For the average schoolchild, summer is a time of relaxation. Hogwarts students also prefer to spend two whole months playing and doing nothing. But Richard didn't have a single free day all July. Big business demands utmost attention, and if you want to save the world from the apocalypse, you'll be completely overwhelmed. But that didn't change the fact that Richie was a student. This meant he had to complete the homework assigned by his teachers during the holidays.
By his birthday, Richard had somehow sorted out the most important matters.
Harry Potter left for Scotland with Scott. You'd think they were relaxing, but no. Scott continued his search for Sirius Black, trying to find any clues. For example, the Potters were currently in Hogsmeade, interviewing every wizard.
Scott took the threat to his nephew seriously, so he dragged Harry around the country, imparting detective tricks to him and involving him in investigations. Wizards were eager to share almost any information with the renowned hero, which the detective exploited without hesitation. Harry, due to his youth and adventurous spirit, saw everything as an adventure, so he thoroughly enjoyed traveling with his uncle.
Richard's birthday this time went smoothly and quietly. No wizards were present, except for the bodyguard and Justin. Harry congratulated Richard over the mikephone and regretfully said he couldn't come because he would be celebrating his birthday with his uncle. The boys sent each other gifts by owl.
Richard's birthday celebration was modest, in a small family circle: some twenty aristocrats, which is nothing for such an event.
In early August, Richie finally got around to doing his homework. He was out of the picture for a whole week.
Soon a letter arrived from Hogwarts. Richard didn't want to go to Diagon Alley. Especially after a whole week spent writing, he had a lot of important work to do at the office. So Richie sent an owl to Arthur Weasley asking him to buy him the books and ingredients listed. He enclosed a bag of Galleons. Richard reasoned that Arthur and his family would be going to Diagon Alley anyway. What difference did it make to him whether he bought five or six copies of everything, especially if it was a favor for his boss?
That's the beauty of owning a large business-you don't have to do everything yourself; in fact, it's actually contraindicated. You need to be able to select management personnel, issue orders wisely, and monitor their execution. And the robes can be bought later, when a free moment opens in your busy schedule. One thing Richard wasn't ready to entrust to anyone else was choosing clothes. Besides, he was planning to order another batch of unicorn wool underwear from Malkin for himself and his father, as well as socks and some thermal underwear made from the same material (long johns and a long-sleeved T-shirt-like top), and other small items.
Having finished his homework, Richie headed to Battersea in south London. Here, on the south bank of the River Thames, stands the defunct coal-fired Battersea Power Station. It consists of two major structures. The first, Station A, was built in 1933 and closed in 1975. The second, Station B, was commissioned in 1953 and closed in 1983. The power station remains decommissioned and awaits reconstruction. It's highly likely that both stations would have to wait another thirty to forty years, or even half a century, for reconstruction.
Both stations were built in the same design, featuring the well-known four-stack layout-a rectangular structure with enormous chimneys jutting out from the corners like castle turrets. The buildings were constructed of brick, with very thick walls. After years of disuse, not a single window remained on either structure.
Richard toured the abandoned power plants as part of an expert commission. The lead expert was John Wickham, one of the Deputy Ministers of Energy.
Mr. Wickham was a towering figure, a good two meters tall. He was lean, yet athletic and trim. Next to him, Richard, at six feet tall, seemed quite small. At fifty, John still had his full head of hair, thick but completely gray. His face was furrowed with premature wrinkles. The deputy minister's faded blue eyes surveyed the remains of the station with keen interest.
Richard politely asked his escort:
- What do you say, Mr. Wickham?
"Construction experts say," the deputy minister began to answer, "that the condition of the walls is close to perfect. Back then, they built to last. Just look, Lord Rich, the station walls are three feet and three inches thick (from the author: one meter, or four bricks)!"
"So, we can leave the walls?" Richard asked.
"Yes," the deputy minister nodded. "We'll just need to remove the pipes and fill in the ceilings. And, of course, we'll need to do some renovations, glaze the windows, install modern equipment, and run new cables to the high-voltage lines."
Richard approached the nearest of the four boiler rooms with curiosity. He examined it, wondering if it could be restored with magic. It was possible, he supposed, but an expert wizard would need to be consulted. In the restored boiler rooms, a magical flame could be lit and free electricity could be generated.
"I don't think we'll have to remove the pipes," Richard said. "They won't be in the way. We don't want to spoil the look of the historic building."
"If you wish to preserve..." the deputy minister drawled. "It's your right. So, are you satisfied with this station?"
"Yes, Mr. Wickham, quite," Richard nodded. "I will reconstruct both objects."
Several building inspectors disturbed a pile of dust, which rose into the air and filled a good portion of the spacious room.
"Ahem," Wickheim cleared his throat. "Damn dust! Oh, I'm sorry," he looked guiltily at Richard.
"It's okay, sir," Richie replied.
"Excuse me, Lord Rich," said the deputy minister, "but are you really going to build an innovative, environmentally friendly power plant?"
"Of course, Mr. Wickham," Richie replied. "It's a cutting-edge, top-secret British development based on cold fusion, which leaves no traces of radioactive decay. That is, no radiation. Even if the reactor fails, there won't be an explosion and no harm to the environment will occur. These stations are expected to produce at least one gigawatt. Only the experts can say for sure."
"Modestly," the deputy minister stated. "At eighty percent capacity, the investment will pay for itself in about five years."
"I'm in no hurry, Mr. Wickham," Richie replied. "Besides, you're not entirely right. Don't let the grace period fool you. The payback period for this project is actually only a couple of years, since generating energy through cold fusion is very cheap. Furthermore, this is only a test power plant, so its output is quite low."
"I understand," Wickheim nodded. He asked meaningfully, "Is it true that part of the Rich Electrix belongs to Her Majesty?"
"Without a doubt, Mr. Wickham," Richard replied calmly and continued with irony: "This information is in the public domain..." He narrowed his eyes slyly and continued suggestively: "Otherwise, who would have allowed me to build an experimental power station almost in the center of London on the lands of the Windsors?!"
"Sorry," the deputy minister drawled. "I understand everything..."
"Not quite everything, Mr. Wickham," Richard continued meaningfully. "Your immediate supervisor, due to his advanced age, has expressed a desire to retire soon. I don't think Sir Major will object to your candidacy for the post."
The deputy minister stumbled and froze. He looked down at the boy with an expression of intense surprise and joy.
"Thank you, My Lord," Wickheim managed to squeeze out, stunned.
"Sir, to be clear," Richard said, "I wasn't the one who recommended you for the post of Minister. But I was entirely in favor of your candidacy. I hope our collaboration will be fruitful."