Without insight into Richard's train of thought, it would have been difficult to understand why he had chosen space as his objective. In truth, it was quite simple.
The transmigrator could not shake the idea that his very arrival in this world might have disrupted the course of history. At the same time, a threat loomed over the world—its origin unknown, its scale uncertain. If the danger were merely local, that would be one thing, but Richard could not rid his mind of his tutor's words: "MAGIC CAN DO ANYTHING!" And there was ample proof of that—control over space and time existed; the manifestation of mathematical paradoxes into reality had been demonstrated. Which meant that, just as in the holoseries, the threat might hang not only over the entire planet, but even over the Solar System itself.
And what do you do if you can't even detect that threat? At the very least, you try to save part of humanity—yourself and those dear to you.
From his school lessons in astrogeography in his previous life, Richard knew the spatial coordinates of at least a hundred Earth-like planets. More precisely, not the planets themselves, but the stars around which they orbited. Moreover, the names of those stars were the same in this world. In truth, more such planets had been discovered in his original world, but no one could remember them all, no matter how hard they tried. It was like the states of the United States—everyone learned their names at school, but only a rare few could recall them all at once, and even fewer could accurately place them on a map. Still, a hundred known stars with Earth-like planets were more than sufficient to begin a programme of space expansion and colonisation.
That left only a small matter—to create a means of transportation. With the powers of wizards, that was entirely feasible. And it would need to be accomplished within the next five or six years, for in the series—according to rumours from the HoloNet—the hero defeated the main villain only in his final year of schooling, that is, around 1998. But what if, in reality, he failed? Or something went irreversibly wrong?
And if salvation proved unnecessary, well… Richie would not be disappointed. After all, a personal space fleet and the colonisation of distant worlds would be an enormous step forward for humanity. Such assets—and the opportunities they afforded—would make Richard Grosvenor the richest man on Earth, which was no small achievement.
While sheikhs built themselves enormous yachts, Richie will be building a colossal starship—and it'll cost far less than a superyacht, thanks to the use of magic and cheap labour in the form of wizards.
For now, preliminary preparations were underway: magical analogues of an engine, an AI, a reactor, and platforms for future droids were being developed (Doctor Octavius–style manipulators and a suit that could be modified into an android—add an AI, and you've got a fully functional droid).
By Richard's estimates, this preliminary stage might take another couple of years. By then, he would need to amass a substantial sum of money for the second phase, which would involve acquiring and duplicating vast quantities of metals and other materials to construct the starship's hull.
In theory, a spaceship could even be made of concrete. Wizards would make it fly anyway. But the strength of steel and concrete was incomparable.
During that time, it would be necessary to steadily expand the workforce of the workshop's wizards. In theory, within two years, around ten percent of all the magical population of Britain should be working for the young Grosvenor.
To pay such a number of wizards, Richard would require a great deal of gold. The boy had calculated that his actions—injecting large quantities of gold into the economy and the resulting monetary emission orchestrated by the goblins of Gringotts (who would be unable to resist such temptation in pursuit of super-profits)—would lead to significant inflation of the Galleon. But not to the extent of collapsing the entire magical economy of Britain. Rather, it would simply result in the wizards working for Grosvenor becoming somewhat wealthier, while others would grow somewhat poorer. Overall, it wasn't particularly alarming; only a handful of poorer wizards—those who already did little of consequence—might suffer.
"Richie."
A clear, ringing girl's voice pulled Richard from his thoughts. It was, after all, better to think in solitude than in the common room of a dormitory.
Looking up, Richard spotted Beatrice Haywood—a charming blue-eyed blonde from the fourth year. Her figure had already begun to develop pleasing curves in all the right places, though her face remained youthful.
"Richie, there are boys from Gryffindor waiting for you at the entrance. One of them is Harry Potter."
"Thank you, Beatrice. Lovely hairstyle. Do you favour short cuts?"
Haywood touched her short hair and smiled involuntarily.
"Do you think it suits me?" she asked.
"Without a doubt. Beauty like yours would be enhanced by any hairstyle."
Leaving a delighted Beatrice behind, Richard headed for the exit of the common room. In the corridor, by the barrels, Ron andar Hry were waiting for him impatiently.
"Good afternoon, friends. I was told you had come to see me."
"Hi, Richie," Potter replied.
"Hi," said Ron. "We've got a question. Do you know who Flamel is?"
Richard, who had recently absorbed a vast amount of information while preparing for his school examinations and possessed an excellent memory, immediately recalled the name.
"Yes. I read about him not long ago in historical chronicles. Nicolas Flamel, born in 1340, died in 1418. Bookseller, scribe, assistant, alchemist. He is credited with creating the Philosopher's Stone and the Elixir of Life."
"That's probably not the same Flamel," Harry said uncertainly.
"It is!" Ron objected.
"But, Ron," said Potter, "Hagrid spoke as if Dumbledore and Flamel had some sort of dealings with each other. That means our Flamel is alive, and this one's been dead for ages."
"Harry, what are you on about?" Ron looked at him as though he were daft. "Flamel made the Philosopher's Stone, didn't he? That means he could've lived until now. Richie, say, where did you learn about Flamel?"
"From the historical writings of ordinary people," Richard replied calmly, though inwardly he was burning with curiosity.
"See, Harry!" Ron declared triumphantly. "Those are Muggle books. I'm honestly surprised Muggles even know about Flamel."
Harry Potter's face lit up with excitement.
"I've got it, Ron! The Philosopher's Stone is hidden at Hogwarts. Right in the forbidden corridor on the third floor."
"Gentlemen," Richard said, raising his hands. "Break! Hold your horses. Why have you assumed the Philosopher's Stone is hidden in the school at all?"
(End of Chapter)
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