Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

He poured himself some tea and asked casually, "Your family must have many stories about the inheritance of magical skills, right? Unlike the grand history that Professor Binns talked about, it's more like the wisdom passed down by the family fireplace."

This topic was safe and appealed to him, so Draco began to recount some of the Malfoy family's legends in potions and collections, while Pansy chimed in by mentioning that the Parkinson family had participated in a famous debate about the rights of magical creatures in the 19th century.

Henry listened very attentively, asking questions at appropriate times to guide them to reveal more about the wizarding world.

As the tea and snacks were consumed, the atmosphere relaxed amidst the aroma of black tea and reserved conversation.

Henry guided the pace of the conversation throughout, neither delving too deeply into the sensitive topic of lineage nor resorting to superficial complaints.

He talked about the ghostly portraits of Hogwarts, compared the differences between Hogsmeade Village and the Muggle countryside, and even mentioned the differences between the scenery of Scotland and England.

As Pansy marveled once again at the exquisiteness of a dessert, Henry gently set down his teacup, making a very slight "ding" sound, drawing their attention back to each other.

"Actually," his voice remained calm, "Hogwarts, and indeed the entire wizarding world, reminds me of some history I've read. Ancient families, long-standing traditions, meticulously maintained rules... these are invaluable treasures, the cornerstones of power."

Draco and Pansy both looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

"But history also tells us that simply sticking to tradition is not enough. Sometimes, we need a new perspective and new connections."

Henry's gaze slowly swept over the two of them. "Like this afternoon tea. It originated in my world, but sharing it here with you in the magical world seems to have a unique charm. Different rules can coexist, and even complement each other."

He paused, looking at Draco, who seemed lost in thought, and Pansy, whose eyes were gleaming with excitement.

"Slytherin values ​​ambition and resources, and true resources may not only be Galleons and ancient spellbooks, but also information, unique perspectives, and social bonds that transcend the ordinary."

He didn't say anything more, but his meaning was clear.

Draco slowly processed these words, while Pansy decided to write another letter to her father.

As afternoon tea drew to a close, Henry gently shook an inconspicuous little silver bell on the table. A moment later, several ordinary house-elves from Hogwarts appeared and quietly and efficiently began tidying up.

The whole process was swift and silent, as if nothing had ever happened.

As they left the classroom, Pansy thanked Henry warmly, her eyes filled with genuine enthusiasm. Draco walked alongside Henry for a short distance, and before parting, he suddenly spoke up: "It was a very interesting afternoon, Your Highness. Perhaps we can chat like this often."

"You're welcome anytime," Henry replied with a smile.

After they parted, Henry instructed Lucy to tidy up the house, while he returned to his bedroom and began writing letters to his family.

To my dearest grandmother,

At the window of Slytherin cellar in Hogwarts Castle

Hopefully, when this letter arrives, the gardens of Buckingham Palace will still be bathed in the warm autumn sun. Mercury—you remember, the snowy owl who always struck a philosophical pose—seems to enjoy crossing the lake to deliver messages, a task that makes him seem more dignified than when he's eating nuts.

At the Sorting Ceremony, I was sorted into Slytherin House, a house that values ​​honor and bloodline... Of course, many outstanding wizards have emerged from it, and Merlin is said to have graduated from this house.

Life at Hogwarts was indeed, as Professor Dumbledore had said, full of wonderful surprises. The castle itself was like a breathing magical creature; the staircases would often change direction arbitrarily, and the figures in the portraits would not only visit each other's rooms to chat but also comment on the students' clothing. I had to be constantly on my guard, lest I be mocked by a knight in a painting for having a worse sense of direction than a troll while searching for my classroom.

As for the courses, Professor Binns' history of magic is enough to put even the most energetic person to sleep—but you can't expect too much, after all, he's just a ghost! In contrast, the herbalism theory class with Ravenclaw is much more interesting; Professor Sprout is very kind, and the magical plant illustrations she brings are incredibly vivid. As for Potions and Charms classes, they don't start until tomorrow, and I'm already looking forward to them.

However, what I should report to you most is not the lessons, but a trial afternoon tea. In the afternoon, after finishing my sermon on the history of magic with my two Slytherin classmates, Mr. Draco Malfoy and Miss Pansy Parkinson, I invited them to have some tea in a quiet, empty classroom in the castle.

You once taught me that maintaining familiar rituals in unfamiliar environments brings stability and an invisible measure of worth, a statement I have kept in mind. Please allow me to thank you again for your thoughtful and generous arrangements. The help of Lucy, the house-elf assigned to me by Headmaster Dumbledore, was impeccable; she ensured that a simple afternoon tea had the proper form.

The effect was quite interesting. Mr. Malfoy was initially visibly surprised; he was familiar with the convenience and dazzling power of magic, but clearly less experienced with the weight of ritual in another system. Miss Parkinson, on the other hand, was more sensitive to detail, marveling at everything from the glaze of the bone china to the scones recipe. We talked about the house, the courses, family history—of course, only what they were willing to share and that didn't touch on sensitive topics—and the similarities and differences between Hogwarts and the English countryside.

I tried to convey the impression that I respected their traditions and rules, which the Slytherin valued highly. At the same time, I also offered some perhaps complementary perspectives. I spoke of the possibility of combining ancient traditions with new perspectives. Judging from their reactions, this message seemed to have been received, perhaps even over-interpreted—Miss Parkinson's eyes gleamed with the light of someone seeing a new investment hotspot, while Mr. Malfoy fell into a more complex contemplation, a mixture of curiosity, assessment, and a stubborn reluctance to reveal his attraction to something new.

This is just the beginning, Grandma. I'm playing a slow game of chess, the first move being simply placing the pieces. Slytherins believe in power and profit; mere friendliness is meaningless. You must demonstrate your value to the other party. Afternoon tea was the first form of value I displayed—not Galleons, but style, access to information, and a kind of social capital that transcends their daily experience.

Miss Gemma Farley, our prefect, a capable lady, is still observing me for now. That's good; it shows she's cautious enough.

Please don't worry about me; I'm perfectly at home here, even quite comfortable. My roommate, Theodore Nott, is a quiet young man, observant, and avid reader. We share a tacit understanding of not disturbing each other, which I'm very happy about. The courses, though unusual, are incredibly challenging.

Have William and Harry gotten into some new trouble? Kiss their naughty cheeks for me and tell them that their older brother is learning how to make a teacup float by itself; that might quiet them down for five minutes.

My deepest love goes to my great-grandmother; I wish her good health forever. Please also convey my thoughts to my father and mother, and tell them that I am doing well and am diligently learning—including how to politely interact with a talking snake statue.

Your grandson, who will always love you and miss you dearly,

Henry

This letter wasn't just written once; Mom and Dad also received a copy.

When Henry finished writing, his hand felt sore.

Ugh……