Someone had to answer for the setup with the Minister for Magic. Richard wanted blood from those responsible. The fate of the wizard informers had already been decided, for young Grosvenor, unwilling to rely upon the honesty of magical justice, had enlisted Madam Marchbanks herself. In his letter, he had told her part of the truth, much as he had to Mister Weasley. In her reply, the elder of the Wizengamot promised that the thieving wizards would be judged to the fullest extent of the law and faced anywhere from six months to three years in Azkaban.
Richie was convinced Dumbledore had a hand in the affair, though he possessed no proof. And so he decided that, despite his father's request, he would still steal the Philosopher's Stone in order to take revenge upon the Headmaster. It was no longer about trying to save the world. It had become a matter of honour.
The holidays arrived swiftly, almost in the blink of an eye. Richard boarded the Hogwarts Express along with the majority of the students, yet he had no intention of wasting several hours on the journey. The moment the train departed Hogsmeade Station, Richie used a Portkey—naturally, only after warning his father beforehand with a call on the wizardphone.
Gerald Grosvenor, looking somewhat thinner and visibly anxious, brightened at once when his son appeared.
"Richie," he said joyfully, embracing the boy, "you've grown so much! Tell me, how have things been?"
"Er…" Richard hesitated.
Gerald immediately tensed and drew back slightly. He looked his son over with a sharp, searching gaze.
"Something happened again? An assassination attempt?!"
"Something did happen, but not an assassination attempt," Richie replied. "Dad, you're probably aware of the magical items being supplied to the intelligence services…"
"Of course," the Duke answered with a grave nod of his chin. "Surely you didn't think you could keep a scheme like that secret from me? But I was assured everything had been arranged so carefully that no one would officially be able to dig anything up—not the wizards, nor our own laws."
"Well, Minister Fudge attempted to have me arrested. He insulted me, threatened me, and even dared to carry himself as though he were a king. Just imagine it—he actually believed he had the right to judge an aristocrat of the royal family!"
"That is a very serious accusation," Gerald said. "I need every detail."
Richard recounted everything that had occurred in the Headmaster's office, recalling every last detail. He ended up repeating the story several times, remembering and describing things he had failed to mention the first time around.
Richard and Gerald settled into armchairs in the drawing room beside the fireplace. The Duke sank into thought for a long while. He was furious; his fists clenched involuntarily with rage and indignation, and the muscles in his jaw twitched visibly.
"What does that brandisher think he's doing?!" the Duke drawled coldly, his voice thick with fury. "The Queen will be most displeased. Some wizard temporarily elected Minister dares to lay claim to her right to judge aristocrats! But that is not even the worst part… He dared to threaten my son! Threaten him… I'll grind that Fudge into dust!"
"Dad, I think it was a provocation," Richard remarked.
"A provocation?" Tilting his head to the side, his father looked at him questioningly.
"Yes," Richard nodded. "Fudge is an idiot who somehow managed to obtain a high office. Rumour has it, not without Dumbledore's help. Someone is using him to test us. Watching our reaction. Will we answer the challenge, or swallow the insult? And if we do respond, how? Do we truly possess the power and influence to stand against the wizards…"
"Hm…" Gerald rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, son… It does seem that way. This is no longer merely a personal matter. It is a challenge directed at the Queen and the intelligence services. We cannot tolerate such a spit in the face. We must demonstrate our authority and strength to the wizarding world. Fudge must be dealt with. But someone is undoubtedly standing behind him…"
"Dad, I thought the same thing. I believe it's Dumbledore. The trouble is, I have absolutely no proof. Everything is far too smooth—perfectly so, in fact. But if the criminal psychiatrist's profile is to be believed, this sort of subtle intrigue and manipulation is precisely in Albus Dumbledore's character."
"Richie, don't concern yourself with any of this," Gerald said firmly. "Your duty is to study magic. Leave dirty politics to the adults—the professionals. And let me repeat myself: stay out of trouble. You must also put an end to supplying magical items to the intelligence services."
"Already done. I warned the intermediary and gave Arthur Weasley instructions for the workshop to focus on developing new items. If everything works out, I'll soon be able to resume supplies and expand the operation on entirely legal grounds."
"Richie, what exactly are you planning?" the Duke asked worriedly.
"Dad, nothing dangerous. I merely bribed representatives of the International Confederation of Wizards so they'll pass a law allowing me to trade magical items with ordinary people. Expensive, yes, but well worth it."
"Are you absolutely certain this is safe?" Gerald continued anxiously.
"Completely foolproof!"
Richie went on to explain the ICW and the method by which he intended to push the law through. Gerald visibly perked up.
"Son, it's foolish to rely on miracles," the Duke said. "You need to bribe the majority of the ICW representatives, otherwise the money will be wasted. You must secure a voting advantage regardless of what the other delegates do."
"It all comes down to money," Richard shrugged. "I've got several tonnes of precious metals."
"You need gold?" Gerald asked.
"Yes."
"Then you shall have it!" Grosvenor Senior declared firmly.