"Dad, you don't understand anything!" A crooked grin cut across Richard's face. "That's not handing out money—it's venture investment in promising businesses. These aren't random people off the street, but programmers, engineers, and scientists with excellent ideas. Using the invested funds, they've created their own companies, a solid share of which belongs to me. Computer games and programs—things like antivirus software, a browser for an operating system with a graphical interface, a social network for communication, an internet search engine, and much more. All of it will bring me a huge fortune. You'll see—in seven to nine years these companies will be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Considering that I invested no more than a million pounds in them, the profits will be astronomical. Dad, I'll be richer than you!"
"Ha-ha-ha!"
Gerald had something to laugh about, since the Grosvenors are currently the richest people in Britain—even wealthier than the royal family.
"I'll be glad if that happens, son."
Leaving for the trip immediately turned out to be impossible. Harry Potter's final school exam took place on June twelfth. Harry had been eagerly awaiting that day and was trying to finish the exam as quickly as possible. After all, he had arranged with Richie a couple of weeks earlier to go on a round-the-world journey.
And so June thirteenth arrived. A white airplane lifted into the air from the long straight road of Eaton Hall estate. At an altitude of about five hundred meters, the plane disappeared. To an outside observer it might have looked as though the aircraft was simply lost in the glare of the sun, but in reality the plane had become invisible.
Stephen's hand hovered over the lever labeled Afterburner.
"Sir, are you sure this thing works?" he asked, half turning toward Richard.
"Stephen, everything's been tested a hundred times. Hit it!"
The pilot's lips began to move as he whispered something very quietly. Richard thought the pilot was saying a prayer. But when Stephen crossed himself, Richie realized he hadn't imagined it.
"Amen!"
Stephen slammed the afterburner lever forward, and all the passengers were pressed back into their seats. The sky suddenly seemed to leap forward. The ground rushed beneath the belly of the plane at an incredible speed. On the speedometer, the needle froze at five thousand miles per hour.
"My ears popped!" Harry exclaimed with delight. "Are we really flying at rocket speed?!"
"Almost seven Mach!" Stephen muttered in astonishment.
Scott Potter was pale as chalk. He sat in the front seat beside the pilot with his eyes closed, gripping the armrests tightly.
"Mr. Potter, are you all right?" Richard asked with concern.
"Yes… yes-yes…" he muttered, not very convincingly.
"Uncle Scott?!" Harry looked at his relative anxiously. "Are you really okay?"
"Everything's just wonderful, may Satan yank up Thatcher's skirt!" Mr. Potter said through clenched teeth. "Except for one small detail—my fear of heights."
"Mr. Potter, I think you should drink some whiskey or cognac," Richie said with the air of an expert. "It'll make you feel better—and we won't have to worry about how pale you look."
"Good idea," Mr. Potter rasped. "Got anything to drink, kid?"
"Just a second!"
Richard pulled a small murse out of his satchel—a murse designed like a little book with many pockets. Each pocket on one side had a photograph attached to it. Flipping through several pages of the strange book, Richard stopped at an image of tiny bottles of alcohol. He unzipped it and pulled out a narrow box filled with miniature bottles containing various liquors from a flat pocket. Each bottle held only fifty milliliters—the sort usually found in hotel minibars.
"Sir—cognac, brandy, tequila, whiskey, gin, vodka?"
The detective inspected the tiny bottles skeptically.
"Give me everything, kid. One of those won't get me drunk."
"Sir, they're only samples. Just pick one drink."
"All right—cognac."
Richie nodded, took a wand from the inner pocket of his jacket, pulled a half-liter mug from his satchel, and dripped a single drop of cognac from the bottle into the bottom.
"Richie, what are you doing?" Harry asked, watching his friend with curiosity.
"Watch. Engorgio!"
Before the astonished onlookers, the drop of cognac instantly expanded into a full mug of the aromatic drink.
"Cool!" Mr. Potter exclaimed, snatching the mug from Richard's hands.
"Wow!" Harry cried. "That's a spell from the standard second-year spellbook! I didn't know you could use that spell like that!"
"Doesn't the textbook say anything about it?"
"No, Richie," Harry shook his head. "It just says you can enlarge objects with that spell."
"My mentor told me that the charm can increase the quantity of drinks or food. You can even enlarge animals and plant fruits to get more meat or harvest. So I prepared an emergency supply—just in case."
Richard shook the book-pouch in the air and then stuffed the alcohol samples back inside.
"That's a bag?!" Harry asked. "Is it bigger on the inside than the outside?"
"Exactly. Just like the satchel. I keep samples of food and drinks in the murse."
"But won't the food spoil?"
"No, Harry. This bag was enchanted for me on commission. It has a stasis spell placed on it. That means any product can be preserved inside indefinitely—or, more precisely, until the enchantment fades, and that won't happen for at least a hundred years."
"Can you buy normal bags like your satchel?"
"Of course, Harry. There's a shop at the Carkitt Market that sells enchanted bags. You can get there through Knockturn Alley or through Flower Alley. I recommend the second option—Knockturn is often full of all sorts of shady characters and riffraff."
"Whoa! Uncle Scott and I never heard about that market."
"I've heard of Carkitt Market and have even been there," Mr. Potter corrected his nephew. "I just decided we had no business going there. Everything we need can be bought in Diagon Alley."
The airplane flew completely silently. At such insane speed you would expect a tremendous roar, but since the aircraft moved using portal magic, none of those problems occurred. Inside the cabin it was quiet—no thunderous boom like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. Because of that, the passengers didn't have to raise their voices to talk.
(End of Chapter)
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