Aristocrat (HP/SI)

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***

Richard's schedule at the end of February was unnecessarily busy. There was studying, fencing, monitoring the stock market with occasional calls to the broker for investment orders, and two days a week he had to conjure to the point of collapse.

Madame Marchbanks only looked like a dandelion of God, but in fact turned out to be an unyielding tyrant. At least, that's what Richard thought. He had teleported to his mentor early in the morning, full of energy and vigour, and had fallen out of the living room like a sack of potatoes in the evening. He couldn't move his right arm for a long time from fatigue. A magic wand might be light, but try waving it all day. It won't seem so light after that. By evening, the boy felt like he was swinging a crowbar. But he is also a fencer and is used to swinging a rapier, which is also not a fluffy thing.

Because the sorceress had thoughtlessly placed the portal exit point in the drawing room, the elder Grosvenor had to let the servants go early on weekends. The noble lord had to make this sacrifice for the sake of secrecy. Richie could move out of the living room without being seen, even if the servants were at home, but to appear... there was no telling who would be in the living room at that moment. That's why both Grosvenors had to go to the kitchen on Saturdays and Sundays, horror of horrors, to take the food prepared by the cook during the day and heat it up.

The maximum experience of Gerald's self-cooking was a barbecue on a hunt from shot game. And the trainee grew up surrounded by high technology and all his life has been eating inexpensive semi-finished products, which for consumption was enough to heat up. In general, for both father and son, heating up food on the cooker seemed like a feat and an exertion. The Grosvenors did not have a microwave oven for a banal reason - the cook always served them food from scratch, freshly cooked, so there was no point in such a household appliance in a professional restaurant-level kitchen.

Soon, on Gerald's orders, the kitchen did get a microwave and the gentlemen were relieved.

No weekends would be hard on any man. Young Grosvenor realised that he couldn't keep up this pace for long and would go mad. So he revised his schedule to allow a couple of days off a week: Friday, to rest before the difficult spell training; and Monday, to rest and regain his strength after sorcery. He reduced the fencing lessons to four times a week, still leaving them on Friday, but removing them on Monday, as Richard could hardly lift a spoon on the first day of the week, or even hold a rapier.

Thus, the school programme was halved. Consequently, the period until the exams for the ninth grade has increased by the same amount. That is, instead of a couple of months, it was going to take four.

The first couple of weeks were especially hard. But gradually the young organism adapted to the loads. After another month Richard finally got used to this schedule and was no longer so tired.

March passed and April came. The snow had melted and spring greenery was beginning to appear. Young Grosvenor's mood was high on another Monday off. The boy decided to get down to business.

Four hours after the phone call, Detective Potter in a crumpled grey suit unceremoniously burst into Richard's office, knocking briefly on the door with his knuckles. Leaving dirty bootprints on the parquet, he walked across the office and collapsed heavily into a chair.

- Hello, lad! - waved his right hand at the detective. - New case?

- Good afternoon, Mr Potter," Richard replied calmly, ignoring the visitor's impudence. - Tell me, do you happen to have any lost relatives?

After these words the detective drew himself up and became extremely serious. His gaze turned steely.

- I'm an orphan, kid. Why? You managed to find out something, didn't you?

- Not exactly, sir. I was doing some charity work over the winter and came across a dysfunctional family who have custody of a boy called Harry Potter. The surname, you see, is similar to yours, so I asked.

- There aren't many namesakes," the detective shrugged, but he remained focused. - There are plenty of Potters in Britain. And this boy... who are his parents?

- Mother's name is Lily, maiden name Evans. Father James Potter. I've only been able to find out the names of the boy's grandparents on the Potter side - Flimont and Euphemia.

The man twitched distinctly, as if from a slap. His eyes narrowed into narrow slits and his jowls twitched.

- I see you know the names, sir.

- Familiar..." It sounded as if the detective was gnashing his teeth as he spoke. - It was the name of my parents, who put me in an orphanage when I was eleven.

A mosaic formed in Richard's mind. The age of eleven, the cute habit of pureblood wizards to dispose of their children who were born without magical abilities, an orphaned detective whose parents' names are the same as Harry Potter's grandparents.

- Are you a squib, Mr Potter?

The steely glint in the man's eyes intensified. He asked in a stern tone:

- How do you know about wizards?

- Sir, I learnt about them from Uncle Charlie," Richard smiled disarmingly. - The royal family is supposed to know about such things as the hidden community of people with superpowers living in their country. I happen to be a wizard myself, but I only found out about it recently.

- Oh.

- Exactly, sir. I hope your dislike doesn't extend to all people with supernatural powers. Admittedly, I could get along just fine without them. In fact, I'd give a lot to stay out of the magical community. But fate has a way of springing surprises.

- Don't worry, kid, I know you - you're better than most wizards and you've earned my respect. There's not many boys your age who can carry that kind of weight on their shoulders. Any other kid born with a silver spoon in his mouth wouldn't even think of pulling his weight like that. So what about my nephew? How and when did he become an orphan and why didn't my bloody parents take him into care?

- It's a murky story, sir," Richard crossed his arms over his stomach. - It all started in the seventies. According to Prince Charles, there was a terrorist group operating in the magical world. Somehow the Potter family had crossed the path of the radical mage leader, and then he decided to get rid of them. He wanted to kill everyone, but Lily and James came up with some kind of defence for their child. In the end, the older Potters died and Harry survived with a scar on his forehead.

- What about my parents? - The detective asked.

- I don't know, sir. I suppose they died before they did.

- May they burn in hell! - Mr Potter muttered quietly, then added louder: "And where is my nephew now? How old is he, and when did this story take place?

- It all happened in the early eighties. Harry was about a year old then. In fact, he's about my age. It didn't take long for the wizards to place the boy in the family of Lily Evans's sister Petunia and Vernon Dursle, who are far from magicians, no matter how you look at it.

- Hm!" the detective's face creased. - I recognise wizards! They could have dropped him off at the orphanage... So what about my nephew's foster family? You mentioned it was dysfunctional.

- I'd call them a normal family if I hadn't seen them keeping Harry in a cupboard with two spare rooms in the house. There was also a murky story there - the Dursleys had not been paid their custodial allowance before my visit. I decided to pay Harry's allowance until he came of age through a charity and arranged for the Dursley family to be monitored by the guardianship authorities and the charity. I'd also like to ask you to conduct occasional undercover checks on the family.

- To hell with inspections! - The detective exclaimed with indignation in a smoky voice. - I'm not going to let the only person I know live in a family where they keep him in the pantry!

- Are you sure, sir?

- One hundred per cent," the detective's face flushed, his nostrils flared angrily. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. After calming down a little, the man continued:- I hope I can get custody. I've been in two foster homes myself as a child, so I know what it's like to be treated cruelly by foster carers. I can raise one kid. I've got a two-bedroom flat in London, so we won't be cramped.

- Mr Potter, if you wish, your father and I will help you with the custody arrangements. I expect it won't be difficult, as the Dursleys already have a record of abuse against their nephew. I'm the only reason they haven't had their parental rights taken away. And that's because Harry asked me to.

- Hmm..." The detective looked at the young Grosvenor with respect. - Boy, you've got the grip of a bulldog! You'll go far. I'd appreciate your help. Though I hope my connections at Scotland Yard will be enough. Do you still need more information on those people on the list?

- Mr Potter, I'm more interested in other talented scientists and engineers in robotics, microelectronics and nanotechnology. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to skip the list of names this time.

- I'll find it, kid," the detective said with firm confidence. - Trust me, I'll find the right guy.

***

The following Saturday, when Richard arrived at Madame Marchbanks' house, he was in for a surprise. The elderly witch met him in the hall, not in the living room by the fireplace as usual.

The old woman had put on an insulated mantle over her dress, and on her head she wore a hat that could be considered a work of art: wide brim, black colour to match the mantle, many ostrich feathers and flowers made of ribbons.

- My boy, I've been waiting for you.

- Good morning, tutor. Are you going somewhere?

- Richard, we're going to Slanting Lane. I need to replenish my potion ingredients. Hurry, hurry to the fireplace.

- Okay... Why? - Richard asked in bewilderment.

- To move to the right place, of course. Well, well... You've never used a transport fireplace, have you?

- No, ma'am.

- There's nothing complicated about it. You take a handful of smoking powder, throw it in the fireplace, call out the arrival address "Slant Lane" and step into the flames, but only if they turn green. Watch.

The old woman scooped a handful of dark grey powder from a scoop that stood on a nightstand near the fireplace. When she threw the powder into the fire, the flames changed colour from yellow to green.

- Slant Lane!

Richard's eyes rounded. Madame Marchbanks wasn't kidding about stepping into the fire. The witch stepped so boldly into the flames that it seemed as if she were doing a perfectly ordinary and safe thing. Instead of the expected screams of a man burning alive, Richard found his mentor disappearing in a flash of green flame. A moment later, the fire was once again a perfectly normal colour.

Richard eyed the scoop of powder doubtfully for a while. To him such a way of travelling seemed insane. Covering his eyes, he did breathing exercises to calm himself down. Only then did the boy scoop up the smoking powder, throw it into the fireplace, and pronounce it clearly:

- Slant Lane!

Closing his eyes, he jumped into the fireplace. His heart was pounding frantically in his chest, the amount of adrenaline was off the charts. Richard expected scalding flames, but the pain didn't come. He opened his eyes and found the various rooms and fireplace grates flickering rapidly. Soon the flickering stopped and Richard was thrown to the dirty floor of a dirty pub with a medieval interior. Richard was thrown to his feet and fell to all fours.

When Richard got to his feet, he found his tutor waiting patiently nearby.

The old witch waved her wand, and the soot and dirt disappeared from Richie's clothes.

- It's always hard to navigate by fireplace the first time," the witch explained.

- Where are we, tutor?

- The Hole Cauldron pub," Madame Marchbanks explained. - If we go outside, we are in the Muggle world on Charing Cross Road in London. Those who want to get to Slanting Lane cross either through this fireplace or through the fireplace of Lute Lane. But I don't recommend the latter to you - marginalised people, vagrants and loiterers hang out there.

Despite the early morning, some of the wooden tables in the pub were occupied. At one table sat two elderly witches who paid no attention to the customers. At another table, a low, red-haired hobo with sparse red hair was drinking whiskey, his eyes roving over Richard's outfit, clearly appreciating its cost. The boy was immediately suspicious of the man. Firstly, he was obviously an alcoholic, since he drank whiskey alone in the morning, and secondly, it was felt in his behaviour that this man was connected with crime. But judging by the fright after looking at Madame Marchbanks, the bald magician recognised the sorceress, as he immediately lost all interest in Richard and his escort.

Madame Marchbanks crossed the bar, Richie following her. Once in the backyard, the old woman tapped the wall with her wand, and the bricks moved apart, forming a passage in the shape of a huge archway into a medieval street.

- Welcome to Slanting Lane, the main shopping district of British wizards! - said the old woman proudly.

- Are there other neighbourhoods?

- Of course, but they are not so large-scale. For example, near Hogwarts in the magical village of Hogsmeade there are a few shops, a third-rate pub, a tea house and another not bad pub. In Ireland and Scotland, there are places for magical fairs where wizards gather on Saturdays. The main trade takes place here.

Richard glanced around the neighbourhood and wasn't very impressed. The cobblestone street meandered off into the distance. On either side of it loomed slightly shabby two- and three-storey houses of stone and wood. On the ground floors were shops.

The first to catch the eye was a potions cauldron shop. Many containers of different kinds and sizes could be seen through its window.

On the other side, owls were hooting, and from the sign "Owl Shopping Centre", one could tell that they were selling animals inside.

- Yep... Entourage....

Richard was sceptical about everything around him. If he had been a little boy, he would have probably been mesmerised by the medieval surroundings. But as a child of the future world, even late twentieth-century technology was disdained, and such beauties made him wrinkle his nose.

Madame Marchbanks moved purposefully in the direction of Mulpepper's drugstore, which stank.

Richard looked at the shops and wondered how business was done here. And the young man's conclusions were disappointing. Only small businesses are represented in Cosy Lane, the largest wizarding trading area. There are no customers to be seen, so the business of the natives is not brisk. In addition, we can conclude that the business is inherited and new players rarely appear here. Conclusion - it is useless to invest in local business. Profits, if any, will be very low.

But Richard had other thoughts. He knew that in the future the world would be threatened by a strong wizard. True, what kind of this danger, the trainee did not know, which he regretted. Now he would gladly read old children's books about the adventures of Harry Potter and would revisit all the ancient films and holoseries. But the moment had passed.

In any case, facts are a harsh thing. Harry Potter exists. Wizards exist. The school of magic is in place. Consequently, it's safe to assume that an evil wizard will appear, and a threat to the world will loom. But the children who will be at Hogwarts will be the first to be affected.

Richard would love to go to another school of magic, but, unfortunately, from the information he managed to get from his mentor, it turned out that he couldn't do it, because he is officially considered a Muggleborn, who should study at the local magic school, although it is clear to anyone that he is a half-blood. Of course, Richie had the option of negotiating with the Minister of Magic or pressuring her through Grandma Lisa. He could bribe the Minister in the form of another land grant, but... What's the point of running off somewhere if the entire solar system is in danger? Or is it?! That uncertainty was frightening. If he was almost one hundred per cent sure that he was in the book version of the universe, where the evil magician was not so dangerous, then he would have bravely ignored everything and left to study magic in another country. And the fact that in the books everything is so cloudless, because he had only heard about them. Another big problem is that Richard is an aristocrat. He is obliged to set a patriotic example and study on the territory of Great Britain.

In general, Richie decided not to snatch, but to start preparing for trouble. To do this, it is necessary to acquire a variety of items that will help to survive in any situation.

If everything was going on in the former world of the fallen, he would just go to the military shop and the tourist shop. In the former, he would have picked up decommissioned army junk like an outdated troop flyer, an ancient model of armoured exoskeleton with repulsors, a bunch of civilian weapons and other things. In the tourist shop you can also choose a lot of interesting things. For example, a hunting suit with holographic mimicry (invisibility) system, automatic security and alarm system with a shocker, designed for tourists who go to colonised planets with rich wild fauna.

There was nothing of the sort in this world, but there was magic. Richard was going to cross a hedgehog with a hedgehog, that is, to make magicians and advanced engineers work together to get useful gadgets. But the statute of secrecy stood in the way of this goal.

Richard tried to think of ways around the statute and slowly a plan began to form in his head.

The loud voice of Madame Marchbanks interrupted Richard from his musings:

- 'Honey, I've finished here, we have to go.

- Yes, ma'am.

Richard strolled leisurely alongside his tutor past shops that sold robes, telescopes, and strange silver instruments. Windows all along the street were crammed with barrels of bat spleens and eel eyes, wobbling pyramids of books, bird feathers and scrolls of parchment, vials of potions and globes of the moon.

One of the display cases held brooms, and some of them were quite futuristic looking.

Richard slowed down in front of this display case and asked his mentor in surprise:

- 'Ma'am, can you sweep with brooms like that? It's uncomfortable.

Madame Marchbanks stopped and looked at the window of the Quidditch shop. A cackling laugh escaped the old woman's lips.

- Richard, what makes you think these brooms are for cleaning? The name of the shop says Quidditch supplies.

- Ma'am, it says "Quidditch supplies." I assumed from the abundance of cleaning supplies that it was just another idiom. Like how magicians call ordinary people muggles, in the same way wizards might call a house Quidditch. The first thing that came to mind was as if it were an 'everything for the home' hardware shop.

- Oh-ho-ho-ho, kiddo, you don't sweep with those brooms," the old lady replied cheerfully. - You fly with them!

Richard's eyes widened. He was incredibly amazed.

- What kind of flying? On broomsticks?

- Yes, yes, broomsticks.

- BROOMSTICKS?!

- On broomsticks!

- Psychos!

The old wizard laughed even louder. Tears spurted from her eyes. The old woman conjured up a handkerchief and wiped the corners of her eyes with it. She blushed with mirth.

- Mentor, you're not kidding me, are you? - Richard asked incredulously. - I realise I'm new to magic, but I can't believe someone would fly on a broomstick.

- K-heh..." Madame Marchbanks choked on her laughter. - 'Richard, remember what I said to you first.

- Magic can do anything?

- Yes. Magic can do anything!

- Do all magicians fly on broomsticks?

- All of them," the old woman confirmed with a nod. - There's a broom flying class in first year at Hogwarts.

- Erm..." Richard caught the blue screen. - That's insane. Are you guys putting anti-gravs in broomsticks?

- I don't know what antigravs are. It's probably something Muggle. They put special charms on broomsticks that allow them to fly.

- Can you put those spells on anything else? After all, banal logic suggests that flying on a stick is uncomfortable, especially for boys.

- For convenience, there are separate charms, which are also imposed on brooms. But in general, in theory, you can enchant any object to fly. Except that the Ministry recently, about a hundred years ago, banned enchanting Muggle things. Muggles used to fly anything: shields, barrels, boats, ships, chairs. And in the east, they still fly on carpets. I even heard that Arthur Weasley conjured a Muggle carriage to fly. A what's-his-name, an Autobil.

- Perhaps a car, ma'am?

- Yes, yes, that's right! A car," Madam Marchbanks agreed with her ward. - What a weirdo, that Weasley!

Richard realised that this was the prize of the century. A flying car! It was something he had to have. It's practically the same familiar flyer.

- Excuse me, tutor, but you just said you can't glamour Muggle objects.

- Not if they fall into Muggle hands. Erm..." the old woman thought for a moment, as if she was remembering something. - Ah, I remember! My boy, I was a little mistaken. There is no prohibition on enchanting Muggle things. There is a prohibition against using enchanted things in front of Muggles. Arthur lives in a magical village and makes this stuff for himself. That's the official view.

- What if it's unofficial?!

- It's just that Arthur works for the Ministry of Magic as the head of the Muggle Invention Enforcement Branch.

- Mm-hm. I see. Circle of honour. What I protect, I have... Ma'am, how do I contact the other wizard?

- Either send him a post owl with a letter or talk to him through the fireplace.

- A post owl?!

For the umpteenth time that day, Richard's eyes became the size of cherry tomatoes in amazement.

- Yes, yes, Richard. Wizards send mail to each other using owls. By the way, you can buy a bird of mail at the shop we saw at the entrance to Slanting Lane.

- Mentor, I suddenly realised I need a post owl. Do we have time to buy one?

- I suppose we could spend some time on it. Only first, Richard, we'll have to visit Gringotts Bank. I take it you don't have any magic money with you, do you?

- Yes, ma'am. What can the bank do for us? I have pounds with me. Can we exchange them there?

- Or you can take the money from your safe deposit box that the Ministry of Magic gave you to pay your rent.

Gringotts... The tallest and most monumental building in Slanting Lane. It couldn't have gone unnoticed. A snow-white building, polished bronze doors, white stone steps.

A goblin in red livery greeted the visitors in front of the entrance to the bank.

The goblin's appearance was rather peculiar. He was a head shorter than Richard, with an intelligent swarthy face, a sharp beard, and a prominent nose. Among other things, his fingers were longer than those of humans. But in general, the goblin could easily be mistaken for a dwarf with a slight abnormality in his appearance, just a slight disfigurement.

Inside the spacious operating theatre there were even more of these short people. They sat behind high counters and looked down at the visitors from above. Apparently, this was their way of satisfying their sense of grandeur.

After the bronze doors, the visitors passed the silver doors, behind which two goblins bowed and greeted them.

Madame Marchbanks went to the nearest available goblin. The others were busy writing in ledgers, looking at gold coins through a magnifying glass, weighing and examining precious stones.

Richard immediately realised that the goblins were buying jewels. Hence, there was a chance of converting more pounds into galleons than the limit allowed. Goblins probably buy gems at a reduced price, but when there are no other loopholes, it's not a bad thing.

- Good morning," Madame Marchbanks addressed the goblin clerk. - Mr Richard Grosvenor wishes to take some money from his safe.

- Madam, do you have Mr Grosvenor's key?

- Mr Grosvenor's safe was to be opened by ministerial staff on the orders of Madam Minister a month and a half ago," the old woman explained. - Richard is visiting Gringotts for the first time today and is ready to receive his key.

The goblin looked at Richard questioningly.

- He looks like him," he said. - Who can confirm that this young man is indeed Richard Grosvenor, ma'am?

- Me and Millie... I mean Madam Minister," Madame Marchbanks corrected herself.

- Sir, the Queen of Great Britain and Prince Charles will be pleased to confirm that I am Richard Grosvenor," said the boy with dignity. - I can call Prince Charles right now and give you the phone.

Richie took a massive radiotelephone from his belt and showed it to the clerk.

The goblin, who was next door looking through a magnifying glass at the galleon, dropped the coin, which fell to the floor with a clinking sound. His eyes popped out of their orbits. He stared at Richard with great amazement, as if he had seen a talking pony.

The clerk who had asked the question choked on air and coughed. He soon got over his astonishment and even managed a contemptuous look.

- ''Uh... I guess there's no need to distract such important people. The words of the Wizengamot Elder will suffice. I'll give Mr Grosvenor the key and show him to the safe.

- Sir, there's no need to take me to the safe," Richard said. - Just give me the key and exchange the pounds for galleons. Two hundred galleons is the maximum amount, isn't it?

- Yes, sir. Would you like to exchange a thousand pounds?

- I'd like to exchange a couple of tens of millions of pounds," Richard replied nonchalantly. - But rules are rules. So yes, a thousand.

- We can always think of something for such an honourable client," the goblin said with a hint of a fawning tone.

- I'll keep that in mind, Mr...

- Rickbeth, sir. Feel free to contact me with any questions you may have. I'll be your personal manager.

- That's good to hear, Mr Rickbeth. You and I will talk business the next time we meet. In the meantime, a key and a trade.

- Oh, yeah, yeah, just a second.

While Richard was getting his key and money, a neighbouring goblin quietly asked Madame Marchbanks:

- Madam, can this young man really contact the queen?The elderly enchantress gave the goblin a wry grin and said:

- ''Considering that me and Madam Minister were brought to Duke Grosvenor's house by Prince Charles, and he has been warmly chatting with Richard, I guess it is indeed true.

- 'Ahem, ahem, ahem...' the goblin coughed, blowing his eyes at the boy in amazement. - Duke?! Lord?

- What's so surprising? - Madame Marchbanks asked nonchalantly.

- 'No, no, nothing, ma'am,' replied a neighbouring clerk. - It's just that I can't remember the last time such an important person visited Gringotts.

Soon Richard and his mentor left the bank and went to the owl shop, where the boy bought himself a mail sipoo.

The elderly sorceress then enchanted a one-time portal and travelled home with her mentee. For Richard, a normal Saturday began with practising levitation charms until he fell.