Aristocrat (HP/SI)

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***

Richard held himself with the dignity of a lord. Smiling, he began shaking hands with members of the Weasley family and paying the compliments of duty:

- Lovely dress, Mrs Weasley. Lovely hair, Ginny. You look great, Ron. You have an original and very cosy house, I can feel the hand of your caring owners. Pleased to meet you. Let me give you these.

Richard handed gifts to each of the four members of the Weasley family. Arthur eyed the bottle of wine and tea curiously. Molly sniffed the perfume and was pleased with the scent. A happy smile lit up her face. Ron, shy of his outfit, pouted after the compliment. When he got his hands on the brightly coloured Monopoly box, he looked at it with delight and could barely contain himself from unpacking it. Ginny was just as excited to see the box of Elias board game.

- Thank you. It's a pleasure to welcome the Lord as our guest," Mrs Weasley said warmly, looking at Richard with a doting look.

- Are you really Lord? - Ron blurted out.

- I am.

- It must be cool to be a Lord, huh? - Ron asked enviously.

- Not bad, but I wouldn't call it easy. You have to work hard and live up to your status. Ron, since we're the same age and future classmates, you and Ginny can call me Richie.

- Do you fly on a broomstick? - Ron asked.

- I prefer to get around in a car," Richard replied streamlined, having had an irrational aversion to flying broomsticks ever since he'd learned about them.

- Please come into the drawing room," Mrs Weasley called everyone in.

Richard spent a while congratulating the owners of the house on how beautiful their furniture was, how well they had organised everything in the house, what a lovely garden they had and a wonderful clock with the names of the family members on it. The clock had nine hands signed with the names of the Weasley family. The hands 'Arthur', 'Molly', 'Ron' and 'Ginny' stopped at the 'House' mark. Signed as "Charlie", "Percy", "Fred" and "George" stood at the "School" mark. The "Bill" hand froze opposite "Work." More fields could be seen on the dial: "In transit," "Lost," "In jail," "Hospital," and in the place of the twelve o'clock was written "Deadly Danger."

From time to time, Richard sentenced how such perfection could have been achieved by mere wizards. Mages, though British, were not accustomed to such things and melted from the stream of compliments.

- You have a wonderful neighbourhood," Richard continued. - From what I've seen on the road, it's getting better and soon it will be, if not a paradise on Earth, then a very comfortable neighbourhood.

- We have wonderful neighbours," Mr. Weasley said proudly. - The Lovegoods, the Fossetts, and the Diggorys live next door. Mr Lovegood publishes his own magazine. His little girl is going to Hogwarts with Ginny. Diggory works at the Ministry of Magic and his son is a year older than our twins Fred and George, only he's at Puffendoor instead of Gryffindor.

- Richie, what department do you want to go to? - Ron asked.

- Every department is good in its own way," Richard replied, who knew of only one and had heard of the other for the first time. - Puffendoo and Gryffindor are good, but I can't say anything bad about the others.

- I'm definitely going to Gryffindor! - Ron said confidently. - My parents and Bill went there, and my older brothers are there.

- It's a good choice.

- Oh, we're getting late," Mrs Weasley said with a sigh. - Dinner's getting cold. Please, Lord, let's go into the kitchen.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. In the middle stood a scraped wooden table surrounded by chairs. Richard sat down on the chair offered by his hostess and looked around casually. He had never been in the homes of other wizards, except for Madame Marchbanks. On the opposite wall hung a clock, this time with a single hand. Instead of numbers there were inscriptions: "Tea time," "Time to feed the chickens," "Late," and the like. There were stacks of books on the mantelpiece. Richie read on the spines, "Spell your own cheese!", "Enchantments used in baking," "How to make a feast in one second. Miracle Magic!" An old radio hung on the wall behind the sink.

The table was bursting with food. Not delicacies, but a pretty good selection: meat pie, roast beef chops, mashed potatoes, and a homemade cake with a puffy cream cap. Ron looked at the main sweet treat eagerly.

- Ronald," Molly looked at her son sternly, "the cake is for dessert!

The red-haired boy hardly looked away from the cake and hurriedly pounced on the food. He used a fork skilfully, but not a knife and ate in a hurry, which Richie put down to his large family not yawning.

Richard, on the other hand, had perfect manners and was leisurely devouring a simple but delicious meal with a fork and knife.

After about half an hour, when everyone had eaten, the most interesting thing began, for the sake of which Richard had come to visit the wizards.

- Lord Grosvenor, if you're interested, we could take a look at the flying car," Mr Weasley said.

- I'm quite curious. It would be my pleasure, Mr Weasley.

Richard, accompanied by Arthur, went out to a small patch of the backyard. There was a garage nearby, and an old Ford Anglia standing beside it.

Following Richard and Arthur were Ron and Ginny.

- Here it is! - Mr Weasley proudly displayed the car.

Richard examined the car with incredible curiosity. At first glance, it was impossible to find any differences from an ordinary Ford of that model. And at a second glance it was hard to tell the difference. Except that the condition of the car was perfect. Even too good for a car of this age. That immediately suggested the use of a repair spell.

- May I try flying, sir?

- Of course!

Arthur's children and wife remained on the ground. The breadwinner went along with his guest, who took the front passenger seat.

The interior of the car was indeed larger than the outside, just as Mr Weasley had said it would be. The flight was exhilarating. Judging by the speedometer, which surprisingly worked even in the air, the speed was around two hundred miles per hour. Not bad for a flying car, but I would have liked more.

Apart from the sound of the wind, there was nothing to be heard, for example, the sound of the engine running.

- And this is how invisibility is switched on.

Mr Weasley switched one of the toggle switches, which had obviously not appeared on the dashboard at the factory. After that, only the mirrors and the interior of the car were visible. Everything else disappeared.

- Unbelievable! Sir, you've done a difficult job. Are there any other functions?

- No," shook his head negatively, pleased with Arthur. - But if you wish, I can cast additional spells on your car.

- May I ask, Mr Weasley, what can I expect?

- Um..." Arthur hesitated, turning circles at half a kilometre altitude. - What do you want?

- Mr Weasley, I'm trying to get as far and as fast as I can, as unnoticed as possible.

- Like the Night Knight?

- Sir, forgive my ignorance, but I've never heard that name before.

- How? Lord, you don't know about the Night Knight?

- Unfortunately, one cannot know everything, sir. I hope you'll forgive me.

- It's a bus for wizards in distress. It is enchanted and can move a wizard anywhere in the world with the help of a portal marker, if the exit is not under water, and if the bus has been to that place and recorded the coordinates in the memory for portal points. The speed of the bus when travelling without being moved by a portal is four and a half thousand miles per hour. It is not noticed by Muggles, and it avoids obstacles with the help of many protective charms. Only the Night Knight is shaken violently by the short transgression jumps.

Richard could hardly refrain from shrieking with joy. He said discreetly:

- Sir, I want all these charms on my vehicle. And if possible, it would be desirable to solve the shaking issue.

- Unfortunately, I don't have the knowledge to glamour such a car," Mr Weasley said sadly.

- Sir, but someone has glamoured the Night Knight! Hire these wizards to work for you or as consultants. Or hire other competent wizards, either British or foreign. I'll give you the funds to pay for the services of consultant magicians and outside specialists.

- That's a way out!

Mr Weasley's eyes lit up with excitement. He seemed ready to rush out right now to find consultants. Apparently, he was curious to find out how the Night Knight had become enchanted.

- You'll have full funding in the summer, sir," Richard decided to let the man down in an uncultured manner. - In the meantime, look for the right specialists and negotiate with them.

- Yes, yes, of course," Mr Weasley returned from his reverie to reality.

- How long can this car fly for?

- Six or seven hours, then it will take some time to recharge the charms. I haven't yet figured out how to make such a large object fly for that long. A broom takes much less magical power, so you can fly it as long as you want. And the broom lifts a small amount of weight, while the car itself weighs a lot, plus the cargo.

- What's the payload?

Mr Weasley thought of something in his mind and answered:

- The cabin would fit my entire family and the boot would hold a month's worth of shopping. About a thousand and fifteen hundred pounds.

Richard immediately converted to the usual numbers - it turned out that the tested load capacity of the flying car in the region of seven hundred kilograms.

- Sir, what if you don't enchant a car, but an aeroplane with a design more suited to being in the air?

- An aeroplane?

- Yes, sir, an aeroplane.

- Is that a Muggle iron thing with wings?

- Yes, sir. That is correct.

- That's a thought! I'd love to see a real aeroplane.

- Sir, in addition to the car, I'll send you an aeroplane. A small one. I hope you'll glamour it like this.

- Of course! Gladly!

- Also, Mr Weasley, is it possible to make all the equipment shrink to a small size so that you can pick it up and put it in your pocket?

- Shrinking spells? - Arthur Weasley wondered. - If the charms don't conflict with each other... It would take some calculations and more time to enchant. And in that case you'd have to give up expanding the interior space. In principle, we could.

- There's no need to expand the space. If it's feasible, I'd like to be able to reduce the equipment and carry it without fear of damage. And now we can land. It's a wonderful car, Mr Weasley, I like it very much.After the car had landed, Richard, being polite, chatted with the Weasley family members for a while longer on distracted topics. The young Lord adhered to the unwritten British rules: not a word about religion, politics, or money unless the hosts themselves brought it up. Money was a completely taboo subject, but not at a business dinner. But since financial matters had been discussed last time, albeit in passing, Richard was careful not to bring up the subject of money again.

As a result, young Grosvenor left the Nora at the beginning of ten in the evening, tired but very satisfied.

When Richard got into the car, he caught the detective and the guard with equally large eyes. They turned their heads simultaneously in the direction of the young gentleman and were silent for some time.

Richard climbed into the back seat, looked at the men's elongated faces and asked:

- Gentlemen, do I have something on my face?

- Sir-" Stephen began. - We heard your conversation and saw the flying car before it became invisible.

- Steven, you better not tell anyone about this or your memory will be wiped.

- Yes, sir! - replied a pale Stephen, which is not what you would expect from a member of a special Special Forces unit. - I can keep a secret.

Richard looked at Scott reproachfully. He pulled a listening device from under his jacket and placed it on the seat beside him.

- 'Mr Potter, you promised that no one but you could hear anything.

- Boy, headphones are imperfect, you can hear everything inside the car, and it's freezing cold outside," the detective shrugged nonchalantly. - Besides, if you wanted to keep everything secret, you shouldn't have flown the car right over our heads.

- Devilishness! - muttered the driver under his breath. - That's the first time I've ever seen a bloody Ford Anglia fly like a fucking Delorean from a film!

***

It's all a bit of a mystery with Steve. The Duke of Westminster had a word with him, after which the driver changed back to calm, silent and impenetrable. And after a visit to Eton Hall by a man whom young Grosvenor recognised as the head of Her Majesty's Secret Service, everything began to fall into place.

The head of MI5 politely spoke to the Duke and exchanged a few words with the driver, and then left without even staying for dinner.

Yes, a simple special forces officer would guard the whole duke and his heir. Richard was ninety-nine per cent sure that Stephen was working for the British secret service. Even his reaction was roughly understandable: 'People with superpowers who live hidden from ordinary people? Whatever you say, sir. Secret information? Yes, sir! Continue to guard important people? Yes, sir."

And it seemed as if routine was trying to put its tentacles on Richard again, but where was it going...?

The young wizard's mind kept going round and round in his head: "Magic can do anything!" After what he had seen, Richard believed it with all his heart. How not to believe it, if he himself with a simple wave of a magic wand copied matter and flew on a flyer, which was created from an ancient machine by one man literally on his knees. Yes, yes, not with the help of complex and advanced technologies, a huge technological chain and a large number of engineers, scientists, designers. One damn wizard in his backyard garage converted a wheeled car into a familiar flyer!

And the Hausdorff-Banach-Tarski paradox?! That's just incredible, even for someone from the distant future. To create something out of nothing, even with some exceptions... It best confirms the postulate "Magic can do anything".

And now Richard is convinced that this world is rather holoserial with a supervillain of cosmic scale. What should an evil wizard use duplication charms on a nuclear bomb a hundred or a thousand times, and then blow the whole planet to hell? Only morality and other wizards. But if the magician police prove too weak to stand up to the supervillain, there will be a complete exterminatus.

Richard had just started a new life, he didn't want to die young. He didn't want to die on principle. But what to do? Warn the right people of the coming danger? What kind of danger?! He didn't even know the name of the villain Harry Potter had to confront. And he didn't know what kind of danger the evil sorcerer posed. And who would even believe a child, even if he is the Duke's son? So the only way out is to do it yourself.

Richard was trained to be a duke and the manager of a large corporation. He's not supposed to run around with a blaster like they do in holo-movies. He has to manage, give instructions and provide material support to his subordinates, although sometimes it is not shameful to wave a blaster. But first the subordinates must be found and recruited, then armed with advanced technology. And if there is no such, then magic artefacts will do. In fact, what difference does it make whether the flyer flies on antigravs assembled at the factory, or whether it does the same with the help of magic? The important thing is that the device fulfils its function.

The Flyer was just the first test run. Richard needed a lot of money to realise his vision. As historical wisdom tells us, the stronger economy wins the war. The one with the most money is in a favourable position. And Richard was ready to earn a lot and spend huge sums to save humanity, his family, acquaintances and, let it be said, himself.

But until there was no money, it was necessary to somehow hold on and start somewhere. And Richard knew exactly where - the construction of a research laboratory for wizards in Scotland. But the boy had only about two hundred thousand pounds at his disposal. It's too little if you need to urgently erect a decent-sized building in the middle of nowhere.

When there's no money, there's money to be made. Richard had a lot of options on that score. He could have sold some of the shares, but then he would have lost a decent profit and the capital increase would have stalled, which would have a negative impact on the future financing of important projects. A businessman could have borrowed another idea from the future and realised some HYIP product. But as experience has shown, this would first require spending time and money, and the profit would start to come in three or four months at best. Long in a situation where money is needed urgently. And here just in time came training mentor, who decided to diversify the arsenal of charms of his student. Only there is one small problem - Richie has no personal magic wand, and without it he is not able to copy objects.

Like a decent person, the next weekend Richard attempted to buy a wand in the Cosmic Alley. The first place he looked was Ollivander's shop, but the old man refused to let the boy buy a wand without any reasoning.

So Richard went to Jimmy Kindel's shop. No luck there either, but at least Jimmy explained that they didn't sell wands to young wizards under the age of eleven.

Richard was angry. His nostrils flared wide. In a completely unhappy mood, the boy hurried out of Slanting Lane.

Since no one would let the young Lord walk alone, Richard was accompanied by Detective Potter.

- What, lad, didn't work out?

- 'Mr Potter,' Richard replied coldly, 'you were a witness yourself. Why the question?

- Do you need that stick that badly?

- I do.

- What for?

- Mr Potter, if I told you it was to save the world, would you believe me?

- Maybe... Maybe not. But, lad, what if I said I had a magic wand?

Richard froze like a dumbfounded man. Remembering his upbringing, he tried to keep a straight face, but it was very difficult.

- Hmm... Where from, sir?

- Remember that nice piece of jewellery I used to wear? - The detective touched his eye. Recently, there's been a nice bruise on it.

- Sir, I have an excellent memory, I remember everything perfectly.

Detective Potter smirked cheekily:

- Wizards! - he said contemptuously. - They have no concept of martial arts. Good old judo helped me take the swizzle sticks away from the magical cattle and beat them up. Just remember, kid, a bunch of mice can eat a cat. I had one of those, and I barely got away with it. So do you need a stick?

- I do, Mr Potter. What do you want for all the wands?

- No, lad," the detective swung his index finger sideways. - 'No, don't count on all of them. My nephew needs something to practise with too. I'll give him one. And you know what?

- I'm all ears, sir.

- I don't want anything. You help my nephew, I help you. This is more than business.

- I hear you, sir. In any case, you can count on my gratitude and support.

Richie decided to spend the night at the London House. He arrived at 69 Grosvenor Street in high spirits. In the inside pocket of his jacket rested a magic wand.

The door was opened by the valet.

- Mr Ritchie," he bowed. - How was your walk?

- Thank you, John, it was fine.

As soon as the closed front door cut off the sounds of the street, Richard ordered:

- John, go to the bank where I have an account, buy a bar of platinum and bring it to me.

- Mr Ritchie, why do you need platinum, especially in such quantities? As I recall, bars of that metal sell for more than 100 ounces.

- Good. John, we're spending the night in London, so I expect you back. Go with Steve, because it's not cheap.

The chamberlain, having received no reply, went to fetch his coat. His job was not only to look after the young gentleman and his upbringing, but also to fulfil the boy's various whims.

John had access to Richard's account, and he could manage it, but the man didn't even think of abusing it.

A couple of hours later, Richard, smiling happily, was holding a heavy bar of platinum weighing one hundred and sixty-six troy ounces (a little over five kilograms). It had taken most of the money from the account, but the boy had no regrets.

- Mr Ritchie," John raised his eyebrows questioningly. - Have you decided to invest in precious metals?

- You could say that, John. Yes... Invest.Richard dragged the square silver brick into his father's study, where he locked the door behind him.

Immediately the boy began to work his newly learnt duplication charms with his new wand. On the floor instead of one ingot became two, then three, four, five, and so on until the young wizard was completely exhausted.

Sweat was pouring down Richard's face like a loader. But the joyful gleam never left his eyes. Seventy-two bars of platinum weighing just over three hundred and seventy kilograms would not leave anyone indifferent.

Soon the rainbow mood began to leave the boy. The original idea of selling platinum ingots began to develop problems. Firstly, all ingots had the same serial number, size and weight, which in reality does not happen, therefore, highly suspicious. Secondly, if they were to be sold, it would be difficult to legalise the funds. Possible problems with the tax authorities, which the future duke does not need. Thirdly, it will be problematic to transport such a huge cargo without the involvement of adults. And that would mean Gerald would be reported. Richard didn't want to get his aristocratic arse whipped again.

In any case, it was too dangerous for a public person to earn money that way, but he needed the money now, so Richie decided to take one risk. Just this once! After all, it would be easier for him to earn money on investments than to get quick money, being exposed both to the law enforcement agencies of wizards and to the queen's scrutiny. You can lose your privileges and even become a lousy sheep.

The morning is wiser than the evening - that's what they used to say in ancient times. And it is indeed true.

Early in the morning, Richard drove to Eton Hall. As usual, the journey took a long time and the boy had time to think. As a result, when he arrived home, he had a plan in his head. The boy decided to tell his father honestly. Better to get the belt again than to set the Grosvenors up.

In the evening after his tutoring sessions, Richie spent some more time practising his duplication charms on an intercepted ingot of platinum.

After dinner, the boy hinted to his father that there was some serious talk to be had, after which Richard and Gerald settled down in the drawing room.

- Now, Richie, what's the matter?

- Why do you immediately assume something's wrong?

- I can see it in you, son.

- Actually, you're right. Dad, I've recently learnt a spell that allows me to create replicas of objects. They're real without being fake.

- Well, well... - said Grosvenor Senior. - Let's assume that wizards can do that. What did you do?

- Oh... Nothing much, just a little bit of platinum.

- A little?

- Just a little.

- How little?!

- Well, about half a tonne.

- A little bit, then?! - Gerald's voice oozed sarcasm.

- Quite right," Richard nodded nonchalantly. - I plan to have a tonne of metal by Friday.

- That's nothing," Mr Grosvenor said ironically. - Why do you want platinum? Has your investment gone down the drain?

- Thank God, no! It's just that I can't withdraw my capital at the moment. I needed the money urgently to invest in wizarding wrappers.

- Ahem... Richie, tell me - can all wizards do that?

- Yes, Dad. But not everyone thinks to do it. According to my mentor, in the distant past, wizards created a ritual that prevents wizards from copying gold, silver, diamonds, rubies and emeralds. But in those times platinum was not a valuable metal, no one thought to forbid its copying.

- That's it! I'm surprised. And what do you want from me?

- Help, of course, Father. I need to exchange platinum for gold, which is valued by wizards, so that I can exchange it for gallions and invest it in a magical research and experimentation centre.

- Are you sure the platinum is real? Won't it disappear after a while?

- Dad, the metal is real, and it'll be fine. The only downside is all the ingots are identical.

- Ha! Ha-ha-ha! Oh, Richie, I understand your predicament. It's suspicious. In that case, you'll have to go to your man who can keep his mouth shut.

- Dad, I suppose you have one in mind, don't you?

- Robert Finch-Fletchley, for instance, your mate's father. He's a banker. But...

- How much?

- Ten per cent. Yeah, Richie, you're right. No-one's going to buy left-handed metal for nothing. Robert's no exception. But that's not what I'm worried about. Son, you're not going to quit the business and go into the world's platinum reserves, are you?

- No, of course not," Richard replied sincerely. - It's too risky. But if I need money urgently, I don't rule out that I might have to resort to such a way of making money. But only as a last resort.

- Richie, are you saying this is a last resort?

- Yes. I could take out a loan against the shares, but why do that when there's a better option?

- I kind of agree with you, but you could just ask me for money.

- Dad, I already asked for it once," Richard said ironically. - What did you do? You lent me the money with strange conditions. I'm just afraid that the next time you ask me for it, you'll give me impossible conditions. No! I'd rather work with a bank, where everything is transparent and clear.

- Hmm..." Mr Grosvenor frowned. - I wanted the best, but it turned out as usual. I'm sorry, Richard, I didn't mean to push you away, I just wanted you to be a little more independent and responsible. Of course, you can come to me with any problems and I'll help you.

- I'll keep you in mind.

- Anyway, don't worry. Richie, I'll make my own arrangements with Robert.

- In that case, Dad, you should know that seventy-one bars of platinum are in your office at London House. The rest will be in my office here.

- Good. Over the weekend, this matter will have to be resolved. But how will you get the gold to the wizards? If I'm not mistaken, it should be over 1,100 kilos.

- I'll need one bar first," Richard explained. - I'll take it to the goblins and test the ground. If the exchange turns out to be successful and favourable, I'll buy or order a bag with expanded space, in which I'll carry the rest of the gold.

- Well, that's acceptable. And yes, Richie... Good for you for coming to me with this problem, rather than deciding to make a mess of things on your own. Still, I can't help but ask why you're in the wizarding business.

- It's not even a business. Dad, I just want to keep myself and my family safe. To do that, I decided to create a company that will employ wizards whose only task will be to create new artefacts to protect the Grosvenors and ensure our comfort.

Gerald couldn't keep his mask of calm for a moment and stared at his son in surprise.

- Even so!!! Son, what makes you think we need protection?

- Mages... Hmm... How should I put it. They're weapons of mass destruction in their own right. Imagine if instead of platinum, I replicated an atomic bomb...

Gerald swallowed convulsively, imagining such a thing.

Richard continued:

- Among wizards, just as among ordinary people, there are madmen, maniacs, terrorists and other marginalised people. Add to that their racism towards ordinary people. As a result, we can't be sure that we won't fall victim to some wizard or that some madman won't think of destroying our country or even the planet. Basically, I'm going to invest capital to develop a means of countering powerful wizards.

- Richie, if you had told me about this in the first place, we could have come up with other funding options. I suppose the Crown would sponsor such research to arm the secret service.

- Dad, I'm not going to go into debt to the Crown. Just a modest set of artefacts for personal and family use. I'll think about arming the secret service.

- Well, it makes sense. We'll come back to this conversation later, after you're of age, for example. In the meantime, you can go about your toys, as long as they are not a danger to you or our family.