radicalducati Chapter 22 £805
Chapter 22 £805
The sound of the Thestrals' wings flapping and breathing was so faint that it was almost completely masked by the wind. The carriage took flight silently, like a ghost gliding across the afternoon sky. Through the window, Lucas saw Hogsmeade shrink rapidly, the scenery below rushing past.
In terms of the riding experience, this absolutely surpasses all the modes of transportation Lucas has ever used.
Moreover, Lucas felt that he and Thestrals seemed to get along very well, with an inexplicable tacit understanding and affection.
Professor Sprout sat opposite the grandfather and grandson. She tried to tell a few jokes to ease the awkwardness, but Finley remained silent from beginning to end. He gripped the edge of the car window tightly, staring out the window as if he were fighting against some invisible force.
Lucas took his arm, trying to help him relax, and then consulted Professor Sprout about some academic details at Hogwarts.
He was pleased to hear that young wizards' magic generally doesn't stabilize until they are eleven years old, which is why Hogwarts only sends out acceptance letters to young wizards after they turn eleven.
This means that even if they are born into a wizarding family, young wizards will not have a significant advantage in magical practice.
"I've heard about your experience," Professor Sprout said with a smile. "As far as Ellie's magic is concerned, she's already one of the best among the first-year students. There are many young wizards, even those born into wizarding families, who start school as blank slates. So Lucas, don't worry, as long as you're willing to work hard, you'll soon surpass them."
The Thestrals were fast, and it felt like less than two hours later they could see the familiar outline of their farm. The wagon landed silently on the clearing next to the barn, without disturbing a single dozing Highland cow.
So, Hogwarts is actually in the Scottish Highlands, not far from my house as the crow flies.
As Lucas was estimating the distance, Professor Sprout said, "Lucas, I'll pick you up at eight tomorrow morning. I'll take you to Diagon Alley to buy the things on the school admission list."
......
That night, Lucas lay in bed, but couldn't fall asleep.
He read the letter of admission and the list of attachments over and over again, gently stroking the Hogwarts crest at the top of the letter with his fingertips. The crest consisted of four animals: a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake.
The gates to the magical world had opened to him, yet he felt as if he were in a dream from which he could wake at any moment. It wasn't until late at night that he finally drifted off to sleep, clutching the letter.
The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Lucas got out of bed. He tiptoed downstairs, only to find that his grandfather was already up.
Finley McGregor sat motionless at the table, his hair disheveled and his eyes bloodshot, clearly having not slept all night.
Lucas's heart tightened. Without saying anything, he turned and went into the kitchen. Soon, the sizzling sound of frying bacon and the aroma of toasting bread filled the air, and warm milk with honey, covered with a thick layer of foam, was served to Finley.
After the two finished breakfast, Lucas cleared away the dishes and went to get the pitchfork behind the door.
"Take a break, kid," Finley's hoarse voice rang out. "I'll do these jobs today. I don't see you really want to, your mind's all over that... Diagon Alley, isn't it?"
He stood up, took a cloth bag out of his pocket, and shoved it in front of Lucas with a "thud".
"Here. Money for your textbooks... and all that other stuff. If that's not enough..." Finley paused, "I'll think of something else."
Yesterday they learned that Hogwarts didn't charge tuition or room and board, or rather, that attending Hogwarts was completely free. But when Lucas laid out that long list—robe, pointed hat, protective gloves, wand, complete sets of textbooks, cauldron, brass scales, crystal potion bottles…
They didn't know how much these things would cost, but considering that wizards could easily amass great wealth, they speculated that prices in the magical world must be prohibitively high.
The old man pushed open the door and walked wearily into the morning mist. Lucas picked up the money bag, untied the drawstring, and emptied its contents onto the table.
Several rolls of crumpled, worn-out British pound notes were neatly bundled together with rubber bands. Next to them was a small pile of shillings and pennies, some of which had lost their luster. He counted them carefully, then again.
Eight hundred and five pounds, eighteen shillings, and ten pence.
Lucas choked up; he knew what the money was for.
Their farm wasn't large, and it was managed only by their elderly grandfather and their young son. The income wasn't high, and after deducting all expenses, they couldn't save much money each year. This 800-plus pounds was saved penny by penny from selling eggs, milk, and wool. It was meant to prepare for the cold winter, repair the roof and farm tools, or for medical treatment in case of illness.
If that money isn't enough, you'll have to sell your livestock or take out a loan.
He bit his lip, and a surge of emotion welled up in his eyes. Lucas stood in the living room for a long time until he heard Finley's shouts as he herded the sheep outside the window.
He turned and went back to the kitchen. At least he should prepare lunch for Grandpa before leaving.
Grandpa must be very tired after not sleeping all night, so I'll make him a simple soup to calm his nerves and soothe his dryness. I'll stew a chicken for him when I get home tonight...
Lucas took out a ceramic jar, opened the lid, and a rich herbal aroma immediately wafted out; it was mostly jar of angelica slices that he had grown and processed himself.
This is also one of the few Chinese medicinal herbs that Lucas has successfully cultivated.
Then, from the other jars, they took out reddish-brown longans, snow-white lotus seeds, plump red dates, and large pieces of white fungus.
These are all very rare ingredients in the Scottish Highlands, only available in Chinese supermarkets, but Lucas handled them with great skill and ease.
Apart from the angelica root, all the ingredients were soaked in warm water. By the time he had prepared the other food for lunch, the dried goods had absorbed the warm water and become translucent and plump.
A deep stew pot was taken out, filled with cool well water, and placed on the stove. Lucas removed the cores from the lotus seeds, pitted the longans, tore the white fungus into small pieces, and added thin slices of angelica root to the stew pot.
Then bring the water to a boil over high heat, reduce to medium heat, add the golden-orange rock sugar, and simmer over low heat until the rock sugar melts and turns a honey color.
The soup bubbled gently in the pot, the rich, spicy aroma of angelica, the warm, sweet fragrance of longan, and the fresh, delicate scent of lotus seeds gradually blending together in the gelatinous white fungus.
Only then did Lucas add the few plump red dates to the soup, stirring gently to add a warm red hue to the broth.
Just as the aroma grew stronger, there was a knock on the door.