Faced with the mocking voice from the back of his head, Quirrell naturally did not dare to refute. He could only keep apologizing, pleading for forgiveness.
The voice behind him, however, sounded somewhat weak as it spoke:
"That second-year student is definitely no ordinary young wizard. Tell me, what is his name?"
Although there was no one physically in front of him, Quirrell still bowed respectfully as he answered,
"Master, his name is Wentworth!"
The voice let out a cold chuckle before continuing,
"And? Is that all? What is his full name?"
Hearing the question, Quirrell was momentarily stunned. Then, he muttered to himself,
"He's called Wentworth… Wentworth…"
This time, Quirrell wasn't pretending to stutter—he genuinely faltered. Because at that moment, he realized something unsettling: he didn't actually know Wentworth's full name. He knew him only as Wentworth, but his surname eluded him completely.
A chill ran down Quirrell's spine, and his whole body trembled with an inexplicable fear of the unknown.
After a long silence, his face twisted in terror and confusion as he finally admitted,
"I don't know, Master. I don't know his full name! But how is that possible? When did I fall under a spell?"
But the voice behind him responded in a low, ominous tone:
"It is not you who is under a spell—it is him."
Quirrell stiffened in confusion. "Him? Master, I don't understand."
The voice behind him explained,
"There is a particular kind of enchantment upon him, a spell similar to a Confundus Charm. It causes those around him to subconsciously overlook his surname. Clearly, someone has deliberately cast this spell on him!"
Upon hearing this, Quirrell quickly asked,
"Master, who could possess such skill? To place an enchantment like this on Wentworth, and even conceal it from Dumbledore?"
The voice behind Quirrell sighed deeply, sounding weary as it spoke,
"A spell like this could never last an entire term on its own. That means someone must be reinforcing it regularly without being noticed. And to accomplish such a feat, there is only one person in all of Hogwarts who could manage it—Albus Dumbledore himself!"
"Even I failed to notice anything unusual about that boy—until just now. During our encounter, when he cast his spell, I sensed something amiss. Otherwise, we would still be oblivious!"
At this point, the voice's tone suddenly changed, becoming sharp and filled with menace.
"Investigate! You must find out the truth! That boy's origins are far from ordinary. Otherwise, Dumbledore would not go to such lengths to conceal his identity. We must uncover who he really is!"
Upon hearing this command, Quirrell bowed even lower, his voice filled with reverence.
"Rest assured, Master. I will find out the truth about him."
Meanwhile, under the protection of Dumbledore, Snape, and the others, Wentworth, Harry, and the rest of their group finally returned safely to Hogwarts.
Standing before the grand castle, surrounded by the familiar sights of home, both Harry and Draco felt a wave of relief wash over them—the overwhelming sensation of having narrowly escaped disaster.
Just then, Dumbledore, who had been leading the way, suddenly halted in his steps. Turning to face the young wizards behind him, he spoke with his usual calm authority:
"Well, that will be all for tonight. Once you return to your dormitories, I expect you to put this night's events behind you. Do not speak of them to anyone."
As he said this, Dumbledore paused briefly. Then, with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, he gave the students a knowing wink and added,
"Of course, I suspect you'll soon have very little time to dwell on such matters—because you'll have something far more pressing to worry about!"
Harry, Draco, and the others exchanged bewildered glances, completely at a loss.
But Dumbledore offered no further explanation. Having spoken, he simply turned and strode away.
Seeing this, Wentworth let out a yawn and was about to follow when Draco suddenly grabbed his arm.
"Wentworth, what did Professor Dumbledore mean by that last remark?" Draco asked anxiously.
Wentworth blinked, then waved it off nonchalantly.
"Oh, nothing really. Don't overthink it. Professor Dumbledore was just having a bit of fun with you. It's nothing important."
"...It's just that final exams are coming up soon."
The moment Wentworth uttered those words, a collective gasp echoed around him.
Apart from Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Draco all froze on the spot, their faces contorted in horror.
Wentworth, satisfied with their reactions, nodded to himself and turned to leave—only to find Draco tightening his grip on his arm.
Draco's expression was one of pure desperation as he pleaded,
"Senior, I haven't prepared for anything! What do I do?! Please, help me!"
Wentworth casually pulled his arm free, his voice unhurried as he teased,
"When you don't need anything, you call me Wentworth. But the moment you're in trouble, suddenly I'm 'senior'? You really have a way with words, Draco."
"Don't worry about it. I haven't studied either. There's still time—if you start now, you won't be too late!"
But Draco looked utterly defeated as he groaned,
"You study. I'll only be cramming at this point!"
Meanwhile, on the other side, Harry and Ron had already turned to Hermione, their eyes pleading.
Ron grinned sheepishly and said,
"Hermione, for the exams... well, you know what to do!"
Hermione sighed and spread her hands.
"You can forget about it. Professor McGonagall already said we'll be using special anti-cheating quills for the exams. Even if I wanted to help you, I couldn't."
Ron froze. Then, his face twisted in outrage.
"That's outrageous! Doesn't the school trust us at all?!"
And so, with a mix of laughter, grumbles, and groans of despair, the group made their way back into the castle, eventually parting ways for the night.
However, once they returned to their respective dormitories, most of them found it difficult to sleep—except for Wentworth, who crawled into bed and drifted off almost instantly.
Ron, on the other hand, kept rambling on to Harry about how the Weasleys would surely kill him if he failed his exams.
Harry, leaning against his bedpost, remained silent—his mind filled with a different kind of determination. He vowed to himself, once again, that he would one day avenge his parents.
Hermione, ever diligent, had immediately pulled out her thick A History of Magic textbook, intending to study for another half hour.
And Draco, lying in his bed, replayed the events of the night in his mind, still brimming with excitement. He longed to share his thoughts with someone—but thanks to Wentworth's warning, he didn't know who to turn to.
After a moment's contemplation, Draco reached into his robe and pulled out a single playing card.
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