By evening, young Grosvenor came to the conclusion that there was no point in keeping everything secret any longer. Right after dinner, he shut himself away in the dormitory and took out the wizardphone.
"Richie, my boy, good evening," came the calm voice of the Duke of Westminster from the speaker.
"Hello, Dad."
"Are you all right?" Gerald asked.
"I'm alive and well, but there's… a complication."
"Has something happened?"
Gerald's voice sharpened with concern.
"There's been an attempt on my life—disguised as an accident. Or perhaps it truly was an accident, but there are too many coincidences…"
Richard gave his father a detailed account of the troll attack and shared his thoughts on the matter. He also mentioned the strangeness of the forbidden corridor and the possibility that the Philosopher's Stone was being kept at Hogwarts.
"I'm already regretting that you had to go to that school," the duke said, a steely, barely restrained anger beneath his voice. "Richie, do your best to stay out of trouble. Remember—your task is simply to get through five years in that madhouse and come out alive and well! You don't even need to excel—so long as you're not expelled, that will suffice. Though even that would be acceptable; we can manage perfectly well without magic, but… the Queen hinted to me, in private, that the Windsors would very much like to have their own wizards."
"I understand I shouldn't go looking for trouble, but Father—the Philosopher's Stone! With something like that, we could live for a very long time."
"Don't get involved in anything, Richie!" Gerald ordered firmly.
"All right. And what about Dumbledore?"
"I'm afraid we have nothing we can use against him," the duke said with a note of resignation. "According to intelligence reports, Dumbledore remains in the castle at all times and holds enormous authority and influence among British wizards. It would be easier for us to remove the Minister for Magic than to do anything about the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Our special forces can't get into the castle. The only option would be to bomb Hogwarts—and even that isn't feasible. You may as well consider yourselves hostages, much like in the days when medieval aristocrats sent their children to be 'educated' in other lords' households."
"I see."
"Besides," Gerald continued, "this whole business with the forbidden corridor looks very much like a staged performance. Even if the Philosopher's Stone is in the castle, there's a ninety-nine per cent chance it's a trap set by the Headmaster. It may even be the real Stone—to make the bait irresistible."
"I've thought of that. I just can't work out who the trap is meant for."
"Nor can I," the duke sighed heavily. "As for the attempt, I suspect your encounter may have been accidental."
"Accidental?"
"Yes, Richie," Gerald said. "Here's how it looks to me: someone who knows about the Philosopher's Stone—possibly even the very person the trap is meant for—got into the castle. They brought the troll onto the grounds to draw attention away from an attempt to enter the forbidden corridor. And the trick worked."
"Dad, that sounds logical, but there's a problem. We were told that only students, staff, and invited guests can be on the castle grounds. The walls are so high that sneaking in unnoticed would be nearly impossible. And there are supposed to be protective enchantments as well."
"The castle is ancient—there could be secret passages," Gerald replied. "Besides, it's not impossible that the culprit is one of the professors. Richie, describe all the teachers to me."
For the next half hour, Richard gave his father a detailed description of every professor.
"Hm…" the duke drawled thoughtfully. "From your account, I can identify two likely suspects. Severus Snape—he was once part of an extremist terrorist group of wizards led by Tom Riddle. Yet he was released on Dumbledore's personal guarantee, who claimed Snape had been acting as his spy."
"Brilliant! So we have a former terrorist teaching Potions?!"
"Yes, Richie. So be extremely cautious around him. The other one who concerns me is Quirinus Quirrell. His behaviour doesn't add up. A capable wizard, clearly able to perform powerful magic, runs through the entire castle only to dramatically faint in front of a crowd of witnesses. And what happened to him afterwards, once everyone left the Great Hall?"
"I don't know. I suppose he was forgotten."
"Exactly!" Gerald said. "Forgotten—and at that very moment he could have slipped away and tried to enter the forbidden corridor. Though it's not the most convincing plan, if you ask me. Then again, Snape could have done the same under the pretext of searching for the troll. But Quirrell… what bothers me is this: he's an adult man who didn't suffer so much as a scratch. He had enough strength to run through the corridors beforehand—only to collapse so theatrically? Why risk his reputation instead of quietly asking a colleague to escort him to the hospital wing? If he's such a capable wizard, why not simply cast a spell to revive himself? There are spells for that, surely?"
"Yes. It's called Rennervate. By the way, Dad, that's the very sort of charm they're supposed to teach in the upper years of Defence Against the Dark Arts—which Quirrell himself teaches."
"All the more suspicious," the duke concluded. "It very much looks as though your headmaster is playing a game of cat and mouse with someone. Possibly even suffering from delusions of grandeur."
"Dad, I've asked Detective Potter to gather everything he can on Albus Dumbledore."
"Excellent. I'll contact Scott and pass the data on to MI6. Let them compile a more detailed psychological profile of your Headmaster. And remember, Richie—do not get involved in anything! Do you understand me?"
"I understand."
"And call me every day!" Gerald added sternly. "I need to be sure you're all right."
"All right. Goodbye, Dad."
(End of Chapter)
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