August in London was draped in a steady drizzle, the streets slick with rain. A lone boy strolled along the pavement, dragging a suitcase behind him. Strangely, though he carried no umbrella, not a single drop of rain clung to his robes.
Wentworth stood before the familiar door of his home, taking in his surroundings with a stretch and a satisfied sigh.
"Finally back! That old bumblebee, Dumbledore, told me it was a summer camp—more like a survival trial!"
As he reached for the door, he suddenly hesitated, glancing around to ensure no one was watching. Satisfied, he lightly patted the pocket of his jacket.
A moment later, a tiny green head peeked out, eyes darting about warily. From within Wentworth's pocket, the creature slowly emerged—a Bowtruckle, its twig-like limbs clumsily reaching for a beetle Wentworth had produced from seemingly nowhere.
If a Muggle had passed by at that moment, they would have been stunned to see what looked like a miniature tree with humanoid features scuttling out of the boy's pocket—a magical creature known to the wizarding world as a Bowtruckle.
Wentworth placed the beetle in front of his tiny companion, watching as the Bowtruckle eagerly grabbed at it. Then, pointing at the door, he said, "Your turn, Greenbud."
The Bowtruckle leapt from his hand and landed near the keyhole. With nimble fingers, it deftly manipulated the lock. A quiet click echoed in the air as the door swung open.
"Well done, Greenbud!" Wentworth praised, scooping up the Bowtruckle, who merely rolled its tiny eyes in response.
Grinning, Wentworth pushed open the door just enough to slip inside, whispering to himself, "Time for a surprise!"
He tiptoed into the house.
One second later—
"It's me, Grandma Rosier!"
Wentworth froze as the tip of a wand pressed firmly against his forehead. Quickly, he blurted out his identity, hoping to prevent any unfortunate hexes from flying his way.
A sharp gasp filled the air.
"Wentworth?! You're finally back!"
The wand lowered, and Wentworth turned to see Rosier's face, alight with joy. Relief washing over him, he set down his suitcase and stepped forward into her embrace.
As she pulled back, Rosier took a moment to inspect him, her eyes shimmering with moisture.
"You've tanned so much! Have you been through hardship out there, my dear?"
Wentworth chuckled. "A little, maybe. But I've gained much in return! This little one, for example. Say hello, Greenbud."
He patted his pocket encouragingly, but Greenbud only peeked out cautiously before retreating again, unwilling to fully emerge.
Rosier eyed the Bowtruckle with a brief flicker of disapproval before her expression softened. "Wentworth, go rest for a bit. Dinner will be ready soon. I'll fetch Abernathy—the moment he hears you're back, he'll be over the moon!"
...
Meanwhile, in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall sat across from Dumbledore, her expression one of deep concern. Standing nearby was Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds, his large hands twisting anxiously.
"Albus, are you absolutely certain about this? I don't think introducing Harry Potter to Wentworth this early is a wise idea."
Hagrid nodded emphatically. "She's right, Professor Dumbledore! Harry—he's just a kid!"
Dumbledore glanced at Hagrid, his twinkling eyes somber. "Are you speaking of the Harry Potter from ten years ago?"
Then, turning back to McGonagall, he said in his usual calm tone, "Minerva, we agreed on this long ago, did we not? Besides, Harry will soon be joining Hogwarts. He and Wentworth are destined to meet—there is no avoiding it."
"And frankly, exposing him to one of our finest students ahead of time will only benefit him. It's like wizard's chess: play against a strong opponent, and your skills improve. Play against a weak one, and they stagnate."
McGonagall's frown deepened. "But why Wentworth? Why not Cedric Diggory? I believe Cedric would be a far better choice."
Dumbledore was silent for a moment before replying, "The reason I choose Wentworth is the same reason you do not. Trust me, Minerva—they will become friends."
Seeing that Dumbledore's mind was made up, McGonagall and Hagrid exchanged a resigned glance before reluctantly nodding in agreement.
The next morning, as dawn's first light crept through his window, Wentworth stirred, stretching with a groan of contentment.
"Nothing beats my own bed! And no fighting Rolf for the blanket! Honestly, how did that blockhead ever manage to win over Luna?"
As he reached for a glass of water, a sudden knock at the door startled him.
Frowning, he grabbed his wand and approached cautiously. "Would Grandma Rosier really come this early?"
Carefully, he opened the door—wand extended first—before peeking outside.
"Professor Dumbledore? Hagrid?!"
Wentworth's eyes widened in shock.
But before he could react further, a series of loud cracks echoed behind them. In the blink of an eye, several figures materialized in the street, positioning themselves behind Dumbledore.
Rosier, Abernathy, and others stood at the ready, wands drawn and aimed. Their expressions were steely, their intent clear.
Dumbledore sighed, surveying the tense standoff. "Wentworth, your family's idea of a welcome home is certainly... unique."
Before Wentworth could respond, a voice behind Dumbledore snarled with barely contained fury.
"So it really is you, Dumbledore?" snarled Carrow, his tone laced with venom. "You imprisoned Grindelwald for decades, exiled us from our own home, and now you dare set foot on our land? You're walking straight to your grave!"
Yet Dumbledore remained unfazed, his voice as composed as ever. "And why should I hesitate to visit my student?"
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