Richard had imagined a portal as a massive circular arch, like the ones in the sci-fi holoseries Stargate. Even a compact version, in his mind, would be at least a couple of meters across. Alternatively, he pictured a gigantic spaceborne portal station—something scientists might use to send reconnaissance probes and starships to distant suns.
He was curious to see the portal and wondered where the elderly lady would even get such a large device. But the witch managed to surprise the young man in earnest.
Madam Marchbanks produced a wooden pointer and slipped a silver bracelet off her wrist. Placing the jewelry on the coffee table, she began to wave the pointer and mutter something under her breath. The words were impossible to make out.
When she finished, Madam Marchbanks said:
"My boy, I have enchanted this bracelet into a portal. To use it, you must take the bracelet in your hand and say the word Portus. Will you remember that?"
"I've already memorized it, Madam," Richard replied, maintaining a mask of calm despite the indescribable storm of emotions raging inside him. "I have an excellent memory, even if it isn't eidetic. Forgive me, but I noticed that when you said Portus, nothing happened. But what would occur if I held the bracelet, but someone else spoke the keyword?"
"Absolutely nothing," the old woman answered loudly. "A portal activates only under two conditions: first, someone must be touching it with bare skin; second, that same person must speak the activation word aloud. By default, all portals use Portus as the activator. And one more thing, Richard—call me Tutor!"
"Very well, Tutor," Richard said. "And if, for example, someone else were to pick up the portal and activate it? A servant, perhaps. Would it still work?"
"Yes," the old woman replied. "That's the beauty of portals—they can transport even Muggles."
The Minister for Magic gave the men an apologetic smile and said:
"My apologies, gentlemen, but we really must be going. Duties don't wait… I've already had to carve out this visit with some difficulty."
"Not at all, not at all," replied the elder Grosvenor. "We understand perfectly. You hold an important office. It was a pleasure to meet you, Madam Minister. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out to me… Unless it requires expenses the size of a small country's budget, I'm ready to help or make a 'modest' donation."
"A donation?" It seemed the Minister instantly reconsidered her departure. "Perhaps I can stay just a little longer," she said, smiling charmingly at the duke. "Mr. Grosvenor, if it's not a secret, what exactly is your line of work?"
"No secret at all," Gerald replied. "I continue my ancestors' investment strategy: land, real estate development, sales, and leasing."
A greedy gleam appeared in Millicent's eyes. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and said:
"Mr. Grosvenor, we've been planning the construction of a magical settlement—a small village somewhere within Great Britain. The exact location isn't critical, but it should preferably be distant from non-magic communities. Tell me, would it be realistic to find land suitable for such a project?"
"I'll say more than that—it's not only realistic," Gerald replied. "I actually already own such land. Moreover, I could handle the construction of homes and infrastructure as well. How much land are we talking about?"
"We need a village of around a hundred houses," Millicent said, "and ideally, each household should have about five acres. Hufflepuff graduates are eager to receive plots for building farms and engaging in agriculture. Construction isn't mandatory—we can manage it ourselves faster and cheaper."
"Would Scotland suit you?" Gerald asked the Minister.
"Perfectly," Millicent answered with excitement.
"In that case, on behalf of the Grosvenors, I'm prepared to lease the land to the wizarding community in perpetuity at a minimal rate."
"Wonderful!" the Minister for Magic exclaimed. "We can discuss pricing and exact locations later. I'll send you a qualified specialist from the Magical Maintenance Department. If you don't mind, it would be more convenient for us to work in magical currency. Unfortunately, only your son will be able to use the wizarding bank."
"Oh, that's no problem at all," Gerald said with a broad smile. "I'll register the land in my son's name, and the tenants can pay the rent directly to him. Would eight hundred and forty acres of scenic countryside be acceptable?"
"Oh yes!" the Minister said, delighted. "That's even more than I expected. But if that's everything…"
"I wouldn't dare keep you," Gerald replied with a dazzling smile.
"Madam—" the Minister glanced at her companion but didn't have time to finish.
"Yes, yes, I'll Apparate with you too, my dear," the old woman said, rising from the cozy sofa. "Richard, I expect you on Saturday at nine in the morning. Don't be late."
The witches spun in place and vanished. Two soft pops echoed through the drawing room.
The elder Grosvenor's carefully maintained composure vanished instantly. He slumped back against the sofa, exhausted, and asked hoarsely:
"Charlie, did you see that too?"
"See two witches teleport?" Prince Charles asked.
"Yeah," Gerald confirmed with a nod.
"No, I blinked at that exact moment," the prince replied with a smirk. "Richie, what do you make of all this?"
"Strange…" the boy drawled. "Very strange… I'm stunned by what wizards can do—but all things considered, it seems to be working out rather nicely."
(End of Chapter)
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