Harry Takes a Break

Chapter 6

          Harry woke up to the sound of furious typing, the sharp clatter of keys breaking the quiet of the early morning. He squinted, rubbing his eyes, and saw Hermione hunched over the laptop again, her face bathed in the dim glow of the screen.

"Hermione?" he mumbled, sitting up and glancing over at the clock. "What time is it?"

"Too early," came her terse reply, without even looking up. Her brow was furrowed, and she seemed to be clicking through website after website at a breakneck pace. "Our flight's been canceled."

Harry's stomach sank. "Canceled? But we sorted everything last night, didn't we?"

Hermione sighed, finally tearing her eyes away from the screen to look at him. "Yes, well, apparently not. There's been a strike-some Muggle workers protesting. No flights out until tomorrow. I've been searching for alternatives, but everything's booked."

Harry groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Great. What do we do now?"

Hermione gave him a weary look. "We wait. I managed to rebook us for tomorrow, but there's not much else we can do. Hopefully, the strike won't last longer than that."

Ron stretched lazily, blinking awake before reaching for the TV remote with the same fumbling enthusiasm he'd shown yesterday. The screen flickered to life, and the room was soon filled with the unmistakable sound of roaring engines.

"What's that?" Harry asked, glancing over as he joined Hermione by the desk, her eyes still glued to the laptop.

"The Farm-Gula thing we watched yesterday," Ron replied, his voice thick with curiosity. "Looks like some sort of Muggle broomstick race, but with... boxes on wheels?"

Harry reminded him, "They're still cars, Ron. Just faster ones."

"Oh, right," Ron muttered, though he still looked uncertain. The screen displayed sleek cars darting through tight corners, narrowly avoiding barriers that lined the winding streets of Monte Carlo. "Blimey, they're going right next to the walls! How do they not crash?"

Hermione let out a soft chuckle without looking up. "They're professionals, Ron. Muggles have been doing this for ages."

"Still mad," Ron muttered, leaning forward, his eyes wide. "No way we'd fly that close to the ground without smashing something. And these cars... they look like—like flattened Cauldrons! But faster."

On the screen, the commentator's excited voice broke through Ron's awe.

"Charles Leclerc leads the pack here at Monaco, but it's still anyone's race! Oscar Piastri is shortening the gap, only four-tenths behind!"

"Four-tenths of what now?" Ron mumbled, completely lost. "How do Muggles measure speed anyway? And what's this 'pole potion' they kept talking about yesterday?"

Harry shot him a look. "It's 'pole position,' Ron, not 'potion.' It means Leg-Leg, whoever, started the race at the front."

"Pole what-sion, got it," Ron said, clearly still baffled. His eyes remained glued to the screen as the cars sped through impossibly tight turns. "How do they keep them on the track? It's like... it's like magic, but Muggle!"

The cars weaved through the narrow streets, brushing dangerously close to the barriers, and Ron shook his head in disbelief. "Look at how close they are! They're practically kissing the walls!"

"Leclerc's just two laps away from a historic victory," Crofty's voice boomed, brimming with anticipation. "Piastri's pushing, but Leclerc is holding strong! Can the Ferrari driver hold on for his first-ever win at his home Grand Prix?"

Ron squinted at the cars, his face screwed up in concentration. "Ferrari? Didn't Fred and George make a joke about that once? Sounds more like a fancy broomstick."

"IN 2017, CHARLES LECLERC LOST HIS FATHER, AND IN HIS FINAL DAYS HE TOLD HIS FATHER A WHITE LIE THAT HE'D MADE IT TO FORMULA 1: THAT HE'D SIGNED THE CONTRACT! IT WASN'T TRUE THEN, BUT HIS DRIVING HAS MADE IT TRUE NOW, AND LOOK WHAT HE'S DONE WITH THE OPPORTUNITY! THE GRANDSTANDS HE SAW BUILT AS A KID GROWING UP NOW RISE FOR HIM, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 93 YEARS, THIS FAVORED RACE IS WON BY ONE OF THEIR OWN. CHARLES LECLERC WINS THE MONACO GRAND PRIX TO ACHIEVE HIS DREAM VICTORY IN HIS HOME RACE!" Crofty's voice was now a shout, "WELL DONE, CHARLES LECLERC, IT'S MISSION ACCOMPLISHED; DESTINY FULFILLED; YOU'VE GOT THAT RACE FOREVER!"

(Actual Broadcast Announcement from the 2024 Monaco Grand Prix)

The room filled with the sound of cheering from the television, Leclerc screaming, "YESSS!!!, YES, YES, YESSSSSS!!!", and Ron blinked in amazement. "That bloke's just won... what? And all from driving that fast in a box?"

"Pretty much," Harry said, still distracted as he hovered near Hermione, who was typing away furiously on her laptop. "And apparently, they make a huge deal out of it."

Ron scratched his head. "I mean, fair play. But if you ask me, they should just learn how to fly properly. Wouldn't need all these boxes-just good, solid broomsticks."

Hermione let out a soft laugh at this, though she didn't look away from her screen. "I don't think Muggles are ready for brooms, Ron. They've managed to get pretty far with what they've got."

Ron shook his head in disbelief, his attention drifting back to the television. "Muggles... absolutely bonkers. But I'll give it to them. That was something."

Harry glanced back at the TV, smirking. "Looks like you're learning something new after all."

"Yeah, yeah," Ron muttered, waving him off. "I'll stick with Quidditch though. At least I understand how a Snitch works. These cars... they're just rectangles with wheels."

Harry chuckled and turned back to Hermione. "Any luck rescheduling?"

Hermione sighed, finally stopping her furious typing. "We're rebooked for tomorrow, so we'll just have to wait."

Ron smirked, "Well, guess it's more time for Farm-Gula One."

Harry smiled, "Exactly."

The trio settled in together on the couch, watching the remainder of the party as the sun began to rise outside the window. The troubles of canceled flights and rearranged plans faded into the background, if only for a little while, as they shared the simple joy of watching something new and exciting.

Tomorrow, they would board their plane and begin their journey to America. But for now, in this quiet moment, they were just three friends enjoying a small slice of Muggle life.

WORD COUNT: 1023