"Wonderful! Sleight of hand?" she asked.
"No... It's street magic!" Richard replied with a grin.
The journalist burst into loud laughter in response. After she finished laughing, she asked:
- Richie, what games do you prefer to play?
"Fiona, unfortunately, I don't have time for games. My schedule is so busy that it's hard to find time for a hobby. So now that I have some free time, I've decided to spend it helping those in need instead of playing useless games."
"By the way, Richie, why did you decide to help orphans?" Miss Bruce asked.
"When I was little, my father and I were left alone," Richard began enthusiastically, trying not to lie but still presenting the facts in his favor. "I grew up in a well-off, but still not entirely perfect, family. I lacked a mother's love, which my father, no matter how hard he tried, couldn't compensate for. That's why I want orphans to have a happy childhood. The only thing I can do to make that happen is to help them financially."
The journalist's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She asked:
- So, Richie, you earned your first money, but instead of spending it on toys and sweets, you give it to charity?
"I saved some for myself for sweets, but overall, it's true. Charity is a worthy endeavor. I'm a Rich, which means I have to set an example for others!"
The dull, gray morning was occasionally broken by snow falling from the sky. A luxury car entered the town of Little Whinging and turned onto Privet Drive. It was a typical middle-class suburban street. Small, identical yellow brick houses, two stories, three bedrooms, with attached garages and a parking space in front.
Privet Drive had never seen the passage of an expensive Bentley before. What's more, it was accompanied by a police patrol car, which joined the limousine as it entered the city. An old Rover hatchback brought up the rear.
Naturally, such a procession attracted the attention of all the neighbors. People peered out of their windows and imagined, if not the arrival of a queen, then at least a prince. And they weren't far from the truth.
The valet fluttered out of the passenger seat and obligingly opened the door for the young gentleman.
Two people emerged from the Rover. The driver, a portly man wearing a black coat over a classic suit and a wide-brimmed hat. The passenger, a skinny, gaunt elderly woman with a bun of gray hair and a wrinkled face, was wearing a red down jacket.
An elderly woman and a plump man approached the boy. They were joined by a constable in a dark police uniform with a baton on his belt.
The obese man introduced himself to the young man:
- Lord Rich, I'm glad to see you. My name is Michael. Michael Conor from the charity. And this is Madam Taylor from the child protection service.
"Pleased to meet you, sir, ma'am," Richard nodded politely.
"Oh, how glad I am, Lord Rich," said old lady Taylor with trepidation.
The constable stood with an inscrutable face, but in his heart he was trembling at the thought of being in the company of such a big shot as the Duke's son.
Richard nodded to Mrs. Taylor, pointing his chin towards the front door of number four, Privet Drive.
- Please, madam.
The old woman from the child welfare office briskly trotted to the door and pressed the doorbell.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley lived at number four, Privet Drive, and always proudly declared that they were, thank goodness, perfectly normal people. They, of all people, were the last people to be expected to get into any strange or mysterious situations.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were very disapproving of any oddities, riddles, or other nonsense.
Mr. Dursley headed a firm called Grunnings, which specialized in making drills. He was a portly man with a very bushy moustache and a very short neck.
As for Mrs. Dursley, she was a skinny blonde with a neck almost twice as long as her height would allow. However, this disadvantage came in handy, as she spent most of her time spying on her neighbors and eavesdropping on their conversations. And with a neck like hers, it was very convenient to peer over fences.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had a nine-year-old son named Dudley, and they thought he was the most wonderful child in the world.
They also had Harry, the nephew of Petunia Dursley's sister, under their care. They considered the boy as abnormal as his deceased parents.
The Dursleys had everything a person could wish for. But they had one secret. More than anything, they feared that someone would find out. The Dursleys couldn't even imagine what would happen to them if the truth came to light.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on a dull, gray Saturday morning, nothing, including the snow-covered street, indicated anything strange.
Mr. Dursley hummed to himself as he laced up his most hideous tie. He was about to hit the store, buy himself a bottle of whiskey, and finally unwind after a hard week at work.