Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Chapter 152 The Flying Car

"She's quite beautiful," Henry couldn't help but laugh. "And she's very intelligent; she can read people's minds."

"To discern people's hearts?" Philip's interest was piqued, and he leaned forward slightly. "How so?"

"Unicorns only gravitate towards pure people," Henry said. "Historically, few people have been able to approach them, and even fewer have actively chosen to do so."

Philip nodded thoughtfully.

"So they chose you?" he asked.

"I guess so," Henry said. "At least I saved him."

"Then you sound like a good person," Philip said with a laugh.

"Grandpa—" Henry was clearly surprised that his grandfather would suddenly give him a "good guy" card.

"I'm praising you." Philip stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't be nervous, you're fine."

In the afternoon, Philip spent a long time at Kensington Palace.

He talked to Henry about the reserve, about Hogwarts, and about the magical creatures.

He also asked about the Weasley family—for some reason, he was particularly interested in this red-haired family.

"How many children do they have?" Philip asked.

"Seven," Henry said. "Ron is the youngest, with five older brothers and one younger sister."

"Seven? Do they own a farm?" Philip asked, very curious.

"No. His father works at the Ministry of Magic," Henry had no choice but to reply.

"Seven children? Can the Ministry of Magic's salary afford to support them?" Philip asked, astonished.

Henry thought about the Weasleys' financial situation—the dilapidated house, the crooked chimney, the messy chickens in the yard, and Ron's old, worn-out secondhand wand.

He decided not to delve into the topic.

"Their family is quite modest," Henry could only try to salvage the Weasley family's reputation in this way.

He knew that his grandfather didn't mean any harm; the old man was just straightforward and spoke his mind without thinking.

Because of this personality trait, he has offended quite a few people.

Philip nodded and didn't ask any further questions.

In the afternoon, Henry received a letter from Ron saying that they would be driving here that night, the kind that can fly.

Henry was somewhat amused and exasperated, and warned the guards in advance that a strange flying car might visit that night.

Judging from the guards' expressions, they were clearly still somewhat skeptical.

You're saying there are cars flying in the sky? I'd rather believe a pig flies.

In the evening, after having dinner, Philip announced that he would stay.

"Your grandmother wants me to stay a few more days," he said to Henry, putting down his napkin. "I don't have much to do back home, so I'll stay here tonight."

He looked at the butler beside him, who nodded slightly.

"A room has been prepared for His Highness."

Henry glanced at his grandfather, then at Harry—who was sharing the last piece of pudding with Harry, completely unaware of what was happening.

He suddenly realized that this summer vacation might be much more interesting than he had imagined.

That night, it was completely dark.

In the gardens of Kensington Palace, only a few streetlights cast a soft glow. The fountains were off, and only the moonlight reflected off the water, shimmering like scattered silver.

William and Harry had already been taken to bed by the nanny. Harry insisted that he wasn't sleepy and struggled when he was picked up, kicking his little hands and feet. But three minutes later, he fell asleep in the nanny's arms, his head tilted to one side, his mouth slightly open, and a trace of drool at the corner of his mouth.

His sleeping posture was just like any six-year-old child's, completely defenseless, as soft as a ball of cotton.

Harry sat in the living room with a book in his hand—Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, which Henry had lent him.

But he was clearly not looking; his gaze kept drifting towards the window.

Henry sat opposite him, smiling, and asked, "Nervous?"

Harry snapped out of his reverie, shook his head, and said, "It's not nervousness, it's just—"

He got stuck at this point.

"What is it?" Henry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I just can't quite believe it," Harry said, closing the book. "Ron's really coming?"

"He said in his letter," Henry took a sip of juice, "that Mr. Weasley recently finished modifying that car, and it can fly now. George and Fred are looking for an opportunity to test it, and they're sure to be restless knowing you're here."

"Mr. Weasley?" Harry paused, startled. "You mean Ron's father?"

“Yes,” Henry said. “Arthur Weasley, from the Department for Prohibiting the Misuse of Muggle Items at the Ministry of Magic. He has a particular fondness for collecting and modifying Muggle stuff; this car is one of his modifications. George and Fred were just borrowing it.”

When he said "borrow," he even put a quotation mark in his hand.

Just then, a strange sound came from outside the window.

The sound was low, a buzzing sound, like something flying in the air. But it didn't sound like a bird; birds don't make that kind of buzzing sound.

Harry jumped up, rushed to the window, and yanked open the curtains.

Under the moonlight, a silver Ford Anglia hovered over Kensington Palace.

It flew very low, so low that it could see three people sitting in the car—three red-haired people.

The moonlight shone on their heads, making their three red heads stand out conspicuously in the night.

The driver was still frantically fiddling with some kind of control lever, the passenger was leaning halfway out to look down, and the person in the back seat had their entire face pressed against the car window with a distorted expression.

"They're here!" Harry shouted.

Henry walked to the window and glanced out.

"They're here."

The car swayed precariously in the air, like a drunken bird, stumbling and lurching, as if it might crash into something at any moment.

George and Fred were clearly not very confident about the landing. The car swayed back and forth in the air, veering left and right, sometimes dropping a few feet before pulling back up in a panic, as if it were some kind of high-altitude roller coaster.

Ron's face was pressed against the passenger window, his expression terrified, his mouth wide open as if he were shouting something, but it was too far away to hear clearly.

But judging from the distorted shape of his mouth, it probably wasn't something nice to say.

"What is Ron shouting?" Harry asked.

"I didn't hear you clearly." Henry said casually, "Judging from his lip movements, he was going to kill his two brothers."

Harry shuddered; this was something Ron should have said.

"What are they doing?" he asked, trying to make conversation.

"Attempting to land," Henry said. "It doesn't look very successful."

Just then, the car suddenly lurched forward and headed straight for the lawn in the center of the garden.

The angle of the dive was very steep, and the speed was very fast. In the moonlight, the car drew an arc, leaving a suspicious trail of black smoke behind it.

With a loud thud, it landed heavily on the lawn, splashing up bits of grass and dirt.

The car even bounced once, then fell back down, bounced again, and finally came to a stop on the ground.