew confused. Wentworth had clearly cast a spell, yet his wand showed no visible reaction—no beam of light, no sparks, not even a shimmer. It made Draco wonder if the spell had failed.
But before he could voice his doubt, a piercing scream shattered the night:
"AAAHHHH!"
Draco hurriedly looked ahead and saw the cloaked figure clutching their abdomen, trembling violently in apparent agony.
Under the moonlight, Draco noticed something bright and vivid trickling from between the figure's fingers.
Seeing this, Draco stammered in disbelief, "Did... did it work?"
At that moment, the mysterious figure, now enraged by Wentworth's attack, reached into their cloak and, for the first time that night, drew their wand.
Wentworth wasted no time, reacting instantly:
"Expelliarmus!"
But this time, the spell had no effect—the figure deflected it with ease.
Just as Wentworth prepared to cast another spell, a resonant cry echoed through the Forbidden Forest, ringing in their ears.
Draco, curious about the source of the sound, looked around in confusion. But Wentworth's face lit up with excitement as he exclaimed:
"Fawkes? It's Fawkes! Headmaster Dumbledore is here!"
The moment the phoenix's cry filled the air, the cloaked figure recoiled instinctively, as though confronted by their worst nightmare. They staggered backward, retreating beyond the flaming circle Wentworth had conjured earlier.
Seizing the distraction, Wentworth quickly cast another spell:
"Stupefy!"
He hoped to catch the enemy off guard, but once again, his spell was deflected.
Still, Wentworth's attack had served its purpose—the figure had lost their window to strike back.
Without hesitation, the shadowy figure turned abruptly and fled into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
Seeing the enemy retreat, Draco called out to Wentworth, "Wentworth, they're getting away! Stop them!"
Wentworth turned to Draco with an exasperated look, rolling his eyes before sarcastically gesturing toward the forest.
"Be my guest."
Draco hesitated before shaking his head in defeat.
At that moment, a flash of fire illuminated the scene, and in an instant, Albus Dumbledore appeared before them. Perched on his shoulder, the brilliant red phoenix, Fawkes, gently preened its feathers.
The sight of Dumbledore's arrival made Wentworth finally let out a breath of relief.
To his surprise, instead of checking on Harry first, Dumbledore turned to him and asked with a hint of urgency in his voice:
"Are you alright, Wentworth?"
In the moonlight, Wentworth could see genuine concern etched on the headmaster's face—something he had not expected.
Quickly regaining his composure, Wentworth shook his head and replied, "I'm fine, Professor Dumbledore. But unfortunately, they got away."
Dumbledore merely shook his head, unconcerned. "They won't escape. As long as there's something they desire here, they'll return."
Wentworth nodded in agreement, inwardly muttering to himself:
Clever old fox!
Meanwhile, Draco sat on the ground, letting Harry rest against his leg as a makeshift pillow.
"Harry! Harry Potter! Wake up! Come on, wake up!"
Perhaps due to Voldemort's retreat, the connection between them had weakened. After just a couple of calls, Harry stirred and groggily opened his eyes.
Hearing Draco's shouts, Dumbledore and Wentworth hurried over just in time to see Harry awaken.
Harry clutched his forehead, his eyes darting around in confusion, much like someone waking from a deep, hazy sleep, struggling to recall the previous night's events.
Upon spotting Dumbledore, Harry quickly stood up and said, "Headmaster Dumbledore, thank you for saving me!"
To his surprise, Dumbledore simply waved a hand and gestured toward Wentworth.
"No, Harry, you're mistaken. I only just arrived. It was Wentworth who risked his life to save you."
Draco, eager to add to the praise, animatedly described the battle:
"That's right, Harry! You should've seen it! Wentworth was incredible! First, he twirled his wand, and—whoosh—a ring of fire surrounded us, keeping us safe. Then, he just pointed his wand, and—bam!—the enemy was wounded, even though there was no visible spell!"
Hearing this, Harry turned to Wentworth with deep gratitude in his eyes.
"Thank you, Wentworth. You saved me—again."
Wentworth merely waved a hand dismissively, as if it were nothing, saying no more.
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