Chapter 167 The Massive Project of Twins

Chapter 167 The Massive Project of Twins

Harry nodded in satisfaction and continued his report.

"Cecilion's fur is warm and soft, just like my blanket! It's the blue one, my favorite! Mom, you said Grandma gave it to me, right?"

Philip nodded in agreement.

"Yes, it was a gift from your grandma when you were just born."

Harry thought for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Why didn't Grandma come today?"

"Your grandmother has something to do," Philip said. "She has a lot to do, so it'll have to wait until next time."

Harry nodded, accepting the explanation.

"Then go back and tell Grandma that I touched Cecilion's fur! And Norbert's scales! And Little Niffler—it gave me another silver coin!"

He pulled a silver coin from his pocket and proudly showed it to everyone. The coin gleamed in the firelight, bearing the Queen's portrait, and its edges were worn, suggesting it was quite old.

Philip took the silver coin and examined it carefully. He brought the coin close to his eyes, scrutinizing the design by the firelight.

"The Queen's portrait," he said. "This little guy has a good eye; what year is this?"

He turned the silver coin over and looked at the date on the back.

"1977," he answered himself, "younger than me."

He returned the silver coins to Harry.

"Keep it safe, it's a gift from your friend."

Harry carefully put the silver coin back in his pocket, patting it to make sure it wouldn't fall out.

His movements were very serious, as if he were handling some precious treasure.

William whispered from the side, "He's collected three silver coins today. That little sniffler's pocket seems to have an endless supply of stuff."

"That's its treasure trove," Charlie said with a smile, munching on a piece of bread. "It's been collecting these things for a long time, and every time a guest comes, it picks one out and gives it to them. Your Highness—"

He looked at Henry, still chewing on bread, and mumbled, "Did they give you one when you first came?"

Henry nodded: "They gave me a one-pound coin."

"That's one of its most prized possessions," Charlie said, swallowing a piece of bread and taking a sip of tea to moisten his throat. "It only gives them to people it likes. The fact that Harry received three today shows that it really likes him."

Harry laughed so hard his eyes narrowed into slits.

He swung his little legs and said proudly, "I like it too! It's so small and soft, and it even comes with gifts!"

On the other side of the campfire, George and Fred were discussing how to increase the speed of the fire dragon.

They had already eaten several pieces of bread and drunk three large cups of tea, but their mouths never stopped—they were either eating or talking.

"I think we should use wood for the frame." George was drawing something on the ground with a twig in his hand, and a crooked wing shape appeared on the grass. "It's light, strong, and easy to work with. Plus, wood is easy to find; we can just cut down any tree."

"Wood won't do," Fred shook his head, squatted down next to him, and pointed to the sketch. "It's too heavy; it'll fall off if it flies. Haven't you seen our car? It's already dilapidated enough; adding wooden wings would make it crash halfway through flight."

"Then what will we use? Magic to transform directly?"

"What if magic things only last for a short time? What if they disappear halfway through?" Fred said. "Have you forgotten that chair we conjured up last time? It vanished after ten minutes, making me fall on my butt."

The two argued endlessly, neither able to convince the other. George said wood was better, Fred said magic was better, George then suggested canvas, Fred said canvas wasn't sturdy enough, and the two went back and forth like they were playing billiards.

After listening for a while, Philip suddenly spoke up: "Have you considered covering it with canvas?"

George and Fred looked at him at the same time, their eyes wide open.

"Canvas covering?"

“Yes,” Philip said, gesturing with his hands. “Early fighter planes used canvas skin. The frame was made of wood, and the canvas was on the outside. It was light, strong, and easy to repair. Your so-called Dragon Wing model, if you only need the flapping effect, canvas is enough. The old fighter plane I flew when I was young was covered with canvas, and it flew for several years without any problems.”

George and Fred exchanged a glance, a glint in their eyes simultaneously.

Ron knew that light all too well; it was always that look in their eyes before they were about to pull off some earth-shattering prank.

"Canvas—" George murmured, the branch in his hand falling to the ground.

"Light, tough, and easy to repair—" Fred repeated, his eyes growing brighter.

The two men stood up at the same time and bowed to Philip, their movements so synchronized as if they had rehearsed.

"Thank you, Your Highness!"

Then they turned and ran, rushing towards their cabin, probably to find materials.

George was running so fast that he almost tripped over a tree root on the ground. Fred pulled him up, and the two stumbled for a moment before continuing to run.

Ron watched their retreating figures and shook his head helplessly.

"They're going to be up all night again tonight."

Harry smiled, watching the two red-haired figures disappear into the cabin.

"Your brothers are all like that? Uh, I mean except for Percy."

“Just the two of them,” Ron said, taking a bite of his bread. “Charlie’s much more normal, Bill’s normal too, it’s just the two of them who’s not normal.”

Charlie was chatting with Newt, discussing the dietary habits of hippogriffs. Newt was jotting something down in a notebook, and Charlie was gesturing as he spoke; both of them looked very serious.

"What does Cecilion like to eat?" Newt asked, scribbling on the paper with his quill pen.

"Mainly rodents," Charlie said, "mice, rabbits, and the like. We also feed it some special food to supplement its nutrition. It's had a good appetite lately and has gained quite a bit of weight."

"Has its wing injury healed?"

"Completely healed," Charlie said. "The bandages were removed a week before you came, and now he's flying around happily. He even took the kids for a walk today."

Newt nodded and jotted down a few notes in his notebook.

"What about the Norwegian Spinosaurus? How's Norbertus doing lately?"

"It's doing well," Charlie said. "It has a good appetite, sleeps soundly, and has a good temper. It just sometimes breathes fire and burns a small part of the fence. We're training it to control the flames."

Newt nodded again and continued taking notes.

Newt was much more relaxed today than a few days ago. His hair was still messy, as if he had just come out of the wind, but his expression was very gentle. He occasionally chimed in with a word or two, occasionally nodded, and occasionally scribbled a few lines in his notebook.

The firelight reflected on his face, making his wrinkles appear deeper, but also softer.

Philip looked at him and suddenly asked, "Mr. Scamander, how long did it take you to write that book?"