Before the Flying Lesson

Just as Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore were in the Hogwarts headmaster's office discussing a letter from Thomas Levo, the head of the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic, Wentworth was sweating profusely in the Room of Requirement.

At this moment, Wentworth had long since lost his usual elegance, but as he looked up at the ceiling of the Room of Requirement, where a lifelike dummy hung upside down in mid-air, a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

The next afternoon, Wentworth and a group of Hufflepuff freshmen headed excitedly toward the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch; this afternoon's lesson was a joint flying class for Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

"I heard that every year, some freshmen fall off their broomsticks. At this time of year, almost every house has freshmen breaking arms or legs!"

"Don't worry, I heard that Madam Poppy Pomfrey will be waiting at the Quidditch Pitch early on. As soon as any of us fall off our broomsticks, she'll be there to treat us on the spot!"

"Thanks a lot, now I'm even more worried!"

Just as the Hufflepuff freshmen were chatting and laughing on their way to the Quidditch Pitch, the Hufflepuff student in the lead suddenly slowed down. Seeing this, Wentworth couldn't help but look ahead, only to see a group of figures in dark green robes approaching from the other direction.

Among them, the most eye-catching was Cassandra, who walked at the very front, surrounded by others like stars around the moon.

If Wentworth was already regarded as a lucky star by the entire Hufflepuff house, Cassandra was equally the big sister among the first-year Slytherins.

This time, it really wasn't because of Cassandra's background, but because of the strength she had displayed in yesterday's duel, which truly made her the number one among the first-year Slytherins.

Both sides saw each other almost simultaneously, and everyone stopped in their tracks, their eyes filled with hostility.

"Cassandra, it's great to see you're okay! I thought you'd have to rest for several days!"

Seeing Cassandra appear on the grounds, looking a bit pale but otherwise in good spirits, Wentworth stepped forward first to greet her.

Seeing Wentworth walking toward her, several Slytherin freshmen around Cassandra immediately moved to block him, but were stopped by Cassandra herself.

Cassandra took two steps forward to face Wentworth, and said with a sneer:

"What, are you disappointed to see me here?"

Wentworth waved his hands repeatedly and explained:

"You know that's not what I meant!"

Cassandra tilted her head back, stating haughtily:

"If it were you who had exhausted your magic, you might really have to lie in a hospital bed for a few days. But don't forget, my Head of House is Professor Snape, our Hogwarts-recognized Potions Master! For him, it was just a matter of a single potion!"

Hearing Cassandra's words, Wentworth nodded repeatedly and smiled.

"I know, I know! Your Head of House, Professor Snape, still had to ask our Head of House, Professor Sprout, for the herbs."

As soon as Wentworth finished speaking, a blush appeared on Cassandra's face. She lowered her head in embarrassment, but then, as if remembering something, she raised her head again and said to Wentworth:

"Wentworth, do you remember what you said?"

"Of course I remember. You pick the time and place; I, Wentworth, would never lie to you about such things!"

Seeing that he had received a definitive answer, Cassandra nodded with satisfaction.

"Very well, then let's make it tonight! The location is to be decided! I'll be waiting for you tonight!"

Wentworth hadn't expected Cassandra to be so impatient, and couldn't help but say with some surprise:

"Tonight? You've just recovered; can your body handle it?"

Cassandra, however, didn't care in the slightest and said firmly:

"Tonight it is. Don't try to find excuses to escape! Remember to bring that useless stick of yours!"

Cassandra pointed to Wentworth's robe pocket, where the tip of his wand was visible.

Seeing this, Wentworth knew that saying anything was useless, so he shrugged and agreed to Cassandra's appointment.

"No problem. If you don't mind, why should I? Tonight it is!"

After the two finished speaking, they were about to return to their respective Hufflepuff and Slytherin groups, but as they turned around, they were startled.

They had both walked some distance away from their groups, but upon turning back, they discovered that, at some point, they had been surrounded by people who were pricking up their ears to eavesdrop on their conversation.

The two were immediately taken aback by this sudden scene!

As for the rest of the Hufflepuff and Slytherin students, seeing the two turn around, they immediately scattered in a swarm, walking toward the Quidditch Pitch in twos and threes, though fragments of conversation still drifted on the wind.

"Who do you think is stronger?"

"That goes without saying, it must be Wentworth! Didn't you hear him worrying about Cassandra's health just now?"

"Nonsense, it must be Cassandra. Didn't you hear her mocking Wentworth for being useless?"

"Wentworth is stronger!"

"Cassandra is stronger!"

"Are you Hufflepuffs looking for a fight?!"

"Bring it on! You Slytherins were the ones who lost last night!"

The Hufflepuff and Slytherin freshmen kept up their verbal sparring as they walked toward the Quidditch Pitch.

Wentworth and Cassandra, however, stood blankly in place, unable to react for a long time.

"Wentworth... just you wait for tonight!"

Cassandra's previously pale cheeks were now much more flushed. She stamped her foot, left those words behind, and ran toward the Quidditch Pitch without looking back.

Seeing this, Wentworth could only offer a wry smile, following far behind Cassandra as he headed toward the Quidditch Pitch.

Wentworth was the last to arrive at the pitch, and by the time he reached it, Madam Hooch was already waiting there, with many broomsticks laid out neatly on the grass before her.

Wentworth hurried back to the Hufflepuff ranks, where a broomstick was resting right at his feet.

However, when Wentworth saw the broomstick at his feet clearly, his heart sank.

The broom was visibly aged, its bristles thinning to the point of balding; not only was the tail end ragged and uneven, but the handle itself had several cracks visible to the naked eye.

Wentworth suddenly felt that what everyone had said before class—that every year a first-year student fell off their broomstick—might not just be a rumor.