At first, upon hearing Abernathy's words, Wentworth let out a deep breath of relief, even allowing a faint smile to appear on his lips. However, the moment Abernathy continued speaking, that smile froze in place.
"Did you notice something unusual?"
Wentworth asked quickly.
Abernathy's expression grew solemn as he nodded gravely before replying,
"Yes. Something is definitely off. While disguised as a servant and gathering information inside the manor, I noticed that all the servants and house-elves were eerily silent. Aside from the occasional sound of objects being moved, not a single word was spoken by anyone."
Hearing this, Wentworth frowned in confusion.
"Doesn't that simply mean they are well-trained? Perhaps silence is part of their household's discipline or family rules?"
Abernathy slowly shook his head and reminded him,
"Wentworth, you need to consider what I said earlier and connect the dots! Picture this—an enormous manor, filled with smiling servants, yet not a single one utters a word! Though surrounded by many people, the entire estate is deathly silent!"
As Abernathy described the scene, Wentworth imagined it for himself. A chill ran down his spine, and a cold sweat broke out across his body.
Abernathy continued,
"Not only that, but I also tested something—I deliberately 'accidentally' broke a cup. Immediately, a house-elf appeared to clean up the mess. Once finished, the elf left, without saying a word. What's more, not a single other servant reacted. No one even glanced in my direction, as if nothing had ever happened!"
Wentworth, already shaken, felt the room grow colder around him. A shiver passed through him as an unsettling realization crept into his mind.
Yet what truly made Wentworth's blood run cold was Abernathy's next words.
Looking directly at Wentworth, Abernathy spoke with an uncharacteristic seriousness,
"There is only one explanation for this—Imperius Curse!"
Wentworth instinctively swallowed.
"If it really is the Imperius Curse, then Cassandra's manor is in grave danger! Casting the Imperius Curse on such a large number of servants and house-elves… this isn't something one or two wizards could accomplish alone. That means multiple wizards must have infiltrated the manor!"
Rosier, who had remained silent until now, spoke in a heavy tone,
"I was thinking the same thing."
Abernathy spread his hands and added,
"Which is why I didn't dare go any deeper into the estate. I didn't want to alert them. There's no doubt—this is a trap. A deadly one. The only question is… who is it meant for?"
Wentworth let out a wry chuckle and shook his head.
"There's no need to guess. If nothing else, this trap is meant for me."
Abernathy and Rosier exchanged glances before Abernathy nodded and said,
"That was my thought as well. But fortunately, Wentworth, you were cautious enough to sense the danger beforehand. Tomorrow, I will gather our wizards. Whoever they are, under the force of our wands, they will have only two choices—surrender or die!"
A glint of cold determination flickered in Abernathy's eyes.
However, Rosier coughed lightly and shot him a sharp look.
Abernathy, momentarily startled, quickly realized his mistake and hastily corrected himself,
"Of course, that's just my suggestion. The final decision is yours, Wentworth."
Instead of answering immediately, Wentworth fell into deep thought. After a long silence, he finally spoke,
"What I can't figure out is whether Cassandra knows about this. And if she does, what role is she playing in it?"
Abernathy looked like he wanted to argue, but Rosier raised a hand to stop him.
Rosier then fixed Wentworth with a serious gaze and said slowly,
"Wentworth, you're intelligent. You must see the truth—Cassandra knows. She must. Mercy has no place here!"
Despite Rosier's increasingly stern tone, Wentworth remained calm. Instead of responding directly, he countered,
"But she has no reason to do this, does she? Unless… unless she was forced to. Unless someone has something on her and is using it against her."
"More importantly, Cassandra might be in this position because of me. That would mean they're using her as leverage."
Rosier was about to speak again, but Abernathy beat him to it.
"That doesn't change the fact that she poses a threat to you, does it?!"
For the first time, Abernathy's frustration was evident in his gaze as he looked at Wentworth, his expression filled with an almost fatherly disappointment.
A heavy silence filled the room. After a long pause, Wentworth finally broke it with an unexpected question,
"I wonder… If my grandfather were in my place, what would he do? Say someone had taken Rosier's grandmother hostage and forced her to betray my grandfather. But then my grandfather found out—what would he do?"
Rosier and Abernathy were both taken aback, momentarily at a loss for words.
After another stretch of silence, Rosier let out a bitter chuckle and admitted,
"I think… in that situation, the most likely outcome would be that our master would crush his enemies with overwhelming strength… and then give me a severe scolding."
Hearing Rosier's answer, Wentworth nodded thoughtfully. Then, turning to Abernathy, he said,
"In that case, Grandpa Abernathy, please gather our forces tomorrow. No matter who is behind this, we will crush them first and ask questions later."
"But this time," Wentworth added with a knowing smile, "let's not make it as public as what happened in London, shall we?"
At Wentworth's command, Abernathy's face lit up with fierce determination. He nodded enthusiastically,
"Understood! I'll handle the arrangements at once!"
However, Rosier, still worried, cautioned,
"Wentworth, given the number of enemies and their strength, once battle begins, we may not be able to guarantee Cassandra's safety. If things go wrong, I need you to be prepared for the worst."
Hearing this, Wentworth merely smiled and reassured Rosier,
"Don't worry, Grandma Rosier. I have a plan. I'll figure something out when it comes to Cassandra."
Seeing that Wentworth had already made up his mind, Rosier sighed and patted his shoulder before leaving with Abernathy.
Once they had gone, Wentworth sat in silence for a long while. As the night deepened, he finally stood up, walked to his desk, and picked up a quill.
Then, from within his robes, he pulled out a small, intricately folded paper crane.
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