Chapitre 406: Chapter 406: The Gap Between the Magical World and the Non-Magical World (Edited)
"Ouch!" Hermione landed firmly on the floor.
"I didn't realize it recognized its owner," she laughed at herself. "I've always lacked the talent for flying."
"When we return to school, I'll teach you gradually," Tom retrieved the Firebolt. At that moment, he also noticed that Hermione's mother seemed interested in flying brooms from the kitchen.
So he stretched his neck and called out, "Aunt, a friend gave me a flying broom, do you want to try it?"
Before Hermione's mother could respond, an excited shout came from upstairs, "Sure!"
Mr. Granger, with an agility that didn't correspond to his age, rushed down to the first floor and stared at the flying broomstick in Tom's hands.
"Is it really a flying broom? I mean, can it carry someone flying through the sky, like they say in the novels?" Mr. Granger's expression looked like that of a happy child.
"Of course! Do you want to try it?" Tom handed the Firebolt to him.
Mr. Granger received it like a treasure, caressing its long, slim handle as if he were stroking his wife's soft skin. Clearly, he couldn't resist the charm of the flying broom, an instrument that allowed you to conquer the sky like a bird!
"This broom is called the Firebolt..." Tom explained to Mr. Granger various features and performance of the Firebolt, and their conversation became increasingly animated. They soon reached the test-driving stage.
Mr. Granger carefully climbed onto the broom, expecting it to suddenly fly or crash into the table in the next second. But in the end, nothing happened. The broom, trapped between his legs, remained motionless like a common broom.
Mr. Granger: ???
"Do you need some kind of spell? Should I say 'fly!' or something similar?" Mr. Granger asked while still mounted on the broom.
Hermione, who was standing nearby, couldn't bear it any longer and poured cold water on them, "All modern flying brooms are protected against Muggles... that is, non-magical people. Wizards chose brooms as a means of flight precisely because of their ability to go unnoticed. The most common brooms, easy to carry, affordable, and able to openly exist in households, are the ideal choice. But if any Muggle could ride a broom and fly, what would be the point of that? So in the hands of non-magical people, flying brooms are simply normal brooms."
Hermione's lengthy speech left Mr. Granger silent. He vividly experienced the gap between the magical world and the non-magical world.
The last time he felt this was when his daughter entered Platform 9¾. Hermione managed to pass through the wall, but he was separated by a cold brick wall. He could only enter with someone's help and then watched his daughter walk away.
Mr. Granger's mood turned melancholic; he returned the broom to Tom and gave a smile, "It seems that Hermione inherited her mother's 'ostrich' genes."
Once the broom was back in Tom's hands, it revealed its magical side again. Even if Tom let go of the broom, it didn't fall to the ground but floated silently in the air, waiting for its owner to mount it.
"Alright, you two continue with your task; we won't bother you anymore... Should I take the broom upstairs?"
Mr. and Mrs. Granger left the kitchen, leaving Tom, Hermione, and their cat Crookshanks.
The little feline woke up from its nap when an owl startled it, jumped off the table, and returned. It panted heavily and curled up on the table, forming a yellow ball.
"Wait, there's something else in the package." While Tom picked up the wrapping paper from the broom, Hermione, with sharp eyes, noticed that next to the broom's packaging, there was also a small bag.
Hermione opened the bag and looked at the label on the front in astonishment: "Cat food?"
The bag was the size of a hand, wrapped in kraft paper the same color as the Firebolt's packaging. On the front of the bag, there was an image of a cat enjoying its meal, along with a slogan: "There's a kind of hunger that only grandma feels for you. Pat Cat Food, so your cat can feel like it's at grandma's."
Those words shone brightly on the bag.
Tom and Hermione: ...
It was a package of magical cat food. The picture of the cat on the packaging was eating, and the advertising slogan blinked and changed colors.
The bag also had an attached card.
[For the world's most adorable kitty. From: Bigfoot]
"This is the gift Sirius sent to Crookshanks." Tom lifted the bag and weighed it; it was less than a pound.
Suddenly, Crookshanks, who was curled up in a ball while sleeping, raised his head.
Had the cat heard something exciting? His tail swayed, and his eyes were fixed on the bag that the black-haired caretaker held in his hand.
"Nya (Quick, give it to me, I can't wait any longer)!"
The black-haired caretaker complied and opened the bag. A delicious aroma wafted from it, mixed with an indescribable but very tempting flavor.
Ew! Tom tried to smell it, and a strong fishy odor hit his nose. The bag was filled with unappetizing-looking pellets.
At that moment, Tom felt his sleeve being tugged twice. He lowered his head and saw Crookshanks looking at him with big, watery eyes.
"Do you want to eat this?"
"Nya nya nya." The cat nodded.
"No problem." Tom poured some pellets, and Crookshanks quickly pounced on them, gulping them down and then looking at him eagerly.
Tom considered serving more, but Hermione stopped him.
"Even if the food is delicious, we must have moderation," Hermione said as she watched Crookshanks's increasingly round body. "I don't want my Crookshanks to end up like the neighbor's cat."
"Okay." Tom agreed with Hermione and sealed the opening of the cat food bag. Crookshanks was impatient, rubbing his head against Tom's hand and constantly meowing, hoping the caretaker would give him more food. However, Hermione was keeping a close eye on him, and Tom, decisively choosing Hermione over Crookshanks, stored the bag of cat food without mercy.
There was no other choice; after all, you were just a cat.
Crookshanks mewed angrily and jumped off the table, striding away in large steps.
Someday, he would make the black-haired and brown-haired ones look good! Crookshanks thought in frustration.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone