At that moment, Christine turned around and addressed Wentworth and the others:
"Welcome, everyone! These delicacies have been prepared just for you—please, enjoy to your heart's content!"
No sooner had she spoken than Kirk dashed forward eagerly, his eyes scanning the lavish spread before him.
Cedric followed close behind, calling out, "You just threw up earlier! Are you sure your stomach can handle more food?"
Kirk, however, remained unfazed. "I just made room for more. Might as well make good use of it!"
Meanwhile, Wentworth and Cassandra entered at a leisurely pace. Wentworth turned to her and asked, "I haven't seen your father around—where is he?"
Cassandra hesitated for a moment before replying in a neutral tone, "He's resting. The healer advised him to stay in bed as much as possible for a quicker recovery."
Wentworth gave a noncommittal nod.
As he casually reached for a small cake on the table, something unexpected happened—the cake suddenly sprang to life, bouncing away just as his fingers were about to grasp it.
Wentworth watched in astonishment as the little cake performed a lively tap dance right there on the table. With a final dramatic leap, it landed squarely in his palm.
His eyes widened in amazement. "Cassandra, I must say, your family really went all out for this banquet. I've never seen such an energetic cake before!"
Cassandra only managed an awkward smile, but before she could respond, Christine stepped forward and explained, "Naturally! Magical cakes like these are quite rare in Britain—they originate from America."
Wentworth nodded thoughtfully, then glanced around at the grand feast laid before them. "So much food for just a few of us… seems like a bit of a waste, doesn't it?"
Christine chuckled. "I didn't take you for such a frugal wizard!"
Wentworth shrugged, looking somewhat embarrassed. "Grew up in a poor household. Learned to be economical."
Christine burst into laughter. "Oh, come on! If your family was poor, then what does that make the rest of the wizarding world? Beggars? You're the heir to the Grindelwald family!"
Wentworth, however, showed no sign of being rattled by her sudden revelation of his identity. He simply took a bite of the cake in his hand, then frowned slightly. "A bit too sweet. The flavors are decent, but it's not quite to my taste."
Christine observed him carefully, feeling an odd sense of unease. His composure was unsettling.
Trying to brush off the feeling, she added, "Perhaps it's because you've lived in Britain all your life. Most of the food here follows American wizarding trends—you might not be used to it."
Wentworth nodded in understanding, but his brows remained furrowed. "That explains it. Still, such a feast… it would be a shame if it all went to waste."
Christine waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. You're not the only ones invited to enjoy it tonight!"
With those words, she clapped her hands twice, the sharp sound echoing through the hall.
At once, the muffled thump of footsteps resounded from above. Moments later, a stream of wizards began descending the staircase, pouring into the banquet hall.
Wentworth remained expressionless, but Kirk and Cedric immediately put down their food, stepping to his side in a protective stance.
The newcomers spread out, strategically positioning themselves until Wentworth and his companions were completely surrounded.
Christine, now visibly more at ease, allowed a satisfied smile to creep onto her lips. "You see," she said smoothly, "tonight is actually our victory celebration. Naturally, a grand feast is in order!"
Wentworth glanced around at the encroaching figures before offering a slow nod. With an apologetic smile, he remarked, "Ah, I see now. My sincerest apologies—we've been eating at your celebration without even realizing. How terribly rude of us."
Christine waved off the comment with feigned indifference. "No need to apologize. After all, it's only fitting that your last meal should be a good one."
At her words, silence fell over the hall.
A long pause followed before Wentworth let out a dry chuckle. "So, that's it, then? No more small talk? You're just going to reveal your hand this quickly?"
Christine's expression turned serious. "Villains always meet their end because they talk too much."
Wentworth blinked. "…You know what? That actually makes a disturbing amount of sense." He nodded in agreement.
But then, ignoring Christine entirely, he turned his attention to Cassandra, who had been standing behind her in silence.
"Cassandra," he said calmly, "care to explain what's really going on with this banquet?"
Cassandra bit her lip, her expression heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry, Wentworth. My father… they have him. They threatened to harm him if I didn't bring you here. I had no choice! He's my only family."
"Oh, please," Wentworth scoffed. "As if you're the only one with a father."
His tone turned sharp as he continued, "So, let me guess. Back at Hogwarts, you were the one who placed the Portkey on my bed?"
Cassandra lowered her gaze, unable to meet his eyes. After a moment, she gave a small, reluctant nod.
Wentworth suddenly laughed. "I thought so!"
Cassandra looked up, startled. "You… you knew?"
Wentworth grinned mischievously. "Because afterward, I noticed a certain scent lingering on my bed. And that scent? I've only ever smelled it on you."
Cassandra's face turned crimson. She immediately dropped her gaze again, this time out of sheer embarrassment.
"Enough!" Christine snapped, her patience wearing thin. "Do you two plan to flirt all night? Can you at least acknowledge the situation here? We're standing right in front of you! Or do you think, as the leader of the Pureblood Party, you're so far above us that we don't even matter?"
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