"Son, stay here," he said. "So, Charlie, how much would it cost to fix up the body of a certain charming duke? Do they have an elixir of youth or something similar? And..."
Richard couldn't hear anything else. Realizing his father's conviction of the reality of magic and the wizarding world had been shattered, the boy headed for the hall's exit in search of Prince William, or, to him, simply Bill.
***
A couple of days after the charity reception, Gerald checked himself into a hospital for wizards for four days. He returned home looking slightly younger and more energetic. He looked fifteen or twenty years older, his wrinkles had smoothed out slightly, the skin on his chin had tightened, and the extra pounds had disappeared. It looked as if Mr. Rich had undergone expensive plastic surgery.
Gerald arrived home in time for dinner. After finishing the meal, he called his son into the living room, where, as was traditional, father and son settled into armchairs by the fireplace.
"Richie, now I'm absolutely certain that wizards exist. Ho-ho!" Gerald chuckled good-naturedly. "It's hard not to believe something like that, after curing chronic illnesses and looking slightly younger in just four days. Though, I must say, all wizards are weird."
"I have no doubt about it. Dad, you really do look much better. But... I confess, I was afraid you'd treat me worse after you found out I was a mage."
"What nonsense!" Lord Rich snorted indignantly. "Richie, you're my son. I love you regardless of your abilities. So what if you were a magician? To me, that's the same as being a conjurer, or if you had other talents, like playing the violin."
"Thank you," Richard muttered quietly, feeling relieved inside.
"By the way, son, Charlie contacted me today. He said he found you a wizard tutor."
"And how did that happen? He didn't say?" Richard asked curiously.
"Charlie was talking a lot, as usual," Mr. Rich shrugged. "If you're curious, Charlie contacted the Minister of Magic through his channels and asked her for a wizarding tutor for a member of the royal family. The Minister of Magic was shocked and immediately agreed. She even declined payment, saying the tutor would be provided at the Ministry of Wizards' expense. So, Richie, get ready-Charlie will be arriving tomorrow with a group of wizards."
- I'm looking forward to it.
The rest of the day dragged on like rubber. Richard was anxiously awaiting his meeting with a real wizard.
In the morning, after aerobics, Richard showered and dressed in a brand-new suit. He gelled his hair and combed it back. The transmigrator looked like the perfect child aristocrat, the very embodiment of elegance. His back was straight, his shoulders were back, and only his eyes betrayed his nervousness.
About an hour after breakfast the doorbell rang, and the maid ushered the guests into the drawing-room, where the two Richs were seated.
Of the three guests, only one was familiar to Richard: Prince Charles. He was accompanied by two ladies.
At the prince's right hand, a woman strutted serenely, looking to be about forty or a little older. Richard wasn't fooled by her appearance, for, as he'd learned, magicians have rejuvenating remedies. And what's more, ordinary people have plenty of ways to look younger, too.
The woman's gray-blue eyes scanned the interior with curiosity and vivacity, and she ran her appraising glances over both Rich apartments. Her red hair was pulled back into a prim bun. Judging by her face, the guest couldn't be called a beauty. Not ugly, even quite attractive. However, a narrower nose and thinner lips would certainly have done her some good. She was dressed in a formal and elegant suit. But even in such simple attire, she managed to look licentious, attracting male gazes. This was due to her bust, which jutted out a full five cup sizes, her slender waist, and her upright posture, which made her appear more curvaceous.
An elderly lady walked to the left of the heir to the throne. This diminutive, stooped old woman, with a wrinkled, cobweb-covered face, had a lively gaze in faded gray eyes. Her gray hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She was dressed in an old-fashioned, high-necked, dark green dress.
Prince Charles said:
"Ladies, may I introduce you to Lord Gerald Rich, Duke of Westminster; and my godson, Earl Richard Rich. He's the one I told you about. Richie, Gerald-this lovely lady," he pointed to a curvaceous woman, "is Millicent Bagnold, Minister of Magic. And this remarkable lady," he pointed to an older woman, "is Griselda Marchbanks, a senior member of the Wizengamot-the wizarding court. She has volunteered to tutor Richard."
Gerald bowed to the ladies with dignity. Richard repeated his father's bow.
Mrs. Bagnold smiled dazzlingly and said politely:
"Pleased to meet you, gentlemen. It is an honor to be of service to the Duke and his heir."
"Oh, no, lady," Rich Sr. replied in the same polite tone. "It's an honor for us to welcome such guests into our home. Please, there's no truth in the feet," he said, gesturing with his palm toward the sofas standing opposite each other.
The old woman looked at Richard with curiosity. She said quite loudly:
- Charming boy. Am I going to teach you magic?
"Yes, madam," Richard replied. "Forgive my indiscreet question, but may I ask how old you are?"
"That's a truly immodest question," the old woman replied, a little too loudly. Apparently, she had trouble hearing. "I taught Charms at Hogwarts two hundred years ago, so you've got a very experienced mentor, Richard. I hope you don't disappoint me and turn out to be as talented as Millicent described you."
"I'll try, madam," Richard replied, impressed by the elderly lady's age. "Let me help you."
Richie offered the old woman his elbow, which she politely took, not refusing the offer. Judging by the look Madame Marchbanks gave the boy, he'd just earned some points in her eyes.
Soon, the sorceresses settled on the sofa closest to the stairs, while Richie, Charles, and Gerald sat opposite them. A mahogany coffee table separated the sorceresses and the aristocrats. Richard found himself sandwiched between the adults.
At that moment, a maid fluttered into the living room with a tray. The young woman moved silently. She deftly arranged five cups and saucers, silver teaspoons, a pot-bellied porcelain teapot filled with hot Earl Grey, a sugar bowl, and a milk jug on the coffee table. Small bowls of jam, wafers, candies, and cookies also fit there.
The maid left the room as quickly and silently as she had appeared.
"How original," Madam Marchbanks exclaimed rather loudly. "The last time I saw a Muggle servant was about seventy years ago. Maids are certainly more interesting to look at than house-elves."
"The brownies?" Rich Sr. asked politely.
"Magical servants," the Minister of Magic explained. "Anticipating your second question-Muggles... hmm... that's what many wizards call ordinary people."
"I thought something like that," Gerald said, as if thinking out loud. "The classic problem with small, closed communities. They desperately need to come up with a justification for living in a reservation, cut off from the wider world. To do this, these closed tribes invent an ideology that suggests they're better than everyone else. They give everyone else derogatory nicknames. 'Muggle,' I assume, is derived from 'muggle' (filth)?"