Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

No one expected Crabbe to be able to gather information, especially Draco, whose surprise was palpable.

He looked at Crabbe, then at Henry, as if to make sure he hadn't misheard.

"You...you heard that?" Draco's voice was a little dry.

Crabbe nodded awkwardly, his chubby face showing a serious expression as if he were completing a task, even though the task was purely accidental.

"Hmm, two senior Gryffindor students, talking while wiping the trophy..."

Before he could finish speaking, the heavy stone door of the common room was pushed open rather hastily, and Marcus's massive figure, as large as a shaved silverback gorilla, appeared in the doorway.

He had clearly just returned from training; his clothes were still covered in grass clippings and frost, and his rugged face glowed with the redness of exertion.

"Wells!" Flint's gaze swept across the room and locked onto Henry, his voice booming, "There's a game tomorrow, you don't need to participate in training today, conserve your energy. But—"

He strode over, bringing with him a gust of cold wind.

"Rehearse in your mind the movements for dodging the Blink Dagger, and the route you take to retreat immediately after catching the Golden Snitch, a hundred times over! Tomorrow I'm going to show Wood that he'll never win against Slytherin!"

He slapped Henry hard on the shoulder, the force still making Henry stagger, then turned to Draco: "Malfoy, watch your mouth. Don't cause trouble before the game. I want victory, not you guys arguing with those red weasels in the hallway!"

Draco instinctively straightened his back, pursed his lips, and nodded.

After entering November, the weather became very cold.

The mountains surrounding the school were shrouded in a gray haze, one after another, covered with layers of ice and snow.

Every morning, the ground is frosty. Occasionally, Hagrid can be seen, wrapped in a long mole fur coat, wearing rabbit fur gloves and huge beaver fur boots, frost-removing his flying broomsticks on the Quidditch pitch.

Every time Hagrid saw Henry, he would greet him warmly, and occasionally bring him some hot tea while Henry was training.

Hermione learned a spell from somewhere that allowed her to conjure a handful of bright blue flames, which she could carry around in a jam jar for warmth.

Of course, she also gave Henry a jar of jam, which made Draco grimace.

While having tea alone in the afternoon, Lucy shared with Henry something that had happened at the castle.

"Lucy heard from Mr. Potter in the kitchen that he saw Professor Snape in Mr. Filch's office," Lucy said in a high-pitched voice. "His leg seemed to be injured, and Mr. Filch was putting medicine on it for him. Mr. Potter stumbled upon this, and Professor Snape was very unhappy and yelled at him to get out."

Professor Snape is injured?

"It must be Lu Weiqian's," Henry thought, nodding to Lucy. "Thank you for sharing, Lucy."

The next morning, the weather was clear but cold.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was filled with an excitement unlike anything seen before. The air was thick with the aroma of fried sausages, toasted bread, and hot pumpkin juice, but even stronger was the restlessness of an impending great battle.

The Slytherin table was unusually neat and uniform today, with almost everyone wearing silver and green scarves and hats in unison.

Draco, dressed in a brand-new dark green Quidditch training robe—though he wasn't a player on the field—was holding his chin high as he forcefully analyzed Gryffindor's weaknesses to Crabbe and Goyle in his usual drawn-out tone, his voice just loud enough for the nearby tables to hear.

"...So their only hope is Potter's Nimbus 2000, but no matter how good the broom is, the one riding on it is a freshman who probably hasn't even memorized the basic rules of the ball..." His eyes deliberately swept over the Gryffindor table not far away.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat there. Harry's food was barely touched, and he looked pale as he listened to Captain Oliver Wood's final pre-match instructions.

As you can see, Wood even drew his tactical diagrams on a napkin.

Ron stuffed smoked meat into his mouth while nervously glancing at Slytherin. When his eyes met Draco's, he immediately glared back.

Hermione looked back and forth between her Quidditch Origins book and Harry's breakfast plate, seemingly trying to find some knowledge to ease her tension.

Henry sat at the middle of the Slytherin table, dressed in his usual robes, his demeanor as composed as ever.

He leisurely enjoyed his simple breakfast, occasionally exchanging a few words in hushed tones with Daphne beside him, as if it were just an ordinary weekend.

Pansy had made sure her hair was exceptionally smooth today. In a deliberately reserved yet excited tone, she said to Millison beside her, "My dad sent me the latest telescope. It's supposed to be able to see the flapping of the Golden Snitch's wings from 300 feet away. I'm going to use it to see how some people fall down."

Her words drew giggles from several Slytherin girls around her; clearly, she was referring to Harry.

The professors were also having their meal at the faculty and staff table. Professor Quirrell was wearing a fluffy purple scarf that almost covered half his face and was stammering as he spoke to Professor Sprout next to him.

Professor McGonagall sat upright with a serious expression, but her occasional glances toward the Gryffindor table betrayed her nervousness.

Professor Snape, with his usual gloomy face, slowly cut a slice of black pudding, not even glancing in Slytherin's direction, but staring intently at the food on his plate.

The most eye-catching was Hagrid, his massive frame squeezed at the end of the professors' table, wearing a thick, patched fur coat, waving vigorously toward the Gryffindor table with a憨厚 (honest and simple) yet excited smile, his mouth clearly saying, "Go for it, Harry!"

Harry saw Hagrid and managed a weak smile in response.

Of course, Hagrid didn't forget to cheer Henry on, and Henry returned Hagrid's smile with a polite one.

Miss Farley appeared out of nowhere and sat down next to Henry.

"You don't seem nervous at all." She kept her eyes straight ahead, tapping her pale fingers on the table. The house-elf immediately served her a North African egg with toast and a plate of sliced ​​sausages.

"If nervousness were useful, then every athlete should be trembling before going on stage." Henry put the last bit of scrambled eggs into his mouth, lightly wiping his mouth with a napkin, the movement fluid and natural, as if he were just discussing the weather. "Nervousness is a normal emotion, but letting it dominate action is putting the cart before the horse. I trust Captain Flint and his teammates' preparation."