Richard's loud, well-projected voice drew the attention of every Ravenclaw student currently in the common room. Boys and girls abandoned their business and gathered near the entrance. Soon, nearly half the House had assembled.
"Oi, what was that you said about space?"
The question came from a tall, long-haired brunet with a thoughtful, almost inspired face.
"Your name?"
Richard raised an eyebrow in mild enquiry.
"Stanley Kirk, seventh year."
"Mr Kirk, ladies and gentlemen," Richard continued, "within the next five years, I intend to launch the first interstellar starship in Earth's history, created by wizards through the use of well-known enchantments. This vessel will journey to stars that may, in theory, harbour planets similar to our own and capable of sustaining life. After that, nothing will prevent us from creating portals to those worlds, exploring them, and ultimately colonising them. It will be a great leap for humanity—and an even greater one for wizardkind."
On the faces of the young witches and wizards, one could read disbelief, astonishment, even wild excitement—while a few of the older boys looked at Richard with something approaching reverence, like fervent believers beholding an angel descended from the heavens. There were, of course, those who dismissed Richie's speech as the ramblings of a madman.
"But is that even possible?" someone exclaimed in a breaking adolescent voice.
"There is nothing impossible—magic can do anything!" Grosvenor replied at once. "It is merely a matter of power, resources, and time. I possess all three. And if among you there are talented wizards willing to take part in the greatest event in world history, the Grosvenor Workshop is waiting for you."
"And how much does it pay?" asked a stout brunette with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, adjusting her round spectacles with a finger.
"The salary of a junior specialist who has yet to prove themselves starts at two hundred and fifty to three hundred Galleons per month. Bonuses included."
A deathly silence fell over the Ravenclaw common room. The students struggled to comprehend the scale… the sheer magnitude of it! At best, they might hope to begin at a hundred and fifty Galleons—or even a hundred—yet here was a salary comparable to that of a department head at the Ministry of Magic. Their imaginations painted visions of staggering wealth after only a few years of work.
Before the murmur could swell into an uproar, Richard continued:
"Ladies and gentlemen, that is not all. Some of you may have heard that first-year students of your House are working on a project to create a graphene film. I hereby announce that anyone interested may take part in the project to develop a simple and accessible method of producing graphene film. For a completed result, I shall award a grant of one hundred thousand Galleons. Information about what graphene is can be obtained from your first-years. And with that, I take my leave."
When Richard turned his back on the Ravens, a tremendous uproar broke out behind him. A hail of questions followed—but no answers came. The young Grosvenor knew exactly how to capture people's interest. One had to make them seek out the information themselves. Had he stayed to answer every question, he would have strained his voice, earned himself a headache, and lost at least a third of his potential recruits. Instead, Richie had created intrigue, hinted at a mystery, opened a field for research, and tempted them with unimaginable wealth and boundless prospects. It was reasonable to expect that at least a third of the blue-and-bronze House would soon be attempting to devise a cheap method of producing graphene—most likely with the aid of magic, but what did it matter? The material would come in handy when it came to constructing a starship.
The following morning, during breakfast, the entire Hogwarts witnessed a remarkable sight. Nearly all the Ravenclaw students were engaged in a peculiar activity: they held strips of adhesive tape, which they enthusiastically stuck together and peeled apart again and again.
As Richie passed by the staff table, he noticed Minerva McGonagall's expression—one of pure astonishment. The Transfiguration professor stared, wide-eyed, at the Ravenclaw table, her left eye twitching faintly. Headmaster Dumbledore looked deeply contemplative, tilting his head slightly as he absent-mindedly twirled his beard around a finger.
"Filius," McGonagall said in a voice filled with bewilderment, addressing the diminutive professor, "what exactly are your students doing?"
Professor Flitwick himself seemed no wiser. He watched his students with evident curiosity.
"Yes, Filius," Dumbledore added, "I should very much like to know as well."
"Probably a new game, Minerva," Flitwick replied.
"A game?"
McGonagall cast another glance at the Ravenclaw table and shuddered at the sound of dozens of strips of tape being pulled apart.
"A game," Flitwick nodded. "I imagine… though I cannot be entirely certain."
"A very peculiar game," McGonagall muttered.
From the Ravenclaw table came the loud voice of an older student:
"I'm telling you, we just need to gather a bunch of tape, enlarge it with magic, pick out the particles, then Transfigure them into a single sheet. After that, we duplicate it and keep sticking the layers together until we get a proper film!"
"That wasn't your idea!" a fair-haired third-year boy shouted accusingly, springing up from the table. "It was ours!"
"Boys, calm down," Penelope Clearwater tried to soothe them. "We'll divide the reward among everyone involved in the research."
"I'm not sharing with everyone!" declared the stout brunette in spectacles.
In the space of a moment, the argument escalated into a fight.
"Stop this at once! One hundred points from Ravenclaw!" Professor McGonagall's voice rang out sharply.
The Ravens fell silent. A moment later, the furious Deputy Headmistress stood by their table.
"What is the meaning of this?"
No one answered.
"Did you not hear me? Miss Clearwater, what is going on here?!" McGonagall demanded sternly.
"I'm sorry, Professor," the prefect said, bowing her head guiltily. "Merely a scientific dispute. It won't happen again."
"Put that nonsense away immediately!" McGonagall pointed at the tape in a nearby student's hands.
The Ravenclaw students, clearly displeased, began stuffing the tape into their pockets. The boys and girls looked sullen and subdued.
Minerva McGonagall returned to the staff table, visibly irritated, her nostrils flaring.
"Honestly, Albus, did you see that? And Ravenclaw students, of all people! I never expected them to start fighting."
"Indeed—since it is usually your students who do that, Minerva," Flitwick remarked with a sly smile.
"And where were you looking, Filius?!" McGonagall asked irritably.
"My apologies, Minerva," Flitwick replied, his face betraying a distinctly mischievous grin, "but I am not in the habit of interfering in scientific debates."
(End of Chapter)
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