Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 763 Attending the Wedding

With a soft click, the metal lock cylinder turned.

The door was then pushed open, and two figures appeared in the doorway.

Grandpa Bates leisurely took the key, placed it on the cabinet behind the door, and slowly walked inside, muttering Shakespearean lines in a relaxed and contented manner.

"Grandpa Bates."

"Loren".

Bates looked up at the person sitting on the sofa, a smile involuntarily appearing on his face, and his steps became lighter.

"Mr. Morgan!"

The short, thin figure beside him moved even faster, rushing excitedly toward Loren.

The little elf stopped in front of the sofa. His sudden stop during his run had caused him to lose his balance, making him stagger as he came to a halt. He removed his sunglasses and newsboy cap, hastily wiped his face, and looked excited.

"Mr. Morgan, you're finally back!"

"Some unexpected circumstances caused a few extra weeks of delay."

Loren looked him over with interest; from head to toe, he looked like a child in clothes on a mannequin in a shop window, quite convincingly so. Loren nodded and said, "Looks like you've learned a lot these past few weeks."

"It's all thanks to Mr. Bates' help. Mr. Bates took Wheat shopping, to the movies, and helped her understand the order of Muggle society. Wheat is very grateful to Mr. Bates!"

"Looks like you're having a good time. If the news leaks out and you violate the secrecy laws, the Aurors will hold you accountable and make you both file a complaint with the Ministry of Magic."

Wheat lowered her head in shame.

Crookshan and Hanhan lay on the sofa cushions, blinking at them.

"Well……"

Bates paused for a moment, thought for a moment, and said in a high-pitched, eccentric tone, "A person who thinks too much will lose the joy of being human."

"Oh, a line from 'The Merchant of Venice'."

Bates nodded reservedly, raising his chin: "Young people are like untamed hares; they will leap over the barriers of reason erected by the elderly."

"Who are the young people, and who are the old people?"

"Youth and old age are relative. Although my body is old, my mind is still young. Your body is young, but unfortunately..." Bates paused at just the right moment, looking Loren up and down, his eyes showing regret.

"..."

Loren paused for a moment, then said, "I won't be making your portion of the barbecue tomorrow!"

"Look at you, you resort to cheating when you can't refute it."

Bates hummed a cheerful tune as he passed by, casually picked up Crookshank, and took it upstairs to wash up. Perhaps it was because he had won the argument against Loren, or perhaps it was because his child had returned home from a long trip; in any case, he was in an exceptionally good mood.

Xiaomai watched him go upstairs with her big eyes wide open.

Loren, too lazy to argue with this old man, turned to Wheat and asked, "So, after spending half a month in Muggle society, what are your thoughts?"

The elf looked thoughtful, organizing his thoughts as he spoke slowly: "Technology is as magical as magic, perhaps even more so. Anyone can use electrical appliances without needing any special talent, which is why Muggle society is more advanced than wizarding society..."

"This is the concept of productivity in the book. Wizards also have great productivity, but the relations of production are not compatible, so it has not been fully utilized yet."

"I see..."

"This is just my personal, narrow analysis. Those philosophical theories were proposed by ordinary people who don't know magic, and they are not entirely applicable to the magic world. They cannot be applied mechanically. If you want to do something in the future, you can't just mechanically copy them. You can only explore and analyze each specific situation."

"Each situation needs to be analyzed individually..."

Xiaomai nodded thoughtfully, her brows still furrowed, the observations and insights she had accumulated over the past few weeks becoming complicated once again.

"The werewolf program at the Magical Congress of America is progressing steadily. Their experience can serve as a reference, or you can learn a thing or two about werewolves. For a different kind of race, they should demonstrate corresponding value and also have the ability to protect themselves..."

"Of course, you won't only have to face wizards; you'll also face goblins, Pukki, and centaurs. In a way, you've been living under the protection of wizards before..."

"..."

In the spacious and bright living room, the house-elves dressed as Muggle children listened quietly, their eyes reflecting the light. Although they could not fully understand the knowledge and concepts, they tried their best to remember them all.

A dozen minutes later, when Bates finished washing up, changed into his pajamas, and came downstairs, the two little ones on the sofa were already discussing topics of colonization and war, chattering away with a whole host of philosophical concepts, though they were all quite naive.

The story of Voldemort and the Death Eaters shows that, in essence, the wizarding world is still all about brute force.

Of all magical races, wizards are the most powerful.

"Ahem!"

Bates cleared his throat, shook his head, and recited Shakespeare's lines again: "Don't elves have eyes? Don't elves have limbs, bodies, senses, feelings, and emotions? Elves eat the same food, are attacked by the same weapons, get hurt, suffer the same diseases, are cured in the same way, and feel the same cold winters and hot summers. Aren't they just like wizards...?"

"..."

Loren silently memorized these lines, planning to recite them to Hermione at the right time; she was sure she would like the tone.

……

After a long trip, I always feel more comfortable taking a hot shower at home.

Loren walked out of the bathroom with his hair still wet. Too lazy to use his magic, he returned to his bedroom, leaned against the headboard, and waited for his hair to dry naturally, trying to fall asleep. He also took out his communicator to review the messages he had accumulated over the past few days.

Almost all the news came from his roommate. Neville asked about the battle that night, probably out of concern for the Longbottoms, but unfortunately, Loren barely noticed them. Harry asked him if he was also interning at the Magical Congress of America and invited him to travel together.

Then came Ron's message, asking him to tell Bill and Charlie that their secret had been exposed, their mother was furious, and they needed to return home immediately... A few days later, it turned into an invitation, inviting him and Hermione to attend Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Draco has the most news.

On the night of the airport ambush, Loren took a moment out of his busy schedule to send him a message, hoping that he could sense the ups and downs of that night, the grandeur of the war, and the joy of celebrating Voldemort's downfall from that exclamation mark.

Unfortunately, Hogwarts doesn't have literature classes, and Draco seemed unable to understand them, sending messages incessantly.

As you flip through the pages, the sentences become shorter and shorter, but the emotions become increasingly volatile.

At first, he asked patiently and thoroughly, such as whether the Ministry of Magic had planned any special operations, whether the Aurors' secret operations were related to the Death Eaters, and whether Dumbledore had completely destroyed Voldemort... Later, he began to vent his emotions. After all, he was the heir of the Malfoy family. His words were not so offensive as to be offensive, but they were still very uncivilized. In the end, he became numb, or rather, his mentality gradually became peaceful.

Loren could imagine what he looked like at the time through the messages.

In the dead of night, in the early hours of the morning, Draco pondered the intelligence he had recently received.

Although the Ministry of Magic's actions were secretive, the well-established Malfoy family still managed to pick up on some clues. All the clues indicated that the Ministry of Magic was planning a major operation, and the only ones in the entire wizarding world worthy of their attention were Voldemort and the Death Eaters... The messages sent to his father still had no reply, and when he thought about the ambush intelligence that had been passed on not long ago, Draco tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep.

In the heavy, silent night, the communicator suddenly vibrated—

An exclamation mark full of profound meaning!

Loren couldn't help but smile and continued scrolling down.

The next message came some time later, probably after Lucius Malfoy was deported home. Draco sent a lot of thank-you messages, expressing gratitude on behalf of the Malfoy family and conveying his father's thanks, sending a whole bunch of random messages.

Loren patiently read through the message and then pressed the communicator to reply.

Loren: "."

Then the communicator started buzzing and vibrating again to receive information.

Loren grinned, not even glancing at it, and tossed the communicator into the pendant.

I went to sleep.

……

One week later.

Loren and Hermione head to the Burrow.

Outside the village of Autry St Catchpol in Devon, England, a huge white tent has been erected next to a magically constructed high-rise building.

Bill and Fleur's wedding was more extravagant than expected. A long purple carpet was laid at the entrance of the tent, wild roses and pure white carnations were wrapped around the pillars, and bees and butterflies lazily fluttered among the grass and hedges.

A group of waiters in white robes and a band in golden shirts had arrived, and gorgeous fairies circled the instruments, shaking off shimmering white powder.

When the two arrived at the Burrow, it was two o'clock in the afternoon. The Weasley brothers, dressed in their finest attire, were already standing outside the tent in the orchard, holding seating charts, waiting for the guests who had come to attend the wedding.

The group of people, dressed in formal attire and long robes, stood under the scorching sun; even just watching them made me feel unbearably hot.

"Loren, Hermione, you're here."

George and Fred looked listless.

"Is it hot?"

Loren could see steam rising from Harry's head.

"Stop talking..." George tugged at the collar of his robe, trying to cool off. "I'm not going to do all this nonsense when I get married."

"Mrs. Weasley probably won't agree."

"I'll give Mom a full-body binding spell, or a living hell potion, so she can sleep until the wedding is over," Fred said firmly.

"..."

"I really envy you guys who don't need help."

Harry said weakly, flipping through the seating chart in his hand and pointing to the front row: "My legs are so numb I can't feel them anymore, so I won't take you in. Find yourselves, over there, there are name tags on the table..."

Just then, a series of air explosions suddenly rang out from the far end of the carpet behind them.

One after another, beautiful figures appeared out of nowhere.

The witches were beautiful, with shapely figures, and their smooth silver hair shimmered in the sunlight. Strange flowers and enchanted birds fluttered on their witch hats, and precious gems sparkled on many of their bow ties.

A few minutes later, a procession formed and began to meander through the garden toward the large tent.

As the group drew closer to the tent, their chatter grew louder and louder, filled with excitement, even drowning out the buzzing of the bees.

"Great! I think I see some Veela cousins. They need someone to help them understand British customs, I'll go look after them..."

Hey! You already have Angelina!

"Let go! Don't hold me! Harry Ron has run ahead!"

"..."

Watching their agile figures, Loren and Hermione exchanged a glance and couldn't help but laugh.

Turning around and stepping into the tent, it became much cooler inside.

Everywhere there are traces of magic, inconspicuous in the bright sunshine of the day, but shining with its due brilliance at night.

Several clusters of brightly colored balloons floated in mid-air, with rows of exquisite and delicate golden chairs on both sides. The table was covered with a thick and smooth tablecloth, pure white, embroidered with intricate floral patterns. The leaf patterns at the edges twisted in a regular pattern, and if you squinted, you could vaguely piece together Weasley's cursive letters.

There's an extra-large and wider seat in the back corner, with even the backrest heightened and reinforced; this one chair is bigger than the three or four chairs next to it combined.

"That's the spot prepared for Hagrid, made of beech, and even reinforced with magic," explained the middle-aged wizard at the next table. "They tried many kinds of wood—pine, pear, oak—but in the end, my daughter helped us find a thick, heavy beech in the nearby mountains. Mr. Weasley originally planned to weld a chair out of steel, and he's still a little regretful about it."

Loren and Hermione turned to look. They didn't recognize the wizard before, but they guessed his identity from his clothes and appearance.

He had a slight strabismus, messy white hair that fell over his shoulders, tassels on his hat hanging in front of his nose, and wore a bright yellow robe with a striking color. Around his neck hung a pendant engraved with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows.

"Mr. Lovegood?"

"Strange Loren, clever Hermione, our Luna has mentioned you." Xenophilius smiled kindly.

"Is Luna here too?"

"She's in that charming little garden, greeting the goblins, or rather, garden engineers—they're everywhere, so endearing! We can learn so much from clever goblins; few wizards understand that..."

Hermione nodded, then paused for a moment: "Small creatures can always inspire great things."

"No, what I mean is that goblin saliva has magic. If you get bitten by them, you might gain unique talents, such as being proficient in opera or reciting poetry in the language of mermaids."

"..."

Hermione silently suppressed her desire to strike up a conversation with Mr. Lovegood.

The people in their family are all a bit strange.

Normal thinking cannot be communicated.

Loren pursed his lips, suppressing a laugh, and turned to look around.

Not far away, a witch dressed like a grumpy flamingo was grumbling to Ron, muttering about how his freckles were getting worse. She must be the legendary Aunt Muriel.

Harry was entertaining several Ministry of Magic staff members, who were all smiles as they spoke.

George pestered a Veela cousin from the Delacour family, making the girl laugh until she trembled.

More and more guests are arriving at the venue.

The inside of the tent gradually became lively.

(End of this chapter)