Chapter 128 – Revelations
A muggle surveillance team was settled into a utility van driving slowly along the road that skirted the vast expanse of Sir Harold Beckwith's estate later that evening. The three men, all of whom had the highest-level security clearances, had been briefed on the situation while in the air transport that brought them north from London to Scotland. They were proud to have been hand-picked for an assignment at the Prime Minister's request, although this particular assignment seemed most peculiar.
"Alright, lads, I see the entrance to the estate, up there on the right," the driver whispered. "All systems ready? We can make just this one pass going east, and then another going west in half an hour, so make it count."
The man perched on a low bench in the back was adjusting some knobs on several large electronic components, and he nodded to the man riding shotgun in the front seat.
"So far, the security at this place has been obvious – we didn't need scanners to spot the huge cameras, or detect the electricity running along those big wires across the tops of the fences. Bloody hell, we could even hear the dogs patrolling the grounds inside the fences. I'd be surprised if they suddenly went all subtle at the front gates, but we'll do what we are supposed to do," he muttered.
The van drove cautiously past the large gates that marked the entrance to the estate, its hidden infrared cameras recording the scene in great detail, its scanners identifying all electrical devices and a few new gadgets supposedly capturing information about the people and larger animals within 10 meters of the devices. It proceeded on to the next crossroad away from the estate, and drove along to a point out of sight of anyone watching from the estate, where they stopped the van at the side of the road. All three men huddled in the back, to check the results collected in the drive-by.
"The Queen's jewels aren't this well-protected, lads!" the driver exclaimed as he watched the images appear on a screen on a laptop, which were shared simultaneously via satellite link with a team in London. "You don't need the lads back in London to study this – look, right there – you can see cameras, and that big one over there looks like one of those body heat things we're using."
The man who had been riding shotgun was checking the results of the body heat scan and replied, "It's well-populated in there, too. This thing seems to have spotted . . . eight, nine, ten, and maybe that's eleven, I'm not certain, men within range, and I think those little blips might be dogs, even more of them, and those others are probably horses. That place is a fortress! Do we have any idea what's going on in there?"
"Above our pay grade, mate," the technician in the group added. "Let's have the sandwiches we packed, since we have to wait the length of a service call, and then we head back. The boys back at base will need to take the next step. No way we can hope to infiltrate that place from the ground."
The three men finished their sandwiches and retraced their path back to the main road, intending to go back to the safe house the government maintained as part of security for Balmoral Castle, not that far from where they were. They were driving through the small village located near Sir Harold's estate when one of the men spotted the local pub.
"Anyone else fancy a pint, then? This was a wild goose chase, and it's cost us an evening at home. I think it's the least the government could do for three civil servants such as ourselves," the driver suggested, to unanimous agreement.
That suggestion ended up producing the most valuable information of the evening.
The three men were observed arriving in a utility company van, and they were assumed to be the repairmen dispatched when lines were down. The locals in the pub simply folded them into ongoing conversation, which was focused on whatever was going on at Sir Harold's.
In short order, amid good natured banter and shared stories, the three men learned that half a dozen busloads of men had been seen hurtling through town a couple of days before. It was observed that several of the small firms in town that provisioned the estate (including the owner of the fine establishment in which they were now enjoying a pint) had been compelled to rent trucks to bring in the quantities of food, beer and other supplies that had been ordered. Another man volunteered that half a dozen young men of the town had been hired a week ago to set up several dozen large tents clustered around an enormous outbuilding set well back from the manor house. Someone else had seen a huge truck with portable toilets driving through town very late at night, the night after the tents were put up.
The barman looked over the new arrivals. "Not surprising, then, if they've blown a fuse, or whatever, with that many men in there using the electricity, huh?" he commented to the driver, who was a few years older than his fellows and assumed to be in charge.
The driver just nodded. "Nah, don't worry lads, your power's fine. The boys who watch the dials did see a spike in use, and always worry that something broke, that we're electrocuting fishes in a stream or something. We found nothing, and now you've told us what's probably the whole story. A long trip, all for naught."
As the three men were heading off from their brief stop in the pub, the man in the rear of the van placed a call via a secure mobile link back to London, reporting what they'd learned in the local pub, having found out nothing useful from all their high-tech apparatus. As the report on activity at Sir Harold Beckwith's estate made its way up the line to the Prime Minister's office, no mention was made of the extremely low-tech manner in which is was obtained.
X X X X X X X X X X
Madam Bunswil offered an owl treat to the fluffy barn owl that had just deposited a large bundle of parchment on her desk. She'd hoped to have this information the day before, but it looked like there might be a bit more here than she had originally expected, given the size of that bundle. The owl hooted and left, and she began the process of reviewing the information over her morning coffee.
One of her yearmates at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic was from Hungary, and while that yearmate had passed away years ago, Madam Bunswil had known the children, and had kept in touch with her friend's daughter, Cili. Over the years, Madam Bunswil had kept in touch with many people, and their children, and in many cases now, their grandchildren. Always friendly notes, occasionally a visit, and of course gifts at the appropriate times. A social web, but one that could be used for her business when necessary, such as when she needed information about people in communities outside of her normal reach.
Cili wrote on for a page or two to her dear Aunt Vadoma, all about her family and their activities, and Vadoma Bunswil read that with interest, before getting to the pages at the back. It turned out that she had inquired about a young man of scandalously ill repute in the community. As a consequence, she got quite a lengthy description of his many misdeeds, and the many trials to which he'd put his wonderful mother, apparently a distant cousin to Cili's daughter-in-law.
Parts of the narrative might be of interest to Lord Malfoy, if any of this might suggest why the young man was doing what he did, she thought, as she started noting dates on a spare bit of parchment, to compare with the paltry amount of information known by the Aurors about the man who tried to kill Lord Snape. The apparent age of the assailant appeared to align with the date of birth provided by Cili's material, and this man's disappearance from his home was sufficiently in advance of the event involving Lord Snape to allow for the travels it was assumed he made before that event. There was a small photograph of the man, as well, a nice surprise. She checked the packet of information provided by Lucius, and sure enough, there was a photograph of the man taken in the Ministry morgue. There were years and no doubt some hard living between the two photos, but it did look like the same man. It all checked out - this was him.
So, who was he? The name given was Andor Szalay. She'd never heard of him individually, but she did know of the Szalay clan. The Szalays were an old magical family from Hungary, she recalled that, and then spent a few moments sifting through what appeared to be copies of pages from his family lineage book – had she ever known anyone from that family? None of the names seemed familiar. Cili's notes went on to discuss the family, adding almost as a gossipy aside that they were suspected to include some Roma stock, way back. Andor's personal magical skills, if there were any, apparently were not known in his community, or had been forgotten in the wake of the circumstances of his hasty departure.
Roma ancestry, now that was intriguing. Madam Bunswil came from similar stock; she rarely used her first name beyond a very small circle of old friends because it was a Roma name, chosen for her by her mother.
Even in the magical world, the Roma were not always welcomed.
Her magic was more of the mind than the wand, as she liked to describe it. Over the years, she'd come to learn that was a Roma trait. Oh, she could do spells and charms and all the things taught in Beauxbatons, but she had true and powerful gifts elsewhere. Not quite an empath, not necessarily a seer, and goodness, not a diviner, but a very unique blend of skills that enabled her to assess, understand, read and perceive things about magical people, and their magic. She could meet people and have an unerringly accurate assessment of their sincerity, honesty and at times, even their intentions. She'd found a number of businessmen willing to pay her handsomely for insights into and backgrounds of potential business partners and the likelihood of the success of a business endeavor based on the characters of the participants.
As she was carving out a career and making her way in the world, she'd had no idea how she'd come into such an apparently unusual set of skills. A chance meeting with an old gypsy fortune-teller, who she'd initially been inclined to dismiss as a complete muggle fraud, gave her a clue as to her magical inheritance.
Her skills had allowed her to deduce that the magic in that wand was from a member of a clan in the Carpathian Mountains, in Hungary. Cili confirmed that the man who owned the wand was indeed from there, but the Roma part was quite a surprise. Knowing that did help her hone in on the sorts of special skills she might look for, probably by other means. It was a good start.
After finishing her morning coffee, Madam Bunswil began a new letter to the grandson of an old friend of hers who had worked not that many years ago as a healer in those mountains. He might be able to confirm her suspicions about unique traits among the Szalay clan's magic.
She dispatched a second owl to Lord Malfoy, informing him of what she now knew of the assailant's name and lineage, and presenting the information about Andor that she got in the package from Cili. She added that she was now checking on any unique skills associated with the magic of his clan. She expected to be able to provide a full report on that within a day or two.
X X X X X X X X X X
The Gryffindor seventh years who had free periods were, as usual, using the Great Hall to study as a group, allowing more banter and conversation than would be possible in the quiet of the library. Even Hermione usually sat with her mates in the Great Hall during free periods, although she would get to the library later in the afternoons on most days. The arrival of the mail typically interrupted studies for a few minutes, when all manner of owls, and more recently, the occasional vulture looking for Neville, soared in through the open ceiling and noisily sought out the young witch or wizard for whom they had a letter or parcel.
This morning, Hermione had several owls hovering near her, swooping down in turn to drop a periodical, two letters and a newspaper. Others at the table got their usual assortment of letters and small parcels, as well. There was no vulture in the mix this morning, so Neville was not getting a note from Nitrocris, although a small owl did deposit a note from his grandmother at his place. Everyone dropped their studies to check out whatever had been delivered, with murmuring of news and reactions around the table.
Harry looked up from his work to see what others had gotten and to join in some of the conversation springing up, knowing that all of his mail was directed elsewhere. Hermione quickly sorted her periodical and newspaper, and immediately opened one letter, and his attention was drawn to her look of . . . well, he wasn't sure what. She looked flustered, that was really the only way to describe it, and it was a sight he'd not seen before. It looked to be a typed, business letter, too, making the whole situation even more mysterious. When she'd finished reading the second page of the letter, she carefully folded it and returned it to its envelope. She said nothing about it, and Harry let it slide, silently vowing to himself to find out what that was all about, later.
The Gryffindors were mainly absorbed in admiring a birthday gift that looked like some kind of jewelry that Padma Patil had received from her parents, with a smaller contingent sharing a magazine that Dean Thomas had received. Harry joined in briefly, but was soon back finishing his Charm essay.
As those taking Advanced Potions headed off toward the dungeons for a late morning class, Harry fell in beside Hermione while Ron carried on with Dean about the magazine.
"What was in that letter you got, Hermione? You looked almost upset, and then you didn't say anything. Is everything alright?" he asked quietly as they trooped along behind the others.
Hermione gave him a sharp look, and he grinned. "Hey, I'm not the only one who looks around and sees things. You don't have a lock on that, Mione. Now, spill. What was that all about?"
With a look of mild annoyance at his persistence, she took a breath and replied. "It was a letter from the editor of the journal to which Professor Snape suggested that I submit my article, if you must know."
Harry immediately felt guilty – had his friend just gotten a rejection letter, and now he was pestering her about it? "Oh, sorry, Mione, I didn't mean to pry. I'm sure Severus can suggest other publications that would be interested. . ." He stopped apologizing when he realized that she was looking at him like he might have just sprouted another head.
"What are you going on about, Harry? It was a very cordial letter, and they are most interested in publishing what I sent them," Hermione volunteered crisply.
Now it was Harry's turn to look puzzled. "Then why did you look all flustered and disturbed when you read the letter? I'd have to imagine that hearing that they'd publish your article would make most people very pleased."
Hermione was different, he knew that, but her reaction to this good news was odd, even for her.
"Oh, that," she allowed. "I was reacting to how they addressed me, who they seem to think I am."
Harry's look of puzzlement remained on his face after that attempt at explanation, and she finally fished the letter out of her bookbag and showed it to him. "Note the title used with my name."
Sure enough, the letter had been addressed to "Professor" Granger.
"And read the letter – it's nothing confidential. See how they got the impression that I teach here."
As he quickly read through the letter, Harry's puzzlement gave way to a look of surprise and pleasure. "Severus! He told them not just that he'd suggested that you submit it to them, but that he thinks very highly of the work! Congratulations, Hermione! This has to be a first, such glowing praise for a Gryffindor from Severus of all people. I'm very proud of you."
Hermione finally got past her embarrassment at the editor's mistake, and her guilt at feeling so pleased with the error, and she smiled, trying hard to keep a rein on her emotions. Harry's summary did not capture words that were even now engraving themselves in her memory. Professor Snape had apparently described her article as "a particularly strong contribution to the scholarship of magical dispersion." At least that is what the editor said. He also mentioned that Professor Snape had said that her "fresh approach, unfettered by the dogma that cluttered so much of research in the wizarding world" had inspired him in some new research of his own that he'd recently begun.
Feeling her equilibrium returning, Hermione relaxed. "To think Professor Snape was so generous with his praise that the editor thought I was a professor – that is amazing. I'm sure he'll be mortified when he learns I'm just a student here. He said they had some independent researchers who were going to check a few things out. Do you think they'll hold up my article if they can't get access to the records I used? What if they can't? What if . . . "
"Calm down, Mione," Harry interrupted. "I can ask Severus what kind of checking they do, what sort of issues he'd expect given what you wrote. He read your work several times, so he knows what you were doing. Enjoy the moment."
Harry and Ron exited the Potions classroom an hour later, surprised to see Bill Weasley waiting at the door.
"Hey, little brother," his older, if slightly shorter, brother said to Ron. "Head on up to the Infirmary. Dad's here, and Charlie and Percy, and Fred and George are coming as soon as they can get someone to cover the store. Mom's having the baby today!"
Ron blushed – he really did not need more reminders that his parents still, well, you know. Harry and Hermione made up for his lack of enthusiasm. They each grabbed him by an arm, and the threesome bound off to join the waiting Weasleys upstairs.
Bill hung back a bit, and as soon as the three were out of sight down the corridor, he stepped into the classroom, for a quick word with Professor Snape on a Gringotts matter.
Severus looked up from his desk, where he was organizing the essays he'd just collected. He'd never really minded Bill Weasley, even as a student, although he might have felt differently if he could have predicted what the young man's siblings would be like. But at least the arrival of this member of the Weasley clan in his classroom did not raise his blood pressure. Standing, he nearly smiled as he greeted Bill.
"Mr. Weasley – what a surprise!" he offered, not exactly warmly, but far more cordially than most of his former students would be welcomed.
"Professor," Bill nodded. The years since he'd graduated had moderated some of the fear and almost awe with which he regarded Severus, but not all of it. "My father sent an owl and asked me to come to Hogwarts today – my mother is about to have the baby. He wasn't aware, of course, that I was just down in High Hill County and not still in Persia. Gringotts still has a full crew still engaged at your manor, of course, my absence is not going to impact completion of the work."
Severus nodded. "And have they actually gotten inside the house yet? I am concerned that those who live in Briarwood Hall will be able to see what's afoot."
"Not to worry, sir. We have obscuration charms in place, to shield comings and goings, as well as work in progress. Just last week, we got deep enough into the front foyer that we are now able to stage all that from inside the house. It's slow going, but our curse-breakers are the best in the business. If I may say so, sir, there's some pretty nasty stuff in there. It's taking our best giving their best to make any progress at all. It's never taken Gringotts this long to just get past a front door."
Severus quirked his eyebrows in acknowledgement. "My father saw to it that the manor would not be easily inhabited by anyone else if he came to a violent end. I did give some thought to simply demolishing the place, but somehow, that felt like letting him win. This needs to be done. In any case, as Harry and I are in residence here, there's no immediate urgency. It's understood that this is to be kept completely confidential?"
Bill nodded stiffly. This particular engagement carried with it one of the most extensive confidentiality provisions Gringotts had ever accepted from a client of its cursebreaking division, and he and all of his colleagues had been briefed by the Head Goblin as to what was required. "Well, then, Professor, I did want to give you an update as I was here, but I'll be joining the family upstairs now. I assume we'll be seeing you up there, when you have a moment."
Severus stared after Bill as he hurried out of the classroom.
"Family," he thought, several times. He had to imagine that Harry had scurried off with young Weasley and likely Miss Granger when Bill told them of Molly's condition. How different families could be. He'd needed to engage the very best cursebreakers in the business just to get past the front door of his father's manor, and he had to keep the whole endeavor shielded from his conniving brothers. What was the "family" in that? Not for the first time, Severus realized he might actually envy Arthur Weasley for his family and the closeness they shared, and their willingness to embrace others. He could just see the gaggle of redheads lounging on benches in the infirmary, with one head of messy dark hair, one of long, curly brown, and probably a blond in the mix, waiting for news.
He'd eat quickly in the Great Hall, as he was expected to do as a Professor, and join them shortly. He'd been invited, after all.
X X X X X X X X X X
The Prime Minister had placed the bottlecap on the blotter on his desk, and was looking at it suspiciously. He felt he needed to alert the wizards that his people had confirmed a large gathering of men up at Sir Harold's estate. When the ground team had shared what it learned, he'd been able to arrange a fly-over by a spy plane, and had confirmed their suspicions: the estate appeared to have become a military training ground.
With a deep breath, he took the cap in his hand, lifted it close to his face, and whispered clearly "Ministry of Magic." He almost held his breath as he waited. And waited. He didn't know exactly what he expected to happen when he did this, but it surprised him when nothing at all happened. He gave it a few minutes and tried again. He'd just finished whispering the word "Magic" a second time when he heard a soft pop. He almost fell off his chair when he realized that Minister Bones was standing right before his desk. She hadn't used the fireplace, as there'd been no wooshing sound made by the funny green flames. How did they do that?
"Mr. Prime Minister, I came as soon as I was able after hearing your call. You needed to speak to me?" she asked as she took a seat.
The Prime Minister could not help but notice no ashes or other dishevelment about Minister Bones – she just appeared in his office, out of thin air. He mentally shook himself from marveling about that, and refocused on the report on his desk.
"Yes, ma'am. We do have a report, well, two actually. We got a report last night of all sorts of goings on at Sir Harold's estate, and I was able to confirm the intelligence this morning with a fly-over. There are at least a hundred men on the grounds of the estate, and they appear to be living in tents. All indications suggest that they've been there a week, maybe more. The security around the perimeter is state-of-the-art, very powerful, which is why we had to use the fly-over. We did see what our military experts have told me appears to be soldiers engaging in training exercises. They have been studying the photographs we were able to take of the exercises, and have identified their weapons. They made me a list, and I have a reference book here that should help your people identify the various guns and such. Can we provide you with further information?" he asked, as he handed over several pages held together with a staple and shielded in a manila folder. He also passed over an inches-thick book, a reference guide to military weapons.
Amelia couldn't imagine that the kinds of muggle guns would be of any interest, but their ammunition would be important. "I'll have my people check this out, and I appreciate the reference on the guns, as I'm sure it will be helpful. This discusses the ammunition, as well, does it not?" she asked.
He nodded s got all the particulars, including ammunition requirements. I have to assume that Sir Harold has all that on his estate, as well."
The Prime Minister still felt horrified by this discovery, and felt the need to explain a bit more to his guest. "I do have the Crown Prosecution Service checking to see if anything we've observed constitutes a violation of any of our statutes. The preliminary assessment from my staff is that possession alone of the weaponry and even the ammunition is not an offense, and men playing soldiers on private land is also not an offense. I've been informed that there are actually private camps where men pay to pretend they are in the army."
"I'm not really worried about this, Mr. Prime Minister," Amelia said as she stood to get back to her office, using the floo this time. "As I've told you, we believe the target is Hogwarts, and there are very powerful magical spells in place protecting it. These men, and all their weapons, really pose no significant threat to us, more to themselves. We will keep our people behind the wards of the castle now, and they will all be safe. We can probably even disable the weapons, prevent them from being fired. I do appreciate the information, and it will help us assure that we, and to the best of our abilities, they, suffer no harm in this misadventure."
X X X X X X X X X X
Harry and the others lounged in a waiting area created by the house elves for the event, at the front of the Hogwarts Infirmary. Sandwiches had been provided, along with a samovar of tea and pitchers of pumpkin juice, because no one knew how long they'd have to wait for news, and the younger Weasley boys, in particular, were eating as if they hadn't seen food in days.
Albus and Minerva had announced that they would join Severus in heading up to the Infirmary when he told them of the news he'd heard from Bill.
"Is there any word yet," Minerva asked, as she accepted a cup of tea from one of the twins. "Severus told us at lunch that you were all waiting here."
Fred, or maybe it was George, replied, "No, we got word from Dad late this morning that Mom was in labor, and he asked us to join us here as soon as we could."
"Actually, Mom's never been in labor for more than two or three hours for any of us," Bill volunteered. As the oldest, he clearly remembered the arrival of all of his siblings but Charlie and Percy, and had vague recollection of that last. "We've had some frights getting the midwife to the Burrow in time – Dad almost had to deliver Ron himself, he arrived so fast."
On cue, Ron blushed a deep crimson, not at all placated by a pat on the arm from Hermione. Seeing his discomfort, all the other Weasleys joined in with whatever they could recall of the arrivals of their siblings, with only Ginny having no stories to tell. It appeared that she'd arrived within half an hour of the midwife's arrival, close but not quite as dramatic as Ron's birthday. The twins were known to be twins in advance, so a midwife had come to stay at the Burrow the days before the mediwitch expected they'd arrive, so theirs was the least exciting story.
Within half an hour of the group's assembly, the wait was over. A very flushed Arthur joined his family, beaming and holding a small bundle, his new son.
He was instantly mobbed, as everyone jostled for a look at the new arrival, who was already sporting a fuzz of red hair around his head. Minerva asserted herself as the senior woman in the group and relieved Arthur of the bundle, so he could receive the hugs and pats on the back that the others wanted to give him, while everyone could admire the child in a more orderly, safer manner.
"And how is Molly, Arthur?" Albus asked, after admiring the child and giving the proud new father a hug.
"She's fine, thank you, Albus," Arthur answered with a warm smile. "She wanted to bring the baby out here herself, but Madam Pomfrey reminded her that she wasn't as young as when she had Ginny. She's resting now, although I'm sure she'd be pleased if anyone wanted to see her if you went back to her room. I think Poppy is finished with her."
Albus looked around the infirmary, to see how disruptive this large contingent of visitors would be to others. There were just a few children in beds along the far wall – most likely, those were the youngsters who'd snuck into the greenhouses the day before and did not realize how far the neelyfern could project its poisonous spores. Pomona had told him about that – along with a request for stronger wards on the doors of the greenhouses.
With a wave of his hand, a corridor of curtains appeared down the middle of the room.
"Come along, all. We can pay Molly a visit and congratulate her, as well. There are a few sick students here, so please stay in the corridor and keep the noise down," he said, as he began to shoo the small crowd along to Molly's room toward the back.
The room immediately expanded as it sensed the arrival of the Headmaster and a number of others, so there was no trouble getting the entire and expanded Weasley family into the room. Molly herself looked just a bit tired, and was bubbling over with excitement to receive her visitors.
Her children dutifully went over to kiss their mother on the cheek, while Harry, Hermione and Draco hung back awkwardly. This might have been somewhat business-as-usual for the Weasleys, but the three who were only children had no experience whatsoever with the arrival of babies. Molly herself was having none of that.
"Oh, come over here, you three! Give us a hug. I'm so glad that you could be here. Hermione, my dear, wonderful to see you. And Harry! Thank you for joining us. And Draco! How nice to have you complete the family!" she gushed, grabbing each in turn for a quick hug and kiss.
Minerva came up last, handing over the baby to his mother. "A beautiful child, Molly, dear. Congratulations! And have you and Arthur decided upon a name yet?"
Molly exchanged a quick look at her husband. "No, we haven't decided yet. We need to discuss a few things first, but I expect we'll be announcing his name by the end of the day."
Madam Pomfrey had watched the group trouping into her infirmary with resignation, as she saw the Headmaster directing the visit. However, she hovered at the periphery, watching her patient closely. Once all had the chance to admire the baby, congratulate the father and fuss over Molly, she swooped in.
"I'm sure you've all got other places to be, and Molly needs her rest! Please, all, run along. You can visit again later," she scolded, gently ending the visit.
Molly looked a bit sad to see her family go, but she finally smiled gratefully at the mediwitch, who had correctly guessed that she was tired. Poppy patted her old friend on the arm, as she made sure the crisp white blankets were tucked into the bed. She carefully nestled the child in a small crib right where Molly could keep an eye on her baby. "A nap for you, my dear, while the napping is good. The little one will be hungry soon enough. We'll see how you feel come dinner time – Arthur can join you for dinner, and maybe the others can spend some time with you after."
As they all exited the Infirmary, the students went off to rejoin their classmates, and Arthur and his non-student sons headed in the direction of the guest rooms, joined by Draco who was taking advantage of the chance to spend some time with Charlie. Albus, Severus and Minerva were about to head off to their respective offices when Kingsley arrived from the Ministry Annex. The man looked upset by the news in the parchment he'd brought to the Headmaster. However, before Kingsley could say anything, Albus had come to a stop midstride, and closed his eyes. He had just felt a pulse from the wards, and stood still while he probed and assessed what was happening.
When he opened his eyes and accepted the parchment from Kingsley, he spoke quietly to his staff. "The castle is under attack."
