The rest of September flew by in what felt like a single moment. Then came a rainy October. The days slipped past one after another. Richard no longer gave much thought to Peter Pettigrew. He knew that, after being sentenced to death, the Animagus had ended up in the Grosvenor Workshop, where the experiments had ultimately turned him into a ghost.
Richard would never have learned this had Donky not been keeping an eye on the Department of Mysteries specialist who had bound every employee of the secret Avada research laboratory with magical oaths. As a result, the researchers at the Grosvenor Workshop filled their reports with endless padding and meaningless verbiage.
Richard didn't mind, however.
Thanks to the house-elf, he always knew the real results of their work. Donky secretly copied the genuine documentation that was being sent to the Department of Mysteries.
Peter's ghost had been imprisoned inside one of the rooms and could not leave it by any means without considerable assistance from skilled wizards.
One volunteer wizard, during an experiment involving the reflection of an Avada beam, had acquired a rune-shaped scar similar to the ones Harry and Richard bore, though the rune itself was different.
What concerned the young earl far more was the report from Grosvenor Junior, which his father had sent via Darth Vader.
Early on Halloween morning, Justin Finch-Fletchley found young Grosvenor sitting alone in an armchair in the Hufflepuff common room, a stack of papers resting on his knees. Richard was leafing through them with a thunderous expression. At that hour, none of the other students had yet made it into the common room.
Justin let out a wide yawn and addressed his friend.
"Richie, why do you look so gloomy?"
Richard looked up from the papers and turned to Justin.
"Those sons of bitches blew ten percent!"
"Huh?"
Justin's face was a picture of confusion.
Richie shook the stack of papers.
"I'm talking about the currency trading. I gave them crystal-clear instructions, told them to hire professionals, and they still..." He sighed heavily.
"Oh! Richie, so you were trading on the markets. Did you lose much money?"
"No, Jas, not a penny. After salaries, loan repayments, and taxes, I made a net profit of thirty-two million dollars."
Justin stared at his friend in bewilderment. Having only just woken up, he hadn't yet grasped the scale of the numbers.
"Then I don't understand why you're so upset."
"Jas, we could've made twenty-five percent on those trades, but those idiots squandered half the opportunities and managed only fifteen! Worse still, they were far too cautious with Father's money because, apparently, the amount was 'too large and intimidating.' Bloody bitches! Eleven... Jas, can you imagine? They gained only eleven percent on his capital! They could've made one and a quarter billion, but they settled for half a billion! They'll hire anyone these days... It makes my blood boil!"
"Er..."
Justin froze. He stared at Richard with glazed eyes and his mouth hanging slightly open.
"How... how much did you say?" he asked.
"They definitely threw away two hundred million dollars, and another seven hundred and fifty million in future profits!" Grosvenor hissed angrily. His fingers tightened around the papers, crumpling the report in his fist. "How do they even manage that, Justin? They were trading on the very same markets, with the very same exchange rates, and still ended up four whole percentage points behind!"
Justin's jaw dropped.
"Er... Richie, you're talking about sums of money... My father doesn't earn that much in several years. Did I hear you right? You made half a billion dollars?"
"You heard wrong." Richie angrily tossed the crumpled report aside. "Not me—Father. My own profit was much more modest. I told you that at the beginning."
"Oh... right..." Finch-Fletchley said thoughtfully. "Thirty-two million, wasn't it?"
Richard sighed sadly.
"Yeah... Modest, but at least I managed to grab something from the crisis. Shame the banks wouldn't extend any more loans..."
"Modest?!" Justin stared at Richard with enormous eyes. "You call that modest? Richie, even for my family that's an enormous amount of money."
"Justin, considering Soros made a billion from this operation, while your father's bank earned three hundred million, my own results really are quite modest."
"Oh!" Justin looked even more astonished. "How? My dad made money from it too?"
"Yes. My father shared the insider information with him."
***
During lessons that afternoon, the professors, caught up in the festive mood, went easy on the students.
The whole of Hogwarts was filled with the aroma of baked pumpkin. The Great Hall had been decorated to perfection. Animated skeletons danced lively tap routines, while bats swooped beneath the enchanted ceiling, occasionally arranging themselves into the word HALLOWEEN.
Richard strolled down the corridor with all the composure of a true aristocrat, his cane tapping rhythmically against the stone floor. Finch-Fletchley accompanied him. Justin, however, trudged along looking less like the future lord he was destined to become and more like a long-suffering martyr.
"Richie, could you walk a bit faster? The Halloween feast's going to start without us!"
"Justin, haste doesn't become an aristocrat. Besides, what are we rushing for? To fight for a seat closer to the pies?"
"That'd be something, at least," Finch-Fletchley muttered.
"Justin, everything has been calculated," Richard replied calmly, his expression radiating confidence. "We'll arrive at exactly the right moment—just before Dumbledore's opening speech. As for pie, we'll simply ask one of the others to pass us a slice. Ernie will almost certainly grab a seat near the desserts. Surely he won't refuse to share with us?"
"Of course he won't," Justin agreed. "Still, Richie, you walk at the speed of an old man. I don't get why."
"And why do all the other children run everywhere, tearing about and shouting as though a homicidal maniac is trying to murder them every second?"
"Er..." Justin found himself at a loss for words.
Richie looked at his bewildered friend with an amused grin and decided to take pity on him.
"Justin, let me tell you a little secret..."
Like any boy his age, Finch-Fletchley loved secrets. He immediately prepared to listen intently. After a theatrical pause, Richard continued,
"I don't walk this slowly just to maintain my image. Hogwarts is full of traps, like the treasure chamber Indiana Jones wandered into—vanishing steps, staircases with minds of their own, Peeves and all his little surprises. If I move at a leisurely pace, I have time to notice dangers and avoid them."