"And what about an ordinary person?" Richie asked.
Madam Malkin replied:
"It would be beneficial for an ordinary person as well to wear clothing made from such material—but who would allow that, given the Statute of Secrecy?"
"If it's that beneficial, then what's the catch?"
Richie was certain that unicorn hair was not as simple as it seemed. If it were truly so useful, then every wizard would be wearing clothes made from it.
"It's expensive, dear," Madam Malkin said sadly. "Terribly expensive! Only the wealthiest wizards could, at best, afford underwear made of such fabric. And even then, only if they happen to have some kind of health issues."
"And if there are no health problems—can one still wear clothing made from it?"
"Of course! But…"
"I understand, ma'am—expensive," Richard said. "Still, I'd like to know the exact figures."
"Ten galleons per ounce of hair. The fabric itself is twice as expensive."
Richard didn't hesitate long. Without stepping away from the counter, he decided to place an order:
"Madam Malkin, I would like to order three sets of underwear made from unicorn hair for myself—and three times that amount for future growth over the next few years. Additionally, five sets of underwear for a man, XL, height one hundred eighty centimeters. For him as well as for myself—pajamas. Mine should be made with room to grow, so I won't need replacements for the next couple of years. And a nightgown for an elderly lady, one hundred sixty-three centimeters tall, who keeps up with fashion trends."
With each word he spoke, Madam Malkin's and her assistant's eyes widened further, their jaws practically threatening to hit not just the floor, but the Earth's mantle. With a dull clatter, the young witch dropped her measuring stick.
"Young man… you're not joking?" the shop owner asked in a hoarse voice, heavy with disbelief.
"Not at all, ma'am. Allow me to introduce myself—Count Grosvenor, Richard, heir to the Duke of Westminster. I assure you that my vault in Gringotts contains more than enough funds to pay for such an order—even accounting for your work."
Madam Malkin's mouth went dry. She felt faint. She tried to calculate the cost of the raw materials in her head, but the numbers tangled and refused to come together into anything coherent.
"My lord…" the shop owner, pale and trembling, forced out in an even hoarser voice. "I… we would first need to calculate the cost of materials… Besides, such a large purchase of unicorn hair cannot possibly be acquired quickly…"
"Ma'am, I'm not rushing you. Send me an owl with a preliminary estimate, and I will instruct my goblin at Gringotts to issue you a deposit. When the order is complete, you will receive generous payment for your work. Does that suit you, Madam Malkin?"
"Y-yes… Yes, Lord Grosvenor! Of course, it does! This will be an incredible experience for me. Working with unicorn hair on such a scale… Oh, Merlin almighty! I never even dreamed of such a thing. But that's no less than eight pounds of hair!"
"One hundred twenty-eight ounces?" Richard drawled lightly, as though it were nothing. "So, roughly thirteen thousand galleons for the hair alone? Which means the finished clothing will come to around thirty thousand. I'll issue an order for a fifteen-thousand-galleon deposit right away."
Madam Malkin swayed and gasped. With her right hand, she tried to clutch her heart—but found only her ample bosom instead.
"My lord, please, don't frighten me like that. My shop doesn't make that much in a year!"
"Then, ma'am, you now have a strong incentive to complete the work quickly and with the highest quality," Richard said, flashing her a wide smile. "And one more thing…"
The boy opened his jacket, revealing the Grosvenor coat of arms embroidered on the lining. It resembled a shield, though upon closer inspection it appeared woven from belt-like straps. It depicted two sheaves of wheat and a pair of portcullises with chains. Supporting the shield were two golden dogs in blue collars, standing upright on their hind legs, while atop it rested a domed knight's helmet crowned by a third, smaller golden dog without a collar. Beneath it ran a ribbon bearing the motto: VIRTUS NON STEMMA—"Virtue, not ancestry."
"This coat of arms must be applied to all the clothing—except for the lady's nightgown, ma'am. I'll send you a sketch by owl."
"Of course, Count Grosvenor," Madam Malkin exhaled, visibly delighted.
Some time later, the boys left the shop. Harry inhaled the fresh air of Diagon Alley with immense relief. It seemed to him that the sun shone brighter, the sky was bluer, and life in general was a wonderful thing—as long as he didn't have to linger in a clothing shop in Richard's company. Harry would have gladly done anything other than shopping. If someone had offered him now a choice between shopping with his friend and killing Voldemort again—something people already credited him with—he would have chosen the latter without hesitation.
"How, Richie? How can you spend an entire hour choosing the style of underwear?!"
"Harry, you don't understand the full importance of proper underwear," Richard said in a lecturing tone. "You wear it almost twenty-four hours a day! And if it even brings benefits…"
"Underwear! It's fucking underwear, Richie!"
"Not at all!" Richard protested. "It's underwear made from unicorn hair!"
"Richie, it's freaking underwear made from some insanely rare magical horse! My God! Just think—one hundred fifty… one hundred fifty thousand pounds for underwear!!! Richie, I have no words."
"Harry…"
"Yeees?" Potter replied warily.
"I understand now."
"What do you understand?" Harry frowned.
"You want a pair too! Let's go back and place an order for you."
"NOOO!!! No, no, no! I'm not going back to that hellhole. Especially not for a pair of underwear."
Many wizards turned at Harry Potter's outburst, but he didn't care.
"Anything, Richie—kill me if you must—but not another clothing shop! I beg you!"
"Alright, alright," Richard raised his hands. "How about an ice cream parlor?"
"Oh, yes!"
(End of Chapter)
P@treon: /SadRaven
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