Chapter 3 "Squib"

Hearing Rosier's words, Wentworth was stunned, and it took him a while to realize what "Squib" meant.

Co-authoring him through a lonely life?

Was he, not the fan who had eagerly dreamed of visiting the magical world?

As an avid Harry Potter fan, how could he pass up the chance to explore this infinitely wonderful world?

He had been eagerly waiting for his letter of acceptance to Hogwarts, the only wizarding school in the UK that offered a seamless education from age 11 to 18, saving the trouble of choosing another school.

With this thought in mind, Wentworth quickly reacted and asked, "Grandma Rosier, I'm 11 years old now. I should have received my Hogwarts letter by this time. Maybe my owl is still on its way, right?"

Rosier regretfully shook her head and said, "I'm sorry, Wentworth... Just three days ago, the last owl delivering the admission notices returned. Unfortunately, you didn't receive one."

Wentworth's heart sank.

The Book of Acceptance and the Quill of Acceptance at Hogwarts had always succeeded.

If he hadn't received the admission letter, it could only mean one thing—he had no magical talent.

In his despair, Wentworth thought of Argus Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker who was a Squib as well.

Seeing the disappointment in Wentworth's eyes, Rosier's expression softened, and she tried to console him,

"Wentworth, being a Muggle is not a bad thing. The magical world is not as perfect as you might think, and what happened tonight is not uncommon. Even we, in our younger days, were involved in such things."

"Staying away from the complications of the magical world can ensure that the Grindelwald bloodline continues," she added.

Although Wentworth had already thought of a quick money-making plan.

Involving the World Cup and smart investments in companies like Amazon, Apple, and Google, he realized that this life of just making money wasn't what he truly wanted.

With a thousand different feelings of helplessness and unwillingness, Wentworth had no choice but to say, "Thank you, Grandma Rosier and everyone, for saving me tonight. I'm truly grateful!"

Rosier waved her hand dismissively and replied, "There's no need to thank us, Wentworth. It's our fault. I have been watching you for many years to ensure your safety."

"But when I learned that you're a Squib... I mean that you have no magical talent; my heart was heavy. So I left for a few days and spoke with some old friends."

"These sorrows, we once experienced them with your father as well. After your grandfather's brother, our master, was imprisoned, we needed someone to continue the family bloodline, and that person could only be Grindelwald."

"But I never expected that even you..." Rosier choked up and couldn't hold back her tears.

The others behind Rosier also sighed in sorrow, understanding the weight of their shared history.

Trying to comfort the elderly wizards, Wentworth said, "Grandma Rosier, everyone, it's alright. It really doesn't matter. The Muggle world is developing rapidly. Maybe it won't be long before it surpasses the magical world in excitement!"

To his surprise, Rosier and the others stopped crying as soon as he finished speaking and looked at him with wide eyes.

"What... what's wrong?" Wentworth asked, concerned that he might have said something inappropriate and accidentally revealed his identity.

"Your words, they really... sound like the master's," Rosier said as she gently stroked Wentworth's cheek, her eyes filled with an indescribable trance.

Relieved that he hadn't revealed anything, Wentworth heard a loud "pop" from behind him.

He turned around to see an owl, and the people in the room rushed to deal with the unexpected visitor.

As the time moved, a faded quill in a silver ink bottle floated up in a tower at Hogwarts, a place no students had ever set foot in.

The quill moved to an ancient black Dragon hide book and solemnly wrote the name "Wentworth Grindelwald."

Professor McGonagall appeared outside Dumbledore's office, looking serious and urgent.

"Dirty bag!" she said as the door opened, and there stood Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, the president of the International Wizarding Federation, the chief wizard of Wizengamot, and the greatest white wizard of their time, wearing pajamas.

"Oh, Professor McGonagall, is something urgent happening at the school for you to be here so late?"

"Take your time; would you like a glass of iced lemon juice?" Dumbledore offered with a smile.

Ignoring the drink, McGonagall spoke with a serious expression, "Dumbledore, there's something you must know immediately! It's very urgent and related to the start of the new term."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows calmly, feigning humor, "Is something wrong with the first-year students? Professor McGonagall, I have complete confidence in you and believe that the problem is certainly not with our Hogwarts!"

"Surely no first-year student would have eaten the owl delivering their letter! Haha..."

Taking a sip of iced lemon juice, Dumbledore chuckled.