"Hmm!" the detective's face twisted. "I recognize wizards! Or they could have abandoned him in an orphanage... So, what's up with your nephew's foster family? You mentioned they're dysfunctional."
"You could call them an ordinary family if I hadn't personally seen them keeping Harry in a closet next to two spare rooms in the house. There was also a murky story-the Dursleys hadn't been paid their guardianship allowance before my visit. I decided to pay Harry an allowance through a charitable foundation until he came of age and arranged for the Dursley family to be monitored by the guardianship authorities and the charitable foundation. I would also like to ask you to occasionally conduct secret checks on the family."
"To hell with the checks!" the detective exclaimed indignantly in a smoky voice. "I won't let my only relative live with a family that kept him in a closet!"
- Are you sure, sir?
"One hundred percent," the detective's face flushed, his nostrils flaring angrily. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. Having calmed down a bit, the man continued, "I hope I can get custody. I had two foster homes as a child, so I know what it's like to have guardians treat you cruelly. I can raise one boy somehow. I have a two-bedroom apartment in London, so we won't be cramped."
"Mr. Potter, if you wish, Father and I will assist you in obtaining guardianship. I believe it won't be difficult, as the Dursleys already have a record of abuse against their nephew. It was only thanks to my voucher that their parental rights weren't taken away. And that was because Harry asked me to."
"Hmm..." the detective looked at young Rich with respect. "Kid, you've got the tenacity of a bulldog! You'll go far. I'd be grateful for your help. Although I still hope my connections at Scotland Yard will be sufficient. Do you need any more information on those people on the list?"
"Mr. Potter, I'm more in need of others right now-talented scientists and engineers who work in robotics, microelectronics, and nanotechnology. Unfortunately, I'll have to do without a list of names this time."
"I'll find you, kid," the detective declared with firm confidence. "Trust me, I'll find the right person."
***
The following Saturday, when Richard arrived at Madam Marchbanks's house, a surprise awaited him. The elderly witch greeted him right in the hall, not in the living room by the fireplace as usual.
The old woman threw a warm robe over her dress, and on her head she wore a hat that could be considered a work of art: wide brim, black color to match the robe, lots of ostrich feathers and flowers made of ribbons.
- My boy, I've been waiting for you for a long time.
- Good morning, mentor. Are you going somewhere?
"Richard, we're going to Diagon Alley. I need to replenish my potion ingredients. Hurry, get to the fireplace."
"Okay... But why?" Richard asked, puzzled.
"Of course, to get to the right place. Well, well... You've never used a transport fireplace, have you?"
- No, ma'am.
"It's not that complicated. Take a handful of floo powder, toss it into the fireplace, clearly state your destination address, 'Diagon Alley,' and step into the flames, but only if they've turned green. Watch."
The old woman scooped up a handful of dark gray powder from a ladle on a nightstand near the fireplace. When she tossed the powder into the fire, the flames changed color from yellow to green.
- Diagon Alley!
Richard's eyes widened. Madam Marchbanks hadn't been kidding about stepping into the fire. The witch had stepped into the flames so boldly that it seemed like she was doing something completely normal and harmless. Instead of the expected screams of someone burning alive, Richard found his mentor vanishing in a flash of green flame. A moment later, the fire had returned to its normal color.
Richard stared doubtfully at the ladle of powder for a moment. This method of transport seemed insane to him. Closing his eyes, he performed breathing exercises to calm himself. Only then did he scoop up the floo powder, toss it into the fireplace, and clearly pronounce:
- Diagon Alley!
He closed his eyes and leaped into the fireplace. His heart pounded in his chest, his adrenaline soaring. Richard expected the searing flames, but the pain never came. He cracked his eyes open and saw rooms and grates flashing past. Soon the flickering stopped, and Richard was thrown onto the dirty floor of a dingy pub with medieval décor. The boy was so taken aback that he lost his footing and fell to all fours.
Rising to his feet, Richard found his mentor waiting patiently nearby.
The elderly witch waved her magic wand, and the soot and dirt disappeared from Richie's clothes.
"It's always difficult to move through the fireplace the first time," the sorceress explained.
- Where are we, mentor?
"The Leaky Cauldron pub," explained Madam Marchbanks. "If we go outside, we'll find ourselves in the Muggle world on Charing Cross Road in London. Those who want to get to Diagon Alley go through either this fireplace or Knockturn Alley. But I don't recommend the latter-it's where the misfits, the vagabonds, and the idle hang out."
Despite the early morning, some of the wooden tables in the pub were occupied. Two elderly witches sat at one table, oblivious to the patrons. At another table, a short, unpleasant-looking drunkard with scraggly red hair was sipping whiskey. His eyes darted over Richard's attire, clearly appreciating its price. The boy immediately found this man suspicious. Firstly, he was clearly an alcoholic, drinking whiskey alone in the morning; secondly, his demeanor suggested criminal connections. But judging by the startled look he showed after looking at Madam Marchbanks, the bald wizard recognized the sorceress, as he immediately lost all interest in Richard and his companion.
Madame Marchbanks crossed the bar, Richie following close behind. Once in the backyard, the old woman tapped the wall with her stick, and the bricks parted, creating a huge archway leading into the medieval street.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, the premier shopping district for British wizards!" the old woman said proudly.