Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Henry didn't go up to ask; even a fool could tell that the trio had probably gone to Hagrid to ask about Lou Williams.

According to the vague storyline he remembered, Harry would accidentally break into the fourth-floor restricted area around Halloween due to Draco's provocation, discover the three-headed dog, and thus gradually uncover the secret of the Philosopher's Stone.

But now, Draco has no provocations, no duels, no nighttime strolls in the trophy room—Henry cut off that subplot from the start.

But fate seems to have its own corrective mechanism.

Even without Draco, the trio still managed to find their way to the fourth floor.

Perhaps it was through other channels, perhaps it was just a coincidence, or perhaps it was the old principal who had been observing from the shadows, guiding it intentionally or unintentionally.

Henry was unsure and didn't intend to investigate further.

All he knew was that the plot was veering off course in a way he couldn't fully control.

This is not a problem.

The real question is, what role should he play?

It's safe to stand by and do nothing. Whether it's Cerberus or the Philosopher's Stone, Voldemort's plot has its own trajectory, and Harry, as the "Chosen Child," has his own destiny to fulfill.

Henry had no obligation to interfere, or even any reason to interfere—he was just a Slytherin freshman, a newcomer just beginning to make his mark on the Quidditch pitch, an outsider busy building his network and accumulating influence.

Not intervening is the most rational choice.

He placed the teacup back on the tray, the glass clinking softly.

But that doesn't stop him from asking other questions.

……

"You...you want to invite Fred and George for tea?"

In Hagrid's hut, Ron's voice became shrill, and he almost dropped a piece of rock bread from his mouth.

He fumbled for the hard pastry, staring at Henry incredulously, as if he had just heard not an invitation for the twins to have tea, but rather, "Oh Ron, let me take your twin brother and blow that damn Slytherin cellar to smithereens!"

"Yes." Henry calmly soaked the rock cake in the milk in the bowl. "Mr. Weasleys should be quite familiar with the specialties of Hogsmeade and the wizarding world. I need some advice on Christmas shopping."

He paused, then looked up at Ron.

"What gifts to give to family members."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance.

Ron's expression remained contorted—this Slytherin had invited him for tea, invited Harry for tea, invited Hermione for tea, and now he was going to invite his destructive twin brothers for tea. Was the next step to be to invite the entire Gryffindor to that dilapidated classroom for a tea party?

wrong……

and many more?

Christmas shopping advice? Maybe ask his two twin brothers?

Ron scratched his head.

Is this ridiculous? What good advice could those two possibly give?

But Harry noticed that Henry spoke of his family in a very flat tone.

There was no boasting, no formalities; they were simply discussing an important matter.

"Uh..." Harry scratched his head. "Fred and George do go to Hogsmeade quite often. They... well, they're very good at finding special shops."

"Last semester they smuggled a box of dung balls from Zonko's joke shop," Ron added expressionlessly. "They threw dung balls into three whole stalls of the men's restroom on the fifth floor. Almost no one dared to go to the toilet anymore. Filch chased them for two weeks."

"That sounds like the expert I need to consult," Henry said with a smile.

Ron choked.

Forget it...

Anyway, it's not like I'm the one buying things for my family. If he wants to, let him do it.

That afternoon, the classrooms on the second floor were empty.

Fred and George appeared at the door right on time, their identical faces bearing expressions that said, "Let's see what tricks this Slytherin prince is up to."

Fred went through the door first and quickly scanned the area.

The table was covered with a simple tablecloth, Hogwarts' standard white porcelain teaware, several plates of butter biscuits, jam tarts, and frosted cakes.

There was no silverware, no three-tiered dessert stand, and no bone china; it was a very simple and unpretentious hospitality.

His eyebrows rose slightly, clearly not expecting this scene.

However, such hospitality clearly put him at ease.

"Please sit down." Henry rose, composed. "The tea is freshly brewed, Ceylon black tea with a little milk. Sugar is in the middle of the table, please help yourself."

As George sat down, he was exchanging glances with Fred. This was completely different from the lavish royal afternoon tea they had imagined. It was simple to the point of being austere, like a tea party that any ordinary student could put together in an empty classroom.

The tea was excellent, the temperature was just right, and although the pastries were standard Hogwarts kitchen offerings, they were neatly arranged, with not even crumbs on the edges of the butter cookies.

Fred took a bite of the jam pie and squinted.

"So," he swallowed his snack, his tone light, "what does His Highness the Prince of Slytherin want with us? It can't just be that he wants to curry favor with the Gryffindor troublemakers, can it?"

"Yes," Henry said with a smile, "no."

Fred blinked, clearly taken aback by the civil servant-style answer.

"I need advice on Christmas shopping." Henry put down his teacup and looked directly at the two interested faces. "Gifts for family members, of course, not ordinary gifts, but gifts with special requirements."

George rested his chin on his hand, tapping his fingers lightly on the edge of the table: "What special request?"

Henry was silent for two seconds.

Then he said something that almost made the twins choke on their tea.

"It has to be cheap. The cheaper the better. And if it looks quirky, that would be even better."

Fred put down his teacup, and George sat up straight.

Two identical pairs of eyes simultaneously lit up with a story-telling light.

"...Wait a minute," Fred asked, emphasizing each word. "You mean, you—the Prince of Wales' eldest son, second in line to the British throne, the Seeker of Slytherin Quidditch—need to ask for Christmas presents, and your requirements are that they be cheap and quirky?"

"Yes," Henry said without changing his expression, "it's a family tradition."

It's not that he's fooling the twins. In the first year after his mother, Diana, married into the royal family, she made a fool of herself by not knowing the rules. She gave a high-quality cashmere sweater and an Angolan scarf as gifts, which were immediately considered as gifts that violated the rules. The following year, she learned her lesson and simply gave a cheap rug with a leopard print pattern.

Fred and George exchanged a glance and whistled.

"Merlin's Beard," they both said in unison, "we're starting to like your house."