Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Elizabeth took the glass jar and examined it carefully.

The jar is small, about the size of a palm, sealed with a brass clasp, and the label reads "Spare Corgi".

At the bottom of the jar, you can vaguely see a small miniature scene—three spotted corgis chasing and playing on a lush green lawn.

"A spare corgi?" She looked up at Henry.

"You can shake it three times and let it sit for two seconds," Henry said.

Elizabeth shook the jar as instructed, and a cloud of golden-brown light rose from the bottom of the jar, condensing into a Corgi puppy the size of a fingernail.

It rolled around in her palm, tilted its head back, let out a soft "woof," and wagged its tail at her.

Then it seemed to be attracted by something, and turned its little head toward the bottom of the jar.

Elizabeth held the jar up to her eyes and looked at it closely.

The miniature scene at the bottom of the jar is slowly unfolding: a tiny snowy owl descends from the sky and lands gracefully on the edge of the jar—before it can even stand properly, it is bumped headfirst into the scene by the first corgi that runs over.

The two little lights rolled into a ball, and the rest of the corgis surrounded them.

There was a few seconds of silence in the garden hall, then Elizabeth smiled.

She was laughing very happily, but the wrinkles around her eyes were deeper, and even her shoulders were trembling slightly.

"Philip," she looked up and handed the jar to her husband, "look."

Philip took it, shook it, and watched as the corgi rolled around in his palm before retreating back into the jar, his eyebrows rising high.

"Where did you buy this?" he asked Henry.

"It was done by two students from Hogwarts," Henry said. "The Weasley twins."

"The Weasleys?" Charles interjected. "That red-haired family?"

"Yes, Father. They are Gryffindor, but very talented," Henry replied with a smile.

Philip turned the jar over and over, muttering something to himself.

Then he looked up and looked at Henry again.

"Can this be used to make a bulldog?"

Henry paused for a moment.

"grandfather?"

"I mean, could we have a spare bulldog?" Philip said seriously. "My dogs have been shedding a lot lately, and I need a backup in case they go bald one day, right?"

Diana laughed out loud.

Elizabeth glanced at her husband, her eyes filled with a helpless smile.

"Philip."

"What's wrong? I was just asking."

"I'll ask them, Grandpa," Henry said with a smile.

The second person to receive a gift was Philip. Henry carried two flowerpots wrapped in burlap from the corner and walked toward his grandfather.

"Grandpa," he said, "this is for you."

Philip raised his eyebrows when he saw the two things Henry brought over.

"What is this?"

Henry placed the first flowerpot on the small table in front of him and untied the linen cloth.

It was an inconspicuous little sapling, only the height of a palm, with four thin, bare branches, looking particularly pitiful in the warm living room.

"The Four Seasons Tree," Henry said.

Philip stared at the "tree" for a moment.

"You brought back a dead sapling from Hogwarts?" he asked suspiciously.

"It's not dead," Henry said. "It's just asleep."

He picked up a small spray bottle that was prepared next to him and sprayed some water on the sapling.

The whole family's eyes were fixed on the little thing; William and Harry even held their breath.

A moment later, a tiny green sprout appeared on the leftmost branch. The green unfolded at a speed visible to the naked eye, turning into a tender leaf. The leaf was so thin that it was translucent, and tiny water droplets clung to its edges.

Philip raised his eyebrows a little higher.

Henry pointed to the branch next to him. The leaves on that branch had grown and changed from light green to deep emerald. The leaves were larger and thicker than the previous ones, and the veins were clearly visible.

"summer."

He then pointed to the one on the right, where the leaf had begun to turn yellow, its edges curled, exuding the desolation of autumn.

"autumn."

Finally, he gently touched the base of the sapling, and the yellow leaves on the branch fluttered down, revealing a small branch covered with a thin layer of frost.

"Winter, and then the cycle repeats."

The living room fell silent.

Everyone looked at the tiny sapling, no bigger than a palm—watching the new green shoots sprout from the branch that had been there since winter; watching the leaves on the branch that once represented spring begin to darken; watching summer turn into autumn, autumn shed its leaves, and winter bring frost once more.

It goes on and on, never stopping.

Philip stared at the little thing for a long time.

"This thing..." His expression clearly said, "It's 99% a rare find, much more interesting than the antique clock at home!"

The antique clock was from the time of George III and was placed in his study. It kept accurate time, but Philip had long since grown tired of it.

"Will it continue like this?" he asked.

"Yes," Henry said. "It doesn't need special care, just water and sunlight. It won't grow, it won't flower, it won't bear fruit—it just lives and then cycles."

Philip reached out and gently touched the branch that was enduring the winter with one finger.

The frost is a real chill, as if a cold wind has blown in from some distant place, bringing ice and snow to cover the branches.

He looked up: "Doesn't it resemble life?"

Henry paused for a moment.

Philip didn't wait for his reply and turned to the second flowerpot.

"What about that one?"

Henry untied the linen from the second flowerpot.

It was a sapling, a little taller than the Four Seasons Tree, with thicker branches and denser leaves.

But what's most striking isn't its shape, but rather its two thin branches that are constantly swaying.

"The Whomping Willow," Henry said.

"The Whomping Willow?" Philip was even more interested. "You mean the kind of tree you mentioned in your letter, the one near the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts that can send people flying?"

"A miniature version," Henry said. "Trimmed down to about a foot tall, and the pressure has been adjusted—"

He stretched out his hand and let a twig that had been flung at him strike the back of his hand with a force as light as a feather.

"...Who could this hit?" Philip asked, looking puzzled.

"Tickling," Henry said.

Philip paused for a moment, then reached out and let the branch strike the back of his hand.

Indeed, the pressure was just right—not too light, not too heavy—the kind of tickle that makes you want to laugh.

Philip stared at the little thing that was still flicking its branches and smiled in a very childlike way.

"The Itch Willow," he announced. "From now on, it will be called the Itch Willow."

He placed the two small plants side by side on the coffee table next to him. The Four Seasons Tree was on the left, slowly cycling through spring, summer, autumn, and winter; the Scratching Willow was on the right, its branches swinging merrily, occasionally waving weakly in the air.

It's clear that he really liked those two unique gifts.