Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Hermione actually had a very good impression of Henry, not because of his status, but because he was Princess Diana's son.

In Britain, especially in this era, there are only two types of Britons who dislike Princess Diana—the extreme laborists and the extreme leftists.

The four sat around a long desk covered with a tablecloth. The setting sun shone obliquely through the high window, and tiny dust particles floated slowly in the beam of light.

Henry picked up the simple porcelain teapot and skillfully poured steaming hot black tea into the cups in front of everyone. The tea was a rich amber color and exuded a warm aroma.

"I've brewed some regular Ceylon tea, added a little milk, and put the sugar in the middle. Please help yourself." Henry pushed the sugar bowl to the center of the table with a casual and natural gesture that was as pleasant as a spring breeze.

Hermione thanked them, carefully added a small spoonful of sugar to her cup, and then held the cup to warm her hands.

Harry did as he was told, while Ron picked up the glass and took a big gulp, only to be scalded and wince. Too embarrassed to spit it out, he puffed out his cheeks and tried to inhale deeply, which earned him a glare from Hermione.

The initial silence was somewhat awkward. Slytherin and Gryffindor were separated by a table, as if a centuries-old chasm had formed between them.

Hermione broke the silence again. She put down her teacup, placed her hands neatly on her knees, and looked as serious as if she were about to begin a lesson: "Thank you again, Your Highness Henry, and Daphne. Really... I don't know how to express it. I was completely overwhelmed by my negative emotions and didn't realize what danger was happening outside."

It takes courage for her to admit her mistake.

She looked at Harry and Ron: "Harry, Ron, right?"

"Hmm." Harry nodded, his gratitude genuine. Ron mumbled a "hmm," his eyes fixed on the frosted cake on the table, as if trying to determine if it was cursed.

"Well then, Hermione, Harry, Ron," Henry readily agreed, "it's all in the past now, no need for further thanks. The important thing is that you're all safe and sound."

The conversation gradually shifted from expressing gratitude to the events of last night.

Hermione briefly mentioned her argument with Ron in Charms class and how she ran to the bathroom to cry in a huff.

Of course, she didn't forget to mention the tearful Myrtle's sarcastic remarks about her.

Ron blushed slightly upon hearing this and interjected gruffly, "I didn't mean to be so rude... It's your fault for always showing off how much you know..."

"Ron!" Hermione's face turned red, but this time it was from anger.

"That's right!" Ron muttered, but his voice trailed off.

Harry awkwardly tried to smooth things over: "Okay, okay, it's all in the past. Anyway, everyone was fine in the end."

He turned to Henry, his eyes shining, and described how they were worried about Hermione, how they broke away from the group to search for her, and how they had a close encounter with the giant, who was as big as a small mountain, in the underground classroom.

"When its stick swung at me, I could feel the wind whistling through the air!"

Harry gestured, his face showing lingering fear: "My mind went completely blank at the time. If Headmaster Dumbledore hadn't shown up in time..."

"Then its stick broke and was pinned to the ground by Headmaster Dumbledore's spell!" Ron finally found a topic to chime in on without being too awkward.

"Thank goodness Professor Dumbledore arrived so quickly," Hermione concluded, still shaken. "Otherwise..."

"The principal always shows up where he's needed," Henry nodded, his tone respectful towards the old man, which earned him the unanimous agreement of the three.

When the teapot was empty, Henry naturally got up and went to the small side table in the corner to brew some more tea.

This simple action broke down an invisible barrier of identity—he was not a prince sitting there enjoying the service, but a host who was also busy.

After they sat down again, the conversation gradually shifted to the more relaxed school life.

They complained about how hypnotic Professor Binns's History of Magic classes were, with Ron even confidently declaring, "I bet he could put even the old antiques in the portraits to sleep!" Hermione also joined in, mimicking Professor Quirrell's comical, stammering explanations of Red Hat.

Henry joined in, sharing some little-known facts about materials handling that Snape had taught her, which Hermione listened to with nodding approval and even took out her notebook to write them down.

The atmosphere became even more lively when Quidditch was mentioned.

Harry's eyes lit up when he talked about the first time he rode the Nimbus 2000.

"It's like it's become a part of your body! Wherever you want to fly, the moment you have the thought, it does it!"

Henry also mentioned that he had just received one and admitted that he was still getting used to its performance: "It's completely different from the school's Seven Stars Sweep. It requires more precise control, otherwise you might overshoot if you use too much force."

"You Slytherin look very strong this year," Harry said, his tone purely that of an athlete's discussion. "Flint looks very intimidating, and your batters are very good too."

"Yes, he does resemble..."

Before Ron could even utter the word, Hermione, who knew him well, stepped on his foot, and he reluctantly shut his mouth again.

"Captain Flint has an extraordinary obsession with winning," Henry said fairly. "He has high expectations for his team members and the training intensity is also quite high."

Ron, who had been listening intently to the Quidditch conversation, couldn't help but chime in: "My second brother Charlie used to be the captain of the Gryffindor team. He said that Slytherins sometimes... well, they're a bit aggressive."

He meant to say "filthy," but changed his mind before he could finish.

For the sake of the tea and snacks!

"The ways to win are different," Henry replied calmly. "Slytherin focuses on strategy and efficiency, sometimes exploiting the gray areas of the rules. But Quidditch is also a sport that requires intelligence and teamwork, isn't it?"

Ron pursed his lips, not refuting it further, but instead muttered, "Charlie also said that sometimes it's not fun when the opponent is too well-behaved..."

This was almost the highest praise he could give—acknowledging that Slytherin's tactics were indeed quite interesting.

When the conversation casually drifted to their respective families, Hermione excitedly talked about her dentist parents and her summer trip to France, Harry briefly mentioned the Dursleys, and Ron began to recount his lively, crowded, and hilarious home—the twins' pranks, Percy's seriousness, Ginny's clinginess, and that flying Ford Anglia.

"Dad cast a spell on it, even though the Ministry of Magic forbids it..."

He abruptly stopped talking, realizing he had let something slip.