Saturday and Sunday flew by for Richard in the blink of an eye. Once again, under his mentor's watchful eye, he practiced magic to the point of exhaustion.
When magic turns into training—like that of a professional athlete—it no longer feels like something wondrous. It starts to seem as though spellcasting is simply hard labor.
Then blessed Monday arrived—a day of rest from everything. Richie had planned to spend it sprawled on the couch doing absolutely nothing, at most wandering down to the home theater to watch a couple of "new" releases.
A sudden knock at the door made the boy jolt upright.
"Master Richie, Detective Potter has arrived to see you."
"John, for heaven's sake!" Richard groaned. "Give me ten seconds to crawl to the study and then send him in."
"Master Richie, it is unbecoming of a gentleman to use foul language—especially such plebeian expressions."
"Yes, yes, I got it, John."
Richard had barely made it into his study when Scott Potter followed him inside.
"You look like hell, kid!" he remarked cheerfully. "If I didn't know what family you came from, I'd think you'd spent the night unloading coal cars."
"And you, sir, look wonderful," Richard replied with irony as he turned toward the man.
In truth, Scott looked slightly rumpled. A dark bruise had blossomed under his right eye, and his suit looked as though a cow had chewed on it.
"One to one!" Detective Potter smirked, dropping unceremoniously into a chair. "You really handed me quite the problem…"
Richard walked around the desk and settled into his own chair. Resting his chin on his folded hands, he asked with curiosity:
"Did the wizards give you that black eye?"
"Yep," the detective admitted without hesitation. "Fool that I am, I went poking around their devilish slums! Had to throw a few punches—and fire a couple of shots, too. So it's probably best I don't show my face among the mages anytime soon. But I did find out a few things about your problem."
A crumpled cardboard folder, folded in half and pulled from the inner pocket of his jacket, landed on the desk.
Richard smoothed it out and opened it with interest. Inside were photographs of a red-haired man and a very peculiar house. It looked as though it had once been some kind of brick utility building, to which wooden extensions had later been added on the sides and even on top. The house had grown several stories taller and appeared so unstable that it seemed to be held together by magic alone.
"That's Arthur Weasley," the detective began. "And that's his house, located in Devon County, not far from the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. There are a few other wizarding homes around there as well. All of them have Muggle-repelling charms placed on them, so ordinary people simply don't notice the houses."
"Hmm… Quite an original structure."
"You can say that again!" the detective agreed. "As for Weasley—father of seven, a family man through and through. His wife's a homemaker. Arthur earns two hundred and fifty galleons a month. He's fond of enchanting various technical devices. His entire garage is stuffed with all sorts of junk from ordinary people—most likely confiscated items. Occasionally takes bribes in kind or in services, turning a blind eye to minor wizarding infractions. All in all, a regular guy with a hobby—just happens to be a wizard. No mistress, no record of shady dealings. The family's short on money. I put more details in the report."
"Very well, Mr. Potter. I'll review your report. What about the bodyguard?"
"Sorry, kid, but I'm only one man," the detective said, spreading his hands. "Let me recover a bit, and I'll take care of it. You in a hurry?"
"Preferably I'd like to find the right wizard before summer."
"Before summer, huh?" the detective drawled. "We've got plenty of time. All right, I've got to run—Harry's been waiting for me. See you."
"All the best, Mr. Potter."
After the detective left, Richard spent some time carefully studying the information on Mr. Weasley and his family. It was clear to the boy that this wizard could be hooked with a golden lure. A devoted family man who loved his children would surely want the very best for them.
First, Richard decided to test the owl. He wrote a letter to Harry Potter, climbed up to the attic, and tied it to Darth Vader's leg. Feeling rather foolish, Richie addressed the barn owl:
"All right, Darth Vader, deliver this letter to Harry Potter. Wait for him to write a reply and bring it back to me. Got it?"
The owl hooted, bobbed its head, spread its wings, and flew out through the attic window.
"Well, let's see how wizard mail works," Richie muttered to himself.
Returning to his study, the young Grosvenor picked up the telephone receiver and dialed Dan Silver's number.
"I'm listening," his subordinate answered.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Silver."
"Sir, I'm glad to hear from you. Pepsi shares have begun rising sharply ahead of the May investor report. Nokia shares are still holding at a high level, and I believe it's best not to invest in them for now. Coca-Cola has made its final payment for advertising. Walmart has promised to settle the full amount for the promotional collectibles by the end of May."
"Mr. Silver, thank you for the information, but I'm calling about something slightly different. Contact the land department of Grosvenor Group and find out whether the company owns any land in Scotland near those unprofitable properties the firm disposed of in February. Do it now and report back to me immediately."
"Um… Very well, sir."
(End of Chapter)
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