"Consider it so," Richie replied.
"Count?" Nymphadora asked, puzzled. "What do you mean?"
"Tonks, are you familiar with the word 'secret carrier'?" Richard asked in return.
"Yes, sir," the metamorphmage nodded.
"Well, Tonks, you're now a bearer of state secrets," Rich said. "Tomorrow morning, you'll go straight to the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic. You'll be tested for your professional suitability. If you pass, you have every chance of becoming an employee of the Department of Mysteries, and after completing your bodyguard training, you'll undergo specialized training in wizarding."
"Sir, what about my job as a bodyguard?" Nymphadora asked in amazement.
"Everything remains the same," Richie replied. "You'll still be my bodyguard, but with any luck, you'll be listed as an Unspeakable and trained as a magical special forces soldier, which would make even the Aurors look nervous."
"Oh!" Nymphadora's hair and eyes turned sky-blue with delight. "Cool! Thank you, sir."
Richard stopped abruptly and looked closely at the sorceress.
"Don't let me down, Tonks," he said. "I put in a good word for you with Granny."
"Once before 'Granny'..." Nymphadora drawled meaningfully. "I won't let you down, sir!"
"And one more thing," Richard continued on his way to the car, "tell the Unspeakables that I need a specialist or specialists to research the undocumented properties of the Unforgivable Killing Curse."
"Studying the properties of Avada?!" Nymphadora's eyes widened. "But using that spell gets you thrown in Azkaban!"
"On people, Tonks!" Richard raised his index finger. "For using on people! No one has banned experiments on mice. Besides, I have the Queen's permission in my pocket. And anyway, don't argue! Just pass on my wishes."
- Okay, sir.
Upon returning home, Richard found a comfortable armchair near the fireplace, tea with sweets on the table, and his father sitting opposite him.
As soon as Richard settled into his chair and sipped his tea, Gerald asked:
- How was your day?
"Great," Richard replied wearily.
"Really?" the Duke asked doubtfully. "And you look like a zombie."
"It's all grandma..." Rich Jr. sighed heavily.
In response, the Duke raised his right eyebrow questioningly.
"The good news," Richard began to explain, "is that we managed to get Bagnold into the Minister of Magic's chair and came to an agreement with Granny regarding the construction of power plants."
"Mmm..." a wide grin adorned Gerald's face. "And how much did she ask for?"
With a heavy sigh, Richard replied:
- Half. But... We managed to negotiate down to forty percent.
"Not bad," the Duke praised his son with restraint. "Very good. I take it you were talking about a monopoly?"
"Yeah," the boy nodded. "No, if I'd built just one power plant, Grandma would have agreed to a tenth. But she herself proposed gradually creating a monopoly, on the condition that nuclear power plants, which are important to the state from a military standpoint, not be driven out of the market. And not just in the UK. She promised to facilitate expansion into other countries, but only after the power plants had proven themselves reliable and inexpensive."
"Excellent!" The broad smile on the reserved Duke's face spoke of his immeasurable delight. "I never even counted on this. Son, if this continues, you'll be richer than me."
- I hope, but that's not all.
"What else?" Gerald asked curiously.
Richard's face twisted as if he had a toothache. He replied:
"Grandma ordered a spaceship 'for herself' at almost cost price. I had to agree."
"Richie, this isn't hard for you, is it?" Gerald asked.
"Dad, it's not a problem for me at all. I'm not going to be rowing like a galley slave myself, so to speak. I'll just hire more wizards. But I'll still have to put the other projects on hold. And we also talked about Riddle's ghost."
The smile was wiped from Gerald's face, replaced by a tense fold on his forehead.
"Richie, you didn't tell me anything about the philosopher's stone?" he asked.
"No, Dad," Richard shook his head from side to side. "I presented the story as a gamble involving an attempt to steal a valuable artifact, the Mirror of Erised, with which I planned to create a worldwide fantasy viewing network. And then I described how it all happened, omitting all mention of the Philosopher's Stone."
"Richie, I'm curious, how did the Queen react to the news of Riddle's ghost appearing?" Gerald asked worriedly.
"I've learned a lot," Richie rubbed his eyes wearily and continued, "It turns out Her Majesty has a magical equivalent of MI6-the Department of Mysteries. They collect and store all dangerous artifacts, conduct various scientific research in the field of magic, provide security for Her Majesty, and, as you can imagine, serve as a secret service for the magical community."
"Oh, really..." Gerald looked surprised. "I didn't know. Although, something like that was to be expected. But you didn't just find out about it for no reason..."
"That's true," a drawn-out groan escaped Richard's chest. "Grandma decided to shift this problem onto my shoulders. True, she promised help from the Department of Mysteries. And my scar..."
Richard raised his right hand and showed a small scar.
"What's wrong with him?!" Gerald frowned.
"Dad, the scar is from a spark of a killing curse, in the form of a rune!" Richard said, his voice slightly raised. "There are two known people with scars like that-me and Harry Potter, and Tom Riddle was involved in both cases."
"And?!" Gerald's raised eyebrow left no doubt about his desire for clarification.
"I don't know what the consequences are," Richard said. "So we'll have to experiment with Avada Kedavra, mice, and wizards sentenced to death. Granny gave her approval, even insisted on it, but I don't like it at all."
"I don't care about criminals!" Gerald said coldly. "The Queen is right-we need to deal with this problem. Richie, don't worry."
"Whoever told my conscience this..." Richard muttered under his breath.