"The fifth—you cannot create money, precious stones, or precious metals."
"Cannot, or impossible? Ma'am, if wizarding money is more or less understandable, ordinary people use colored scraps of paper. Surely those are easier to copy than an apple. And as for jewels, people have already learned to make them, so surely a wizard could manage that too."
Madam Marchbanks smiled slyly and replied, "Forbidden. Richard, you are very clever—that is both your strength and your weakness. First-year students accept as truth everything their teachers tell them. They are given the exceptions to Gamp's Law of Transfiguration, the first four principles are demonstrated to them, and the fifth they take on faith. If a wizard believes something to be impossible, then nothing will come of it."
"Um… I see. It wouldn't benefit the Ministry of Magic if wizards rushed in droves to counterfeit ordinary people currency and precious gems. But what about non-ferrous metals? What prevents someone from copying gold, platinum, or silver? Surely there must have been those who tried?"
"Richard, gold, silver, diamonds, emeralds, and rubies truly cannot be created by magic within the bounds of this planet. And that is the second reason it is impossible to counterfeit Galleons and Sickles. Those coins contain gold and, accordingly, silver. When copied, they become brittle and crumble into dust. The reason for this was a ritual performed by ancient wizards to avoid undermining their countries' economies. Only with the Philosopher's Stone can these limitations be bypassed. But in the entire history of magic, only three wizards have managed to create a Philosopher's Stone. Of them, only one has survived to this day—Nicolas Flamel—and he is in no hurry to share the secret of the Great Work, hiding from the world together with his wife."
"And what if someone copied not gold or silver, but platinum—or rhodium?"
"I don't know what rhodium is, but most wizards simply do not think that far," Madam Marchbanks answered. "Everyone wants gold—or at least silver. After testing their abilities on those metals, they abandon attempts to create any metal at all. And those rare wizards who do think to copy platinum are not inclined to shout about it from the rooftops. After all, one can end up in Azkaban—the wizarding prison—for such things. So you, too, must tell no one."
"As you say, Tutor. So counterfeiting pounds and dollars could land someone in prison, and in addition there's the monthly currency exchange limit at Gringotts. But surely there are wizards who live in the ordinary world and quietly make use of such charms. And I am more than certain that as long as they do not violate the Statute of Secrecy, the Ministry of Magic turns a blind eye to such tricks."
"You are quite perceptive, Richard. But enough theorizing! Memorize the wand movement…"
***
On Monday, Richard was not destined to rest. At breakfast, Gerald dropped the news on his son.
"Richie, we need to visit the University of Sheffield today. A new building is being opened there—construction sponsored by Grosvenor Group. The press will be present, so it will be useful for you to appear as the son of the university's trustee."
"One of the few days off…" Richard sighed mournfully. "Dad, is life always this difficult for the wealthy?"
"Only for those who try to increase their fortunes instead of living off rent or squandering their parents' capital. We must, Richie. We must."
"I have two questions: what time do we need to be there, and how far is it?"
"The opening ceremony is at noon. Sheffield is about seventy miles away. I expect we'll reach it in two hours at most."
"At least we're not driving to London."
"Richie, we're leaving in an hour so we can arrive early."
"Then I'll go choose a suit…" Richard headed for the exit of the dining room, then stopped and turned back. "By the way, about clothes. Dad, I need to update my wardrobe—my jackets are getting tight in the shoulders."
"Tell John."
"I will."
There is nothing particularly interesting about a long drive unless one is traveling as a tourist through new places. For Richard, the time passed quickly, since he had prepared by bringing along a couple of books.
The boy's presence was required only for the ceremonial ribbon-cutting in front of the new building; afterward, Gerald bore the brunt of the journalists' questions alongside the rector.
The building was intended for research laboratories of the new technical faculties. For now, only part of the equipment had been installed so far. The rector was demonstrating to journalists and to the Duke of Westminster a massive apparatus.
"This is the pride of our university—an electron microscope that will allow us to conduct research on the smallest particles."
Half-listening in boredom, Richard caught the university head's words and paid closer attention.
"For one hundred and forty years, scientists around the world have struggled with the problem of studying carbon microparticles. This microscope will assist us in our research."
Hmm… Carbon microparticles? Richard thought. Could the rector mean graphene? Lord help my memory—had a method for producing graphene been invented by this time? Hmm… Judging by rector words, no.
Richard recalled how, in his previous life, during a sixth- or seventh-grade physics class, they had been assigned to obtain graphene particles by the simplest method—one invented… at the beginning of the twenty-first century!
Definitely not! Richard thought. So why shouldn't I become the discoverer?
The boy squeezed past the journalists to a writing desk. He took some tape and a pencil.
Sitting down on a chair, Richie pulled off a short strip of adhesive tape, made a pencil mark on it, then began pressing the sticky sides of the tape together again and again, each time in different places.
(End of Chapter)
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