Ignoring Draco's bewildered expression, Wentworth stood up and walked to the other side of the Room of Requirement, casually casting a protective spell on himself along the way.
"Protego!"
Once in position, Wentworth turned to Draco and said, "Alright, now it's your turn to attack me. Do you still remember the incantation and technique for the Disarming Charm that I taught you?"
Draco quickly stood up, nodding repeatedly. "Of course, I remember! Expelliarmus—how could I possibly forget that?"
Wentworth beckoned to Draco with his fingers. "Good, then give it a try!"
Seeing that Wentworth was ready, Draco's face lit up with anticipation. Taking a deep breath, he focused his gaze on Wentworth, then pointed his wand straight at him.
"Expelliarmus!"
The Room of Requirement fell into silence. Nothing happened, except that the atmosphere somehow became even more awkward.
Draco glanced at his wand, then at Wentworth standing before him. His face turned slightly red.
Undeterred, Draco tightened his grip on his wand and, with more determination, shouted again:
"Expelliarmus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Expelliarmus—mus—mus!"
Seeing this, Wentworth covered his face with both hands and shook his head.
"This is my fault—I underestimated the difficulty of this! It's all on me. After all, the wizards I've encountered before were either naturally talented or already powerful. I overestimated the learning abilities of ordinary people."
Despite saying this, Wentworth couldn't help but raise his voice at Draco:
"Watch your wrist movements! If your form is incorrect, you can twist your wrist all you like, but you still won't be able to cast the spell!"
Draco, already flustered, looked even more embarrassed upon hearing Wentworth's words. In a fit of frustration, he swung his wand and, almost shouting, yelled:
"Expelliarmus!"
Suddenly, a bolt of magic shot from Draco's wand, speeding straight toward Wentworth.
Fortunately, after a year of training, Wentworth's reflexes were sharp. He quickly cast his own Disarming Charm, neutralizing Draco's spell mid-air.
Draco, on the other hand, stood frozen in shock and amazement at having successfully cast the spell for the first time.
After a long moment, Draco jumped into the air, punching his fist in excitement.
Watching this, Wentworth let out a long breath of relief, but he still reminded Draco, "Don't celebrate just yet! First, try to recall the exact movements and feelings you had when you cast the spell."
While Wentworth and Draco were enthusiastically practicing spells in the Room of Requirement, they were completely unaware that elsewhere in Hogwarts, a situation had nearly led to catastrophe.
Inside Professor Quirrell's office, filled with its usual peculiar odor, Harry was clutching his forehead in agony while Hermione and Ron anxiously surrounded him, checking on his condition. Meanwhile, Professor Quirrell had slowly raised his wand.
At that very moment, with a loud "BANG," the office door was forcefully thrown open from the outside.
As the door swung wide, Quirrell immediately lowered his wand, his face contorting into an expression of alarm.
With the corridor's light spilling into the room, Ron and Hermione instinctively turned to look at the doorway. Standing there was a tall figure, draped in black robes.
When they finally saw who it was, Quirrell quickly stepped forward and stammered, "Pr—Professor Snape… w-what brings you here so suddenly?"
But Snape simply brushed past Quirrell without hesitation and strode directly toward Harry, Ron, and Hermione, his expression dark and his tone sharp:
"You three—why are you here? And don't tell me you Gryffindors came to seek academic guidance from Professor Quirrell."
With Snape now standing between them and Quirrell, Harry suddenly realized that his scar wasn't hurting as much anymore. Meeting Snape's penetrating gaze, he answered, "Professor Snape, we actually did come to ask Professor Quirrell a question."
Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Oh? Then I'd love to hear exactly what you needed to ask him."
Instead of pressing them further, however, Snape turned to face Quirrell directly.
Quirrell, who had initially maintained a neutral expression, quickly replaced it with a fawning smile and hurried to explain, "It's—it's like this, Harry Potter came to me with questions about—about wizard dueling…"
Before Quirrell could finish, Snape cut him off sharply:
"Wizard dueling?"
His gaze snapped back to Harry, scrutinizing him closely. "I am very curious, Mr. Potter—who exactly do you, a mere first-year, plan to duel?"
Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether they should answer.
Noting their silence, Snape let out a cold chuckle. "Oh, I see. Are you planning to secretly train, then suddenly challenge an unsuspecting student to a duel? Since when did Gryffindors become so cunning?"
The moment Snape spoke, the trio felt their anger boiling over. Finally, Ron could no longer hold back and blurted out, "That's not it! Harry was the one challenged to a duel! But we didn't know the rules, or what spells to use, so we came to ask Professor Quirrell for guidance!"
Snape's expression remained skeptical as he cast a sharp glance at Quirrell and asked, "Oh? Is that true?"
Quirrell let out a nervous chuckle and nodded.
At the same time, Hermione quickly added, "Professor Snape, we're not the only ones preparing. From what we've heard, the other side is training under Wentworth's guidance."
Upon hearing this, Snape was visibly taken aback. "Wentworth? Training?"
Memories from the previous year resurfaced in his mind—Wentworth leading Hufflepuff to victory in their duel against Slytherin, the triumphant cheers of Hufflepuff students ringing in his ears. The memory still stung, as though a sharp slap to his pride as Slytherin's Head of House.
Snape sighed, pulled out a chair, and slowly sat down.
"Go on," he said coolly. "I'll just watch."
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