Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Chapter 326 Project End

Prince Philip chatted with the twins for a few more minutes about the specific details of the fighter plane. George asked if the fighter plane could do somersaults, and Prince Philip said it could, even more smoothly than their cars. Fred asked if the fighter plane could fly at low altitudes, and Prince Philip said it could fly as low as skimming the treetops, if you dared to.

After a while, he finally stopped talking and looked at the sky.

The afternoon sun was beginning to set in the west, and clouds slowly rolled in from the direction of the Forbidden Forest, obscuring half the sky.

"I have to go back," said Prince Philip. "Professor Dumbledore said there's a meeting this afternoon, and people from the Ministry of Magic are there too."

"Then please let us know in advance next time you come," George said, "so we can make adequate preparations."

"What are you preparing?"

"Get ready to go," George said. "That car sat idle all winter, the engine's a bit lazy. If you'd told us in advance, we could have warmed it up."

Prince Philip laughed heartily: "Then next time you come to Kensington Palace, just let me know in advance so I can find the model of my fighter plane and show it to you."

"A fighter jet model?" Fred's eyes lit up.

"Yes, a life-size replica," Prince Philip said. "After it was retired, I converted it into a decoration and put it in the garage of the estate. It can't fly anymore, but it's still quite nice to sit in."

George and Fred exchanged a glance, a look Ron recognized—the look they gave each other when they were plotting something big.

Prince Philip clearly noticed as well, but he didn't press the matter. He simply waved to them and said, "See you next time."

He turned and walked toward the castle, his steps still light and quick.

After walking a few steps, he turned back and called out in Ron's direction, "Ron! Next time, drink some water before you get in the car, so your throat is moist!"

Ron stood there, speechless, taken aback by this unexpected concern.

By the time he realized what was happening and was about to respond, Prince Philip had already turned back, his figure receding into the distance.

"He offered you some water," George said, patting Ron on the shoulder.

"I heard you," Ron said.

"To soothe the throat," Fred added.

"I heard you."

"That means he still wants to hear you shout," George said.

"I—don't—want—to—shout—out," Ron said through gritted teeth.

"That's not necessarily true," George said, hooking his arm around Ron's neck and pulling him closer. "His Highness said your voice is better now, how can you not grant an old man's wish?"

"He's only seventy, old man my ass." Ron broke free.

"Wow, you're over seventy years old and you still dare to talk like that?" Fred chimed in from the side.

"He's over seventy and still dares to do somersaults on a roller coaster!" Ron said. "That shows he doesn't accept getting old, so I don't need to treat him like an old man!"

George and Fred exchanged a glance and simultaneously patted Ron on the shoulder.

"That makes sense," George said.

"That makes a lot of sense," Fred said.

The Gryffindor crowd began to disperse; some headed towards the castle, some continued discussing the match, and others tidied up blankets and water bottles in the stands. Mr. Bagman was still in the center of the arena, talking to several Ministry of Magic staff members, holding a long parchment list in his hand, as if checking something.

Hermione walked over and stood next to Ron: "When you were talking to Prince Philip just now, at least twenty people were eavesdropping behind you."

"I know," Ron said. "I can feel it."

"7

Are you nervous?

"He's alright, just normally nervous," Ron said. "Much better than when he first spoke to me."

When was the first time he spoke to you?

“It was at Kensington Palace last time,” Ron said. “I went with Harry, and His Highness Henry was there too. Prince Philip came out of the corridor, saw me, and asked if I was the youngest of the Weasleys—I almost dropped my teacup.”

"and then?"

"Then he said your brother mentioned you to me, saying you're pretty good at Quidditch, but you like to throw your gloves when you lose." Ron's face flushed again. "I thought to myself, which brother of mine told him that?"

"So which one do you think it is?"

“Charlie,” Ron said, “only Charlie would notice these details. Bill doesn’t watch Quidditch much, Fred and George are too busy studying their stuff, only Charlie would write these kinds of things in his letters.”

Hermione couldn't help but laugh. "So Charlie's right? You throw your glove when you lose a game?"

"Occasionally," Ron said, somewhat embarrassed.

"Sometimes is often," Hermione said with a sly smile.

"More or less," Ron mumbled. "But that's not the point. The point is, Prince Philip actually remembered it. He only met me once, and he remembered me throwing my glove after losing the game. That shows he has a really good memory."

"Or it means he cares about your family," Hermione said.

Ron thought about it and didn't refute it.

Harry came over, still holding the golden egg in his hand.

He tucked it under his arm like a book, but the movement looked much more careful than if he were carrying a book.

The surface of the golden egg gleamed softly in the afternoon sunlight, as if it were illuminated from within by something.

"Let's go," Harry said, "we'll talk about it when we get back. There are too many people here."

The three of them walked together toward the castle, with Fred and George following a few steps behind, still discussing the fighter jets.

George said, "If I could ever fly in a fighter jet, it would be worth it for my whole life."

Fred said, "Then you'll have to learn how not to throw up in the cockpit first."

Ron turned around and glared at them: "Can't you guys say something normal?"

"Normal?" George thought for a moment. "Okay. Lunch was good today, the mashed potatoes were delicious."

"That's breakfast," Fred corrected him.

"Whatever it is, it tastes pretty good," George said.

Ron turned back and decided to ignore them.

The four Gryffindors walked back along the lawn. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang's group had already left, leaving only a few Hogwarts students lingering on the lawn.

Someone recognized Harry and called out to him from afar, "Well done, Potter!" Harry waved in response.

Someone else recognized Ron—or rather, the two red-haired twins walking next to Ron—and people were saying, “Those are the Weasleys. Prince Philip just spoke to them.”

Ron heard the whispers and his neck turned a little red, but he didn't stop and kept walking.

Hermione noticed his change and said in a low voice, "You'll probably be recognized a lot from now on."

"Why?" Ron said. "I didn't do anything."

"Because you stood next to Prince Philip and spoke," Hermione said. "And your two brothers talked to him for so long. At least half the people here today saw it."

Ron was silent for a moment. "So, do I have to wear a hat when I go out from now on?"

"Wearing a hat won't help," Harry said. "Your hair is too conspicuous."

Ron touched his red hair: "Then wear a hood."

"That would make it even more conspicuous," Harry said. "No normal person would wear a hood in a castle."

"Then what should I do?"

"You'll get used to it," Harry said. "I felt really uncomfortable the first time people recognized me, but then I realized they don't really do anything to you. They just look at you a few more times and say a few more words. After a few days, they forget about you."

"You were recognized because you're the boy who survived a major ordeal," Ron said. "I was recognized because I talked to an old man. It's not quite the same thing."

"It's all because I was recognized," Harry said. "The way it's handled is the same."

Ron thought about it and realized that Harry's words seemed to make some sense.

They entered the castle, passed through the foyer, and climbed the marble staircase.

The stairs suddenly changed direction halfway up, veering to the right at about 30 degrees.

Harry stopped on the stairs, waited for it to regain its balance, and then continued up. Ron followed behind him, Hermione close behind, and Fred and George brought up the rear, still discussing the fighter jet's flight altitude.

"Have you noticed?" George said, "that the stairs always seem to change direction when someone is walking in a particularly hurry?"

"It seems so," Fred said. "It seems to specifically target people who are in a hurry."

"What if we're not in a hurry?"

"It won't be replaced."

"Shall we take it slow from now on?"

"Yes, walk slowly."

They slowed their pace, and sure enough, the stairs didn't change direction again. George nodded in satisfaction: "That's my secret to dealing with stairs: the more you rush, the more they'll try to defy you. When you're not in a rush, they don't care anymore."

9

"Where did you get that conclusion from?" Ron asked.

"It's something I learned from countless experiences of being late," George said.

They went up to the eighth floor and passed by the portrait of the fat lady.

The fat lady was dozing against the edge of the picture frame when she heard footsteps. She opened her eyes and, seeing Harry, sat up straighter. "Potter, you did a good job today. I saw you in the picture; you flew quite beautifully."

"You can see?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised.

"Messages can be exchanged between the portraits," the plump lady said. "Someone sent a message back from the portrait over at the competition venue. Although the image is a bit blurry, it's clear you flew quite well."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"You're welcome," said the plump woman. "The password?"

"Dragon egg." Harry said that was the password he set when he left home that morning, and now it seemed quite fitting.

The plump lady nodded, and the portrait slid to the side, revealing a circular opening behind it.

They crawled in and landed on the cushions in the Gryffindor common room.

There weren't many people in the room; most of the students were still outside. Some were chatting near the stands, some were sunbathing on the lawn, and some were wandering around other parts of the castle.

Only a few younger students sat on a sofa in the corner, playing a game of wizard chess, the pieces pushing and shoving each other on the board.

Harry walked to an armchair in front of the fireplace, sat down, and placed the golden egg on the coffee table.

The surface of the golden egg gleamed warmly in the firelight of the fireplace, like a piece of polished amber. He stared at it for a while, but didn't touch it.

Ron sat down beside him: "When do you plan to study it?"

"Tomorrow," Harry said. "I'm too tired today, I want to rest first."

"Don't you want to know what the second project is?"

"I'd like to know," Harry said, "but my brain isn't quite working right now; those ten minutes have used up all my energy."

Hermione sat down in the chair opposite Harry and opened her notebook: "So, what are your plans for tomorrow?"

"I haven't decided yet," Harry said. "Maybe we'll see if it can be opened first, and if not, we'll think of another way."

"You can ask Cedric," Hermione said. "He's probably studying his golden egg too."

"Yes," Harry said, "I'll go ask him tomorrow."

"You could ask His Highness Henry," Hermione said. "He came to watch the game today and should still be in the castle."

Harry thought for a moment: "He must be pretty busy today. His grandfather is here, and he has to keep him company."

"That's true," Hermione said. "Then let's talk about it tomorrow."

Ron leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. "All I want to do tonight is one thing—do nothing. I don't want to use my brain, I don't want to walk, I don't want to talk to anyone."

"So what are you doing now?" Harry asked.

"I'm talking nonsense," Ron said. "This doesn't involve using your brain."

Harry smiled and leaned back in his chair.

After a while, there was a noise at the doorway, and two Gryffindor boys squeezed in. They paused for a moment when they saw Harry sitting in front of the fireplace, and then walked over.

"Harry," one of them said, "you flew absolutely brilliantly today. I mean, really brilliantly. I was sitting in the third row and didn't dare breathe the whole time."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"How did you learn that roll? I've seen people do it in Quidditch training, but no one has ever done it that fast."

"It's all about practice," Harry said. "I spend a lot of time on brooms."

"I'd like to practice more, but I'm a chaser, I can't learn the seeker's style," the boy said. "But after watching your game today, I think the seeker is pretty cool too."

Another boy added, "And that old man was Prince Philip—he actually came down to talk to you? I saw it from the back row."

“Yes,” Harry said, “he just said hello to me.”

"He said hello?" The boy's voice held a hint of surprise, as if to say, "You call that a greeting?" "He talked to you for a long time. It sounded like he was praising you."

“He did compliment me a bit,” Harry said. “He said I flew well.”

The boy glanced at Harry, then at the golden egg on the coffee table, his expression suggesting he was trying to process some information—

He knew someone who had been praised in person by a member of the royal family, and this person was now sitting in front of him, wearing an old robe, with slightly messy hair, looking no different from usual.