Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Chapter 342 Sandringham House

Miss Farley stood before the marble counter, watching Diana mix the flour and butter together.

She had done it so many times that her movements were so fluid and effortless that she didn't even need to look at the screen—first, she would rub the butter and flour together with her fingers until the mixture became like fine breadcrumbs, and then she would add the sugar and eggs.

"That's the key," Diana said, her finger resting on the rim of the bowl. "The temperature is very important when mixing the butter and flour."

If the butter is too hard, the dough will crack; if it's too soft, the cookies will collapse. You need to find that middle ground.

Miss Farley looked intently: "Then how do we determine if the temperature is suitable?"

"Use your sense of touch," Diana said. "Your fingers are the best thermometer." She took a half step back. "You try it."

Miss Farley stepped forward and slipped her fingers between the flour and butter.

She felt the texture, her movements cautious, as if she were entering an unfamiliar room for the first time.

"I feel like—it's not quite right yet, it seems a bit hard."

"Then rub it again."

Miss Farley continued massaging for a few more minutes, her movements gradually becoming smoother from the initial awkwardness.

Her fingers pressed and rubbed between the flour and butter, as if she were learning a new language.

"That's about it," Diana said. "Now you can add sugar and eggs."

1

Miss Farley did as she was told. She poured the sugar and eggs into the bowl and continued kneading, watching the dough transform from a pile of scattered powder into a smooth, pale yellow ball.

She placed it on the table and patted off the excess powder.

"That's pretty good for your first time." Diana took the dough, flattened it gently, and then rolled it out into a thin, even sheet with a rolling pin.

Miss Farley stood to the side: "I never made cookies at Hogwarts."

"Aren't there any house-elves in Hogwarts' kitchen?"

"Yes," Miss Farley said, "but the house-elves will do everything; you won't need to do anything yourself."

"So, which do you think is better, doing it yourself or having someone else do it for you?"

Miss Farley thought for a moment: "It depends. If efficiency is needed, it's reasonable to have someone else do it for you."

When you need to understand something, doing it yourself will make it clearer.

"Is something like making cookies about efficiency or understanding?"

“I think it’s both,” Miss Farley said. “If it’s just about having something to eat, then having someone else do it for you is fine. But if you want to chat with people while baking cookies, learn how to knead dough, and warm up the whole room during the holidays, then it’s more worthwhile to do it yourself.”

Diana didn't reply, but she handed the rolled-out dough to Miss Farley and then pointed to the row of cookie cutters next to her: "You cut the shapes."

Miss Farley picked up a star-shaped mold, pressed it into the dough, twisted it gently, and then took it out.

A complete star shape appeared on the table.

She placed it on the baking tray and picked up the next mold.

It was a small Christmas tree, and it looked quite cute.

She pressed down on another one and placed it down.

Her movements gradually quickened, from tentatively pressing down at the beginning to finding her rhythm, and each piece was neatly arranged on the baking tray.

Henry stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorframe.

He didn't speak, but he looked at Miss Farley for a long time, his gaze sweeping over the stray hairs on her forehead, the fingers holding the mold, and the corners of her mouth that unconsciously turned up as she kneaded the dough.

Diana noticed his gaze but said nothing.

She simply stood quietly beside Miss Farley, gathering up the scraps and rolling them out again as the other cut the next piece of dough.

"You are very patient," Diana said.

"You mean when I was making cookies?" Miss Farley looked up.

"I mean everything you do. The way you do things doesn't feel like you're in a rush, it feels like you're taking your time," Diana said, handing over a moon-shaped mold. "Try this one too. Moons are rare in Christmas cookies, but this one is pretty."

Miss Farley took the moon mold, pressed it into the dough, and took out a crescent moon.

She placed it on the baking sheet, right next to the star: "My father said the shape of the moon signifies change. Every time you see the moon wax and wane, you're reminded that nothing lasts forever."

"Is your father a man who speaks a lot of reason?"

“He doesn’t talk much,” Miss Farley said. “He only says one thing when he needs to.”

11

Diana glanced at her: "Then when did he feel the need to say that?"

"When I was in seventh grade, I was worried about which direction to go after graduation. He didn't say many comforting words, he just took me to the garden to see the moon. He said, 'Look, it's missing a piece now, but it will be full again in a few days.'"

You won't stay in your current state of uncertainty forever.

He's right.

"He's right most of the time," Miss Farley said, "but he never says, 'I told you that.'"

Diana placed the last piece of dough into the baking pan, pushed the pan into the oven, and closed the door.

She patted the flour off her hands, turned to look at Miss Farley, and her gaze held a warmth that was more certain than before.

"Miss Farley," she said, leaning against the edge of the oven with her arms crossed, "have you been to Sandringham House before?"

"No," said Miss Farley. "I've only seen it in books."

"Would you like to go and see it?" Diana asked. "We're going there for Christmas tonight. You can come with us if you'd like."

Miss Farley paused for a moment, then continued putting the dough back into the bowl: "Is that Her Majesty the Queen's residence?"

"Yes," Diana said, "the Christmas dinner is held there every year, and this year is no exception."

"Will that be a big event?"

"It's bigger than you think, but more casual than you think," Diana said. "The royal family's Christmas dinner isn't like what you see in the newspapers. There are no long tables and endless speeches; it's just a regular family meal."

Miss Farley paused for a moment, as if weighing whether she was truly ready to step into such an occasion.

Then she nodded: "I'm willing to go."

, 7

Diana looked at Henry at the door: "Then go and get ready. We'll leave at three o'clock this afternoon."

Henry stood up straight in the doorway: "Okay."

At 3 p.m., a dark-colored sedan stopped in front of the side gate of Kensington Palace.

The car was spotless, and the driver, dressed in a crisp dark gray uniform, stood quietly waiting beside it.

Miss Farley stood at the door, having changed into a dark green dress, with a black coat over it, and a matching scarf neatly wrapped around her neck.

Her hair was still tied in a high ponytail, neat and tidy, as if she had become accustomed to using the simplest silhouette to deal with the most complex situations in such occasions. Diana wore a deep red coat and a light-colored silk scarf around her neck, looking more composed than in the morning. Charles walked beside her, wearing a dark blue coat, his expression calm.

Henry walked beside Miss Farley and opened the car door for her: "You go first."

Miss Farley bent down and sat in the back seat, and Henry followed her in, sitting next to her.

Diana and Charles got into the front seat, the driver gently closed the door, and then got into the driver's seat. The car smoothly drove out of the gates of Kensington Palace and through the quiet streets of London.

There were far fewer cars on the road than usual, and the festive atmosphere slowed down the pace of the entire city.

Miss Farley looked out the window at the passing street scene: "How far is it from Kensington Palace to Sandringham House?"

"About two hours," Henry said. "You can take a nap if you're tired."

“I’m not tired,” said Miss Farley. “I was just thinking that I’ve never seen London from the streets on Christmas Eve. Back in Hogwarts, Christmas Eve was always inside the castle, and all I could see was snow and the Forbidden Forest outside the window. I didn’t know that Christmas Eve in the Muggle world was like this: the streets were deserted, the shops were closed, but all the lights were on.”

"Because everyone is at home," Henry said, "staying with their families."

"And what about you?" Miss Farley turned to look at him. "How did you usually spend Christmas Eve?"

"My grandmother felt that the whole family should get together for the holidays, so everyone would go to Sandringham House for Christmas."

"Do you like that method?"

“Of course I like it,” Henry said, “because it means that for those few days, I’m just my grandmother’s grandson, not a holder of any title.”

Miss Farley did not press the matter further. She turned her gaze back to the window, watching the London streetscape gradually transform into the suburbs, and then from the suburbs into open fields.

About an hour and a half later, large tracts of woodland and neatly trimmed hedges began to appear on both sides of the road.

The vehicle slowed down at the end of a long lane, and the outline of a dark brick building came into view ahead.

Sandringham House was smaller than Miss Farley had imagined, but warm yellow light shone from the windows, and thin wisps of white smoke rose from the chimneys, slowly dissipating into the grey-blue sky.

The car stopped in front of the main gate. The butler was already waiting there, dressed in a dark uniform, standing ramrod straight.

As Miss Farley got out of the car, she stepped on a thin layer of gravel, which made a soft, rustling sound.

She slightly raised her head, gazing at the low, sturdy building, her expression unchanged, but her fingers gently twirled inside her sleeve.

"Are you nervous?" Henry asked softly.

"A little," Miss Farley said, "but not much."

They entered the foyer, which was small with dark wooden floors and several light-colored watercolor landscape paintings hanging on the walls, their colors serene and their brushstrokes soft.

A fire was burning in the fireplace, and the firelight reflected on the wall, giving the whole space a warm orange-red hue.

Diana walked ahead, leading Miss Farley through a corridor and into a living room.

The living room wasn't large, but it was furnished comfortably. Several sets of dark-colored armchairs and sofas surrounded a low coffee table, on which sat a tea set and several plates of snacks.

The outline of the garden can be seen from the window, gradually blurring in the twilight.

Queen Elizabeth II sat in an armchair by the window, wearing a dark gray suit with a light-colored shawl draped over her shoulders.

She wasn't holding any books or documents; she was just sitting quietly.

Hearing footsteps, she looked up, her gaze passing through the room and stopping on Miss Farley.

"Miss Farley," she said, "welcome to Sandringham House."

Miss Farley gave a slight bow: "Your Majesty, thank you for sending me."

The Queen looked at her for a moment and said, "Sit down, the journey is quite long."

Miss Farley sat down in a chair by the window, with Henry beside her. Diana and Charles sat down on another set of sofas.

The butler brought in a pot of tea, placed it on the coffee table, and quietly left the room.

After the door closed, the living room was quiet for a moment, with only the soft sound of the fire burning in the fireplace.

"Miss Farley," the Queen began, "Henry mentioned you in his letter, saying you studied public policy and administration at Oxford, is that right?"

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Miss Farley sat up straight. “I am studying how Muggle governments operate.”

The Queen nodded slightly: "Then what do you think is the biggest difference between the governments of Muggles and wizards?"

Miss Farley didn't answer immediately. She lowered her head and thought for a moment: "I think the biggest difference is that Muggle governments believe in the power of written documents, while wizarding governments believe in the power of verbal promises. In Muggle governments, if something isn't written down, it hasn't happened. In wizarding governments, if something isn't confirmed verbally, it doesn't count."

The Queen listened quietly: "Then which of these two methods do you think is better?"

“Neither is good enough,” Miss Farley said. “The Muggle way is too slow; a decision has to go through too many layers of confirmation before it can be implemented. The wizard way is too fast; a promise can be forgotten the moment the speaker turns away. It might be more efficient to combine the two—written documents and verbal confirmation complementing each other.”

"Do you think this kind of combination is possible?"

"Possibly," Miss Farley said, "but someone needs to be willing to switch between the two approaches."

The Queen looked at her and remained silent for a moment.

"Would you be willing to walk into that border crossing?"

Miss Farley didn't pause: "If that's something I need to do, I'm willing."

The Queen nodded and did not ask any further questions.

She picked up her teacup, took a sip, and gently placed it back on the coffee table.

She turned to Henry, her voice softening slightly: "Henry, why don't you take Miss Farley to see the garden? It's not completely dark yet."

Henry stood up: "Okay."

Miss Farley stood up and walked out of the living room with Henry, down the corridor toward the side door.

The garden was much larger than Miss Farley had imagined, with dark grass stretching into the distance and a row of neatly trimmed holly trees along the edge.

As dusk deepened, the outline of the garden softened and became hazy in the last rays of light.

Miss Farley walked beside Henry, her pace slower than when they were indoors: "His Majesty just asked me that question—"

Is he testing me, or confirming my identity?