Горный-Цветок. Ron-Weasly book 2

Book 2. Ron Weasley and the Chamber of Secrets.

Part 1.

When I got home, I wrote to Harry and Hermione several times. If Hermione sent the answers with our owl, then there were no letters from Harry. Which was very strange. Deciding to think about it later, I started doing my homework. My books were designed for five courses. All I had to do was buy a course book and a textbook on ZOTI. And I read, asking my parents about everything at the same time.

It's Harry's birthday. I sent him a gift. Hermione was getting worried too. As it turned out, Harry doesn't answer her either. I asked my father to find out if he was okay.

***

It turned out that Harry had been doing magic on vacation yesterday. It looks like something really happened. I persuaded the twins to steal our Ford and check on Harry while Dad was at work. I wrote to Hermione about it.

We waited until our father was on another night raid and flew to Little Whining.

"What kind of house?" Fred asks me.

"4 Tisovaya Street, sort of."

They searched for him in the dark for a long time. He's got bars on his window. We took a closer look. That's right, Harry's bedroom. The twins opened the door of the Ford and started knocking on the window.

***

Well, he's finally awake. I was afraid we'd wake up the whole house. We've been knocking for about twenty minutes.

***

"Ron!" said Harry, barely moving his lips. How pale and thin he is. Did his relatives starve him?

Hi almost crawled to the window and staggered open it to make it easier for us to talk.

Ron, how did you get here? What are you... And then he noticed that I was looking at him from an old turquoise-colored car that was hanging in the air near the window. Harry opened his mouth in amazement, which amused the brothers sitting in front.

"Hello, Harry!" They exclaimed in one voice. What's happening?

"I asked." Why haven't you answered my emails? "I've invited you to stay almost ten times. And yesterday your father came and said that you used magic in front of Muggles and got an official reprimand....

"It's not me. And how did he know?" the friend protested.

"He works for the Ministry of Magic," I replied. "You know it's forbidden to do magic outside the school. Harry, when was the last time you ate properly?

"Is that what you're telling me? A week ago. My aunt starved me." Harry said expressively, looking at the hovering car.

"Well, that doesn't count. We didn't take him for long. It's Dad's car. We didn't use any magic. It's another thing to do magic in front of the ordinary people you live with...."

"But I told you, it's not me..." It takes a long time to explain. "Could you tell the school that the Dursleys locked me up and said they wouldn't let me into Hogwarts anymore? Never! And I can't get out of here by magic. The Ministry will then say that I have committed two illegal sorceries in a week.

"Calm down, you'll explain everything yourself." I said. "We've come for you. You will spend the last month of the holidays with us."

"But you don't have the right to do magic either..." the friend says perplexedly.

"And we won't." I nodded towards the older brothers. "Don't you see who I brought with me? Buddy, I'm sorry, but all I have to eat is a ham and cheese sandwich. There is nothing else." I reached into the glove compartment of the car for the sandwich I had saved for myself.

"Tie this rope to the grate," Fred ordered, handing Harry one end of it.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm in trouble," Harry whispered as he tied a rope to one of the bars.

"Now step aside and stop celebrating the coward. And have a sandwich for now." With that, Fred gave a good gasp, passing my sandwich out the window.

Harry walked over to the cage. He devoured the food hungrily, nibbling off a piece of Hedwig's ham. Hedwig, as if sensing the master's anxiety, sat motionless after swallowing the ham. The car lurched forward, the engine roaring harder and harder, the grille finally gave way and the whole thing popped out of the window frame with a loud bang.

The car soared into the sky, and Harry looked out the window. The grate was hanging about a meter and a half off the ground. Breathing heavily, I dragged her into the car. No one seems to have been woken up.

The grille was finally safely pulled into the car, and Fred backed up as close to the window as possible.

"Jump," I commanded.

"What about my school stuff - a magic wand, a broom..."

"Where are they?"

"In the closet under the stairs." And the door of the room is locked.

"Well, it's nothing." George answered from the front seat. Get away from the window, Harry. The brothers crept cautiously into the room. Harry, finishing his cheese, watched as George took a hairpin out of his pocket and began to pick at the lock with it. "Many wizards believe that learning such magic tricks from Muggles is an empty task," Fred said.

"We don't think so. There's something worth learning from them. Although, of course, they can't work as fast as lightning."

There was a sudden click in the lock, and the door swung open.

"We'll go down to get your suitcase," George whispered, "You pack up what you need in the room and give it to Ron."

"Careful, the last step creaks." Harry warned in a whisper.

And the twins were swallowed up by the darkness of the stairs. Harry ran around the room, collecting things and handing them to me through the window. Harry handed the rest of the ham to Hedwig and ran around the room, collecting things and passing them to me through the window. Then he hurried downstairs to help carry the suitcase. His uncle coughed from the bedroom.

Out of breath, they all dragged the suitcase to the door and across the room to the window. Fred dived into the car and started pulling with me, while Harry and George pushed him out of the room.

Inch by inch, the suitcase was slowly being pulled into the car. Did he put bricks in there? There was another cough from behind the wall.

"Let's get some more," Fred commanded. "One, two, go!"

Harry and George leaned on their shoulders, strained, the suitcase jumped out of the window and fell into the back seat.

"It's all right," George whispered. "Get in quickly!"

Harry had already jumped onto the windowsill when suddenly a loud, long-drawn scream was heard behind him, which was drowned out by a thunderous male voice:

"That damn owl again!"

"I forgot Hedwig." Harry whispered in horror.

He jumped off the windowsill and at the same moment a light flashed on the stairs. Harry grabbed the owl's cage, darted to the window, shoved it into George's hands, and climbed into the car. At that moment, Mr. Dursley punched the door, thinking it was locked. The door flew open, and Mr. Dursley stood for a moment in the doorway, letting out the roar of an angry bull, leapt to the window and managed to grab onto the ankle of his friend who rushed to the car.

The brothers grabbed Harry by the arms and pulled him into the car with all their might.

"Petunia!" Vernon thundered. "He's running away! HE'S RUNNING AWAY!"

The brothers pulled again, and Harry's leg slipped out of Uncle Harry's hands. Harry flew into the car and slammed the door.

"Step on the gas, Fred!" I shouted, and the car sped up at full speed, heading for the moon. Harry rolled down the window, the night air ruffling his hair. The roofs of the houses on Privet Drive were rapidly shrinking in size. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley and Dudley stared dumbfounded from the window of Harry's room.

"See you next summer!" Harry waved them goodbye. The brothers were laughing and shouting loudly. And our friend, who was saved by us, was leaning back in his seat, smiling all over his face.

"Let Hedwig out," he told me. "Let him fly from behind. To be locked up for so many days!"

Locked up? They're crazy. It's an owl! Yes, it's a spirit, but it has all the habits of a real owl.

George handed me the hairpin, and in another minute, Hedwig flew out the window, happy and gliding like a ghost through the air next to the car.

"Well, tell me quickly," I demanded impatiently. "What happened to you?"

Harry told us about Dobby's visit, about his warning, and described the death of Mrs. Dursley's culinary masterpiece.

"So I run out with a stack of letters in my pocket and see my aunt's pudding floating in the air. And then the brute dropped him on the floor. And I received a warning letter from the ministry. And Uncle Vernon, when he found out that I wasn't allowed to do magic, put bars on the window the next day. So last week they locked me in my room and only gave me cold soup once a day. Yes, they took me to the toilet."

"It's very strange," Freddy drawled.

"That doesn't sound like it," George nodded. "And he didn't say who was plotting this atrocity?"

"I didn't think he could say that." Harry tried to explain. "He opens his mouth and immediately starts banging his head against the wall."

Fred and George exchanged glances.

"Do you think he made it up?" Harry asked.

"You see," Fred began, "Brownies can do magic, but they usually don't dare without their owners' permission. Most likely, old Dobby was sent by someone to keep you away from school. Remember, do you have an enemy at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry and I answered in one voice, without hesitation.

"Draco Malfoy," said Harry. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" George asked, turning around. "Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"I think so," Harry replied. "Malfoy is a rare surname. Is it important?"

"I heard what my father said about him" George said "he was an accomplice of You-Know-Who. One of the most important ones."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared" Fred continued, turning his head almost a hundred and eighty degrees, "Lucius Malfoy began to assure everyone that he was not involved in any evil deeds. But he was lying. His father says he was his closest assistant."

"I don't know if the Malfoys have their own brownie..." Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Whoever Dobby's masters are, they're probably an old wizarding family, and a very rich one at that," Fred noticed.

"Of course..." George replied. "Mom regrets that we don't have a brownie, the family is big, we have to iron so much, and magic can't help here. But she likes to cook for our crowd. And the brownie will take away all her hobbies. She won't even let us boys near the cauldron. Ginny, the future hostess of the house, says that she should eat and learn to cook, and our wife should feed us. We only have a decrepit ghoul who lives in the attic. And the gnomes have filled the whole garden. Brownies live only in old mansions and castles. They are inherited. There's no elf in our house."

Harry flew in silence. Yes, Draco could very well have sent a devoted servant to Harry to prevent his appearance at school at any cost. Draco Malfoy is capable of that. But he really considers his friend a cousin. A stupid little cousin. That's why he clings. You've already told me straight out that you're his friend, so at least raise him as a pure-blooded wizard and not just feed him.

"Anyway, I'm glad we came for you," I said. "You know how worried I was! "I'm writing to you, and I'm writing, and there's no response. At first I thought it was the Shooter's fault..."

"And who is Strelka?"

"Our postal owl, an old, old one. Flies, flies with a letter and suddenly falls on the way. She's just too old to hold her wings anymore, she's still Grandpa Galus. I asked Hermes..."

"Who, who?"

"Percy's owl. Mom and dad gave it to him when Percy was appointed prefect," Fred explained from the front seat.

"But Percy didn't give it to me. He said he needed Hermes himself."

"Percy's been acting weird this summer." George frowned. "He writes letters to someone endlessly, sits for hours locked in his room. Well, how many times can you jerk off in the room and polish the prefect's badge? You've gone too far west, Fred," he caught himself, pointing to the compass embedded in the control panel.

Fred hurriedly turned the steering wheel to the left.

"Does your father know that you took his car?" Harry asked.

"N-no," I mumbled. "He's working at night tonight. I hope we can get the car in the garage before Mom wakes up. God forbid she notices that we took a Ford.

"What does your father do at the Ministry of Magic?"

"He works in the most boring department, "Illegal use of Muggle inventions."

"What is the use?" "I'll explain now. For example, you have a thing that wasn't made by wizards. You bewitched her, and then she got back to them - in a house or a store. An old witch died last year, and she had a tea set. It was sold at auction to a woman in the non-magical world. She invited her friends over for a cup of tea. So what was going on there! My father spent several weeks solving the case from morning to night.

"Can you tell me more details?"

"I can, of course. The kettle went berserk. He spat boiling water all around him, and the sugar tongs pinched one guest's nose, and he was sent to the hospital. My father was furious. There were only two of them in the department: him and an old wizard named Perkins Warbeck. They suffered a lot back then! They even used the Oblivion spell."

"What about your father's car?"

"It's totally awesome!" Fred laughed.

"It wasn't the wizards who made up so many little tricks, they drove my father nuts. We have a barn full of them! He'll bring it back, take it apart, cast a spell, and put it back together. If he had searched himself, he would have had to arrest himself. Well, if he uses these things in a non-magical world. Mom swears that the whole barn is full of junk, but he doesn't give a damn."

"That's our highway." George said, peering through the windshield into the thinning darkness. "Ten more minutes and we'll be home. It's getting light, I think we'll be on time."

The horizon in the east was faintly flushed. I've been feeling a sinking feeling in my stomach for a long time. Harry ate my late pancake dinner. Well, I'm not sorry. He's so skinny. Damn, his stomach is rumbling too. Even louder than mine.

Fred began to descend. I could make out the boundaries of fields and clumps of trees below.

"Hey gobblers, we are almost over the village of Ottery St. Catchpole," George informed me.

The ground was rapidly approaching. The crimson edge of the sun was already shining through the treetops.

"Let's sit down! Breakfast is coming soon, so we won't be with Mom, but we'll sit quietly in our rooms. Then we'll eat." Fred announced.

And the car bounced slightly and touched the ground with its wheels. We landed in a tiny backyard next to a sagging garage. Initially, it was a small brick house, but then from time to time new rooms were added to it from above and from the sides, the house grew by several floors, but it looked so unstable, as if it was held together by magic alone. Five chimneys jutted haphazardly from the red-tiled roof. At the entrance, the inscription "Rabbit Hole." hung on a pole, slightly askew. On the side of the porch, next to a huge rusty saucepan, was a pile of rubber boots of various colors and sizes. Plump little birds walked around the yard and pecked at something. They've bred up again, and we'll be able to slaughter meat soon. There will be chicken soup and fried legs. Mmm. And not just the tired eggs.

Our whole company poured out of the car.

"It's not much" I said modestly. It definitely does not reach the full-fledged menorahs of the old magical families. Besides, we don't have a magic source. There's a ley line nearby, of course, but it's pretty weak.

"Great!" Harry exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Now go upstairs. Everyone go to their beds. Just very, very quiet! Otherwise, Mom will wake up and make a scene." Fred commanded. "Mom will call for breakfast at 9. Ron, you'll run downstairs and cheerfully shout, "Look, Mom, who showed up last night!" She'll be happy, and no one will notice that we took the car.

"Okay," I agreed. "Come on, Harry," I called to my friend, who was staring at the house in fascination. "I'm on the move sl..."

Choking, I fell silent and my face turned green: the lights were on in the windows of the "Burrow", and my mother was approaching us from the porch, scattering the chickens. A small, plump woman with the kindest face, now resembling a saber-toothed tiger.

Fred gasped.

"Oh, my God," George blurted out.

Mom came up to us and stopped, putting her hands on her hips and looking from one guilty face to another. She was wearing a flowered apron with a magic wand sticking out of the pocket.

"Well?" she demanded menacingly.

"Good morning, Mommy" George said it in what seemed to him a cheerful, contented voice.

"Don't you understand how worried I was?" Mom whispered furiously.

"I'm sorry, Mom, but we had to..."

The three of us were almost a head taller than our mother, but we were mortally afraid of her anger.

"Empty beds! No note! The car has disappeared! They could have been in a traffic accident! I'm almost crazy with worry! You don't think about anyone but yourself! I can't remember how long I've been alive! Just wait, the father will come. The older brothers had never done anything like this, not Bill, not Charlie, not Percy...

"...our good boy," Fred ended his mother's angry tirade. "I WISH I COULD LEARN SOMETHING FROM PERCY." Mom exclaimed, pointing her finger at Fred's chest. "You could have died, you could have been seen, your father could lose his job because of you... Well, it's unlikely about work. Although he's considered a nutcase for collecting all sorts of junk, he's the only one in the Ministry of Magic who knows anything about Muggle technology. After all, he is well versed in Muggle technology and helps the ministry with the enchantment of official vehicles.

Mom's anger seemed to have no end. And, only hoarsely, she turned to Harry, who backed away from her in fear. I thought he was used to shouting. With such relatives, but he was also afraid of our mother.

"Welcome, dear Harry. Come in, we'll have breakfast now." Mom smiled warmly and with these words hurried back into the house. Phew, it seems to have worked out. Harry gave me a questioning look, I nodded encouragingly, and he followed my mom.

Our kitchen is small and quite cramped. In the middle is a scrubbed wooden table surrounded by chairs. Sometimes we sit down to eat in the garden, but for now we can fit in here. Harry sat on the edge of the nearest chair and looked around. He had never been to a wizard's house before.

On the opposite wall was a single-hand clock, enchanted by Dad after the wedding. At that time, he wanted to become an apprentice to artefactors, but he became interested in Muggles. And the magic war was going on then, and the masters were not up to recruiting new students. Instead of numbers, there were inscriptions on the watch face: "Tea time", "Time to feed the chickens", "Lateness" and the like. On the mantelpiece are stacks of my mother's books: "Conjure yourself a cheese!", "Charms used in baking", "How to cook a feast in one second. Miraculous magic!" There was an old radio on the wall behind the sink, which started talking again. The announcer announced:

"The Hour of the Magicians. We begin the performance of the famous singer, the fortune teller Celestina Warlock."

"Mom loves her. And they broadcast important news of the magical world on the radio. But Muggle televisions haven't caught on. Illusions are much more spectacular, but we don't like that."

Mom was fussing over the stove, preparing breakfast: she threw sausages into the pan and, in between, shot menacing glances at us, saying:

"I don't know what you were thinking... I would never have believed it... I don't blame you, my boy." She assured Harry, flicking eight small sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I were very worried about you. We decided just last night to come get you if there's no reply to Ron's last letter by Friday. But think about it: flying halfway across the country in an illegal car! Surely someone noticed! You've flown through a non-magical world. Yes, since Harry lives in the Muggle part of Britain, he had to travel through Muggle space. Well, at least the car has an invisibility and eye-avoidance system. And the night was dark.

Mom added a three-egg glaze to the sausages. Then she touched the dirty dishes in the sink with her magic wand, and it began to wash itself, tinkling slightly. It is necessary to learn this spell by the way. Mom refuses to teach us how to cook, she says it's a wife's responsibility and there's nothing to take away her hobby.

"It was low cloud..." Fred mumbled.

"They don't talk while eating." Mom called my brother to order.

"They were starving him!" George tried to distract Mom.

"That applies to you too." the mother did not calm down. But she didn't look so threatening as she buttered Harry's bread. Yeah. My friend looks like a starving man. And given Mom's belief that a man should eat properly, a friend will be fattened. Maybe even give him some muscle-building potions. Suddenly, a distracting circumstance invaded the kitchen in the form of our sister, dressed in a long nightgown. Damn, I should have warned her. Jeanie gave a little cry and ran out of the kitchen.

"This is Ginny, my sister." I whispered to Harry. "She's been talking about you all summer. She's going to ask for your autograph. He smiled and joked. But when he met his mother's gaze, he looked down at his plate again. No one else said a word. We were silent until the plates were empty, which happened pretty quickly.

"Oh, how tired I am" George yawned sweetly, putting his knife and fork on his plate. "I'm going to get some sleep..."

"No, you're not going," Granny cut him off. "You didn't sleep all night because of your own stupidity. Go to the garden, it's time to expel the dwarves. They're all over the place again."

"But Mom..."

"And both of you will go" She looked at Fred (he has a green badge pinned on his tank top, and George has a red one.) and me and added, turning to Harry: "And you, my boy, go upstairs and rest. You didn't ask them to follow you in that wretched car."

"Can I go with Ron? I want to see how the dwarves are expelled. I've never seen it before." Harry hurried to say.

"You're a very kind boy, Harry, but kicking out dwarves is a boring job. Let's see what Lockhart says about this." Mom took a heavy volume from the mantelpiece. It's starting again...

"But we know how to expel them." George protested.

On the cover of the book was written in beautiful gold letters: "Gilderoy Lockhart. Household pests. The Reference book". There was also a large photograph of the author: a pretty face framed by blond curls, bright blue eyes. His face was lively, and his eyes twinkled merrily, if not cheekily. The reference is good, but here is the author... I just want to punch him in his face, but Mom likes him.

"Oh, he's beautiful!" The mother exclaimed. "And how does he know his subject - household pests. It's a wonderful book..."

"Mom loves him." Fred whispered loudly.

"Don't be silly." Mom said, turning pink. "Well, if you know better than Lockhart how to make a garden safer, go ahead and work. And if even one dwarf remains, take the blame on yourself.

Yawning and grumbling, my brothers and I trudged into the garden. Harry followed us. The garden was large and neglected. There were too many weeds, the lawn was not mowed, but the stone fence was overshadowed by the gnarled, gnarled branches of old trees, flowers that mom grows for potions, and a small pond overgrown with green duckweed is full of frogs. They walked across the lawn to the flower bed.

"Muggles have dwarves too." Harry told me.

"Very similar to ours! I've seen them" I ducked headfirst into a bush and said. "Small, fat, Santa Claus-like, fishing rod in hand. Ours wear trousers and shirts. They're also running around the garden with shovels and picks."

The bush twitched, there was the sound of a desperate struggle, and I straightened up, holding the dwarf aloft in one hand.

"He's a real dwarf," I said solemnly.

"Twist me! Spin it!" A small creature that slightly resembled a human was screaming. The dwarf was small, wearing blue trousers and a checkered shirt. With kylo in one hand. I held him at arm's length, and he squirmed, trying to kick me with a foot as hard as flint. I deftly grabbed his ankles and turned him upside down.

"Try to do the same." I said to Harry and, holding the gnome high, began to spin it with a flourish ("Twist me!"- shouted the dwarf), like a lasso. When I saw the horror in Harry's face, I added: "It won't hurt him. Only his head will spin, and he will not be able to find his way back to his burrow."

With these words, I let go of my ankles, the dwarf flew about five meters, and crashed somewhere behind a hedge.

"Too close!" Fred appreciated. "I bet I can get mine to that stump over there. Harry decided to throw his first dwarf over the hedge without promotion. But the latter, sensing the weakness of the newly-minted dwarf persecutor, managed to sink his razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger. It wasn't so easy to peel it off.

"He was a nice dwarf," One of the brothers noticed, "He could have flown ten meters away. Soon, the air was filled with a cloud of flying dwarves."

"Our dwarves are a bit silly." George noticed, grabbing five of them at once. "When they hear that the expulsion has begun, they come to the surface. No, to get deeper into the burrows." Soon, two dozen exiles crowded into the field, and they walked away in a long line, hunching their shoulders.

"They'll be back," I said, watching the dwarves disappear one by one into the hedgerows at the other end of the field. They like it here. My father is so kind to them, he says they're funny."

The whole garden was devoured by contagion. And my father is against a radical solution to the problem. The front door slammed in the house.

"It's the father!" George exclaimed. "Returned from work."

The dwarves were forgotten, and we ran through the garden to the house. My father was sitting wearily in the kitchen chair, taking off his glasses and squeezing his eyes shut. He was thin, with a short haircut, but his hair was also bright red. He was wearing a green robe, worn and dusty from constant travel. Dad spent the whole week running around on night raids. I had a snack at home and ran to work.

"What a night it was," he said softly, reaching for the kettle. We sat around him. Even Harry was curious about what he had to say. "Nine challenges. Nine! Old Mundungus Fletcher tried to curse me when my back was turned..." My father took a long sip of tea and sighed.

"Were there any interesting cases, Dad?" Fred asked curiously.

"Just a few melting keys, plus a biting cauldron." My father replied with a yawn. There was one very unpleasant substance. "But it's not in our department. And there were also exceptionally strange ground squirrels, and Prudsmert was called in for questioning. Thank God, the gophers are under the jurisdiction of the Committee on Experimental Magic..."

"I don't understand, who wants to waste time on melting keys?" George asked his father.

"There are still fans of annoying Muggles," Mr. Weasley sighed. "They will sell such a key to a muggle, and the key will disappear. The Muggle is looking for him, looking for him, but the key has disappeared through the ground. And there are no guilty parties. Muggles don't report things missing, they don't want to admit that there are melting keys. They say they lost it. They'll put up with anything to ignore magic, even if it's happening right under their noses. You can't even imagine what our people conjure."

"FOR EXAMPLE, CARS?!"

The mother entered the kitchen, holding a long poker in her hand like a sword. The father opened his eyes wide and stared guiltily at his wife. Yeah, I forgot that she didn't know about the additional functions of the car.

"W-what kind of cars, dear Molly?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars." Her mother's eyes were sparkling. "Imagine a magician who bought an old wreck and told his wife that he would take it apart just to understand the device. But in fact, he uses a spell of volatility on her. And please, you can fly to the ends of the earth in this car."

Dad blinked and launched into an explanation. You see, darling, you're about to realize that this wizard didn't break the law one bit. Although, of course... uh... it would have been better if he had told his wife the truth... There is a clause in the law... if the wizard had no intention of flying in the non-magical world, the fact that the car acquired volatility does not mean..."

"Arthur Weasley, you wrote this law yourself, and of course you inserted this clause carefully!" Mrs. Weasley was thundering. "So that you can safely mess around in your shed with all these Muggle nonsense! mom never shared her husband's love for the technology of ordinary people. Yes, that's understandable. She's been working intermittently. To make it work, you need to enchant it specifically. And it's not a fact that something won't fail at the most inopportune moment. "So, for your information, Harry flew to us this morning in the very car that was not intended for flights! Across an entire non-magical land!"

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley said, not understanding anything. "Which Harry?"

He looked around the kitchen, saw my friend, and jumped in surprise.

"Oh my God!" he exclaimed. "Why, it's Harry Potter. "Happy to see you! Ron has told us so much about you..."

"Your sons flew this car to Little Whinging last night and brought their friend. What do you say to that?" Her mother's voice grew stronger.

"Did you really fly there? And quite successfully?" My father asked with genuine delight. "I... I..." he broke off: fiery sparks were already flying from his mother's eyes. Of course, boys, this is very, very wrong..."

Mom started to swell up like a big American frog. It's time to go. I tugged at my friend's shirt sleeve.

"We have nothing else to do here." I whispered to Harry. "Come on, I'll show you my room."

We quickly left the kitchen and walked down a narrow hallway to a lopsided staircase that ran up through the house. On the third landing, the door to the room was open. As we passed by, the door slammed shut.

"This is Ginny," I explained. "She's so shy, and it really torments her. Actually, her door is always wide open."

They walked down two more flights and stopped at a peeling door with a sign on it: "Roland's Room."

I was named after a knight, and Harry was actually Harold, I asked. However, he says his aunt indicated it in the documents.

I opened the door, and Harry and I found ourselves in a small room with a low, sloping ceiling that almost touched the top of his head. I used to hook the ceiling with my head in low places where the roof went downhill. Everything in the room was ablaze with shades of bright orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling. Every inch of the old wallpaper was covered with posters depicting the same seven witches and wizards in bright orange cloaks, holding a broom in one hand, waving greetings with the other. How much time did Bill and Charlie take for that... I wish they had bought me a new wand. Even though I asked for a new one at the beginning of the summer, I was told that I would have to suffer for a year or two because of Gini.

"What is your favorite team?" Harry asked.

"Peddle guns," I replied, waving my hand at the orange bedspread, which was decorated with two huge black letters "P" and a flying cannonball. "Ninth place in the League."

School textbooks lay in uneven piles in the corner of the room, next to comics, almost the entire series "Patrick Piggs, the Crazy Muggle." On the windowsill is a sun-drenched aquarium full of frog eggs, with a magic wand on it. Charlie asked to breed some magical frogs. They say they are very tasty. Nearby, a fat gray rat is dozing in the sun.

Harry stepped over a self-shuffling deck of cards and looked out the small window. He turned to me, and I froze nervously, waiting for the verdict.

"It's a little small, of course," I said. "Not like your room at the Dursleys. And definitely under the nook of a ghoul. He's up there in the attic, howling and banging on the pipes."

"I think it's the most beautiful house in the world." Harry said happily, smiling all over his face.

I felt my ears turn pink.

"Make yourself comfortable, I'll go get a cot now."

"Where to?"

"Into the basement. We have a warehouse there and Mamina's potion factory."

"All kinds of healing and strengthening potions. Mind you, she'll feed them to you. You're so skinny."

Part 2.

Our house was a mess. Something was constantly making itself felt in him: it was making noise, knocking, falling. Mirrors gave advice. There was a ghoul in the attic who sometimes felt that life in the house was too quiet and measured. And he began to howl, accompanying himself with blows on the water pipes. And there was always something exploding in the twins' room. I'm used to this, but Harry was scared at first. But then I got used to it. He even started sticking his tongue out at the mirror when it talked about a comb.

Mom gave us a pair of fresh socks every morning, and at each meal she stuffed several supplements into Harry. After all, my friend is so skinny. At dinner, his father would sit Harry down next to him and bombard him with questions about Muggle life. He was particularly concerned about electrical appliances and the work of the postal service.

"Well, well!" he rubbed his hands in anticipation, having heard from Harry about the phone. How many things they made up! And what else can they do without magic? Well, I'll sort it out and enchant it. And then I'll install it at home.

A week after we arrived at the Burrow, we received letters from Hogwarts. It was a clear, sunny morning. Dad, Mom, and Jeanie were already having breakfast in the kitchen, and Harry and I soon came down. In the blink of an eye, she ducked under the table for a bowl and came back out red as a crab. Harry sat down in his seat and took a plate full of toast from his mother's hands. And he looked at his friend with displeasure. He'll be chewing naked bread again.

"Harry, honey, take some orange jam."

"Thank you, Aunt Molly."

"Here, take some more tea, don't eat it in dry water. Ron, do you want another chop?"

"Yes, thanks Mom."

We began to eat. When we were just finishing breakfast, Dad appeared in the kitchen.

"Boys, there are letters for you from school." With that, my father handed Harry and me an envelope each. The envelopes were identical, made of yellow parchment with the address written in green ink. "McGonagall already knows that we have you, nothing will escape her."

The door opened and Fred and George came into the kitchen, both still in their pajamas.

"We've finally arrived. This is for you." Dad handed the twins the same envelopes.

The kitchen was quiet for about five minutes. We plunged into reading. Outside, my parents and I go in search of Harry. We walked down the street. So it's like Hagrid is coming. He even took off his favorite jacket and was wearing pants and a plaid shirt. And who's next to him? Well, he's dirty.... Where did that get him?

"Harry!" Taking a deep breath and waving his hand in greeting, my father shouted. "We were hoping you didn't get past one of the bars." He wiped his shiny bald spot. "Molly was almost crazy with worry.

Dad summoned the silver fox and sent it to his mother, saying:

"Molly, dear, Harry has been found. We're at the bank."

"Which fireplace did you come out of, Harry?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"He disembarked at Lyutny Lane," Hagrid knitted his thick eyebrows. Holy shit... It's dangerous even for adult wizards to enter there.

"Holy shit!" The twins exclaimed.

"We are strictly forbidden to go there..." I said gloomily.

"That's a good thing! It won't take long to disappear there", Hagrid croaked.

"Harry! My dear! Found it!" Mom was racing toward us at full speed, waving her purse with one hand and dragging Ginny with the other. "Harry! Darling! You could have died!" But she's right. If it wasn't for Hagrid, I wouldn't have seen my best friend again. Only adult magicians risk entering this hotbed of crime, and then only armed almost to the teeth. Running over, Mom instantly took an enchanted clothes brush out of her bag and began to sweep away the soot from Harry's robes. And Dad took Harry's glasses off his nose and touched them with a magic wand, one, two, and the glasses are as good as new! By the way, why hasn't he bought new ones yet? Did he even check his eyesight, or is he still wearing old glasses? Judging by their appearance, he had them since childhood. He should ask Hermione to find him new glasses. She has to understand them. Magicians mostly use potions. Glasses are worn either for solidity or artefactors when working.

"However, I have to go, see you at school," Hagrid said goodbye, pulling his hand out of his mother's, who still couldn't calm down:

"Lyutny lane! And if you hadn't found it!" His mother was wailing over Harry.

The forester moved in the opposite direction to Lyutny Lane, towering over passersby by almost a head. And our whole company went to the bank.

"Guess who I saw at the Gorbin and Burks store?" Harry asked Hermione and me. And then he answered himself: "Malfoy and his father!" What, did that pompous dark one drag a child there?!

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything there?" Dad asked eagerly. He's had a thing for Malfoy since the wizarding war.

"No, he sold it himself."

"Ah, he got nervous." My father was clearly pleased. "I wish I could catch him on something!"

"Be careful, Arthur," Mom said sternly, following the goblin, who was bowing low, into the bank. "This family is dangerous. Don't dig into a piece that you can't swallow!"

"Do you think I'm no match for Malfoy?" the father was indignant. But then he saw Hermione's parents and immediately forgot about him. The Grangers were standing at the counter that ran along the walls of the marble lobby. They were waiting for Hermione to introduce them, and they were visibly worried.

"Hello, friends!" Their father greeted them enthusiastically. "Muggles! You are real Muggles! Our acquaintance should be celebrated! You came to change the money, right? Look, Molly, real pounds." He pointed to the ten-pound note in Mr. Granger's hand.

It's a shame. They might be Muggles, but my father was completely taken aback by the sight of them. He's probably already figuring out how much information he can get from them about their technology. Harry is a kid and he just doesn't know a lot.

"I'll meet you here, Hermione," I said, and our whole family, along with Harry, went to the vaults of the bank, where our safes were located.

There were rails leading to the safes, along which wagons ran. The wagons were operated by goblins and carried wizards back and forth. The road connected all the underground banking facilities. The door of our safe opened. Inside the steel box was a pitiful handful of silver sickles and only one gold galleon. Mom took a good look around the corners, took out all the coins in one fell swoop and poured them into her purse. Then we went to Harry's safe. A friend, blushing, went into the safe and blocking the entrance with his back, began to blindly rake in the money. And why is he embarrassed. He must have a lot of money in his safe. His grandfather did a good job selling a hair potion called just shine. After that, we all got into the trailer together and went upstairs. What a mug he's got. Red as a tomato.

Our group split up on the marble staircase. Percy mumbled something about a new pen, and Fred and George met Lee Jordan, a school friend. The father invited the Grangers to the Leaky Cauldron to celebrate their acquaintance. Well, right now he's going to ask around. And Mom and Ginny were rushing to the second-hand clothing store.

"We'll meet at the Flourish and Blotts bookstore in an hour and buy textbooks for everyone. And forget about Lyutny Lane!" She called after the twins and, holding Ginny tightly by the hand, trotted off towards the clothing store.

Harry, Hermione, and I were walking along a winding, cobblestone street.

Harry bought three large cones of strawberry ice cream with chocolate and peanut butter. And we ate it with pleasure. Hmm, well, he seems to have calmed down.

We walked for a long time, looking at the shop windows. My eyes lit up: there was a full set of equipment for my favorite team, the Cannons of Peddle, in the window of the Quidditch shop. Hermione pulled me away from the display case and led us to a nearby writing supplies store for ink and parchment. There we met the twins with Lee Jordan. They were stuck at the counter with Dr. Feuerwerkus's cold and wet miracle firecrackers. And in a tiny shop selling broken magic wands, ruined copper scales, old stained robes and other junk, they stumbled upon Percy. He was standing at the counter, immersed in the most boring little book "Elders who achieved power."

"The prefects of Hogwarts and their further life path", I read the text from the back cover out loud.

"Don't bother me!" Percy blurted out without looking up from his reading.

"He is very ambitious and purposeful. Wants to be Minister of Magic," Moving away from my brother, I explained to my friends in a low voice.

"Harry, let's go to Madame Malkin's."

"What for? My old robes still fit."

"Buddy, I'm sorry, but at least you could change your clothes. Okay, we don't have money for new things, but you are. She's hanging on you like a sack."

"Harry really is. By the way, I've heard that you can buy an enchanted costume."

"Yeah. Only they cost more."

"Okay, we're convinced."

And we dragged each other to a clothing store. And then to the pharmacy. Hermione had seen eye drops to improve her eyesight. At the same time, they asked the healer on duty at the pharmacy to cast a special spell on Harry's glasses. So that they adjust to his vision.

An hour later, we hurried to the Flourish and Blotts store. And, I must say, we weren't the only ones in a hurry. As we approached the store, to our amazement, we saw a huge crowd at the entrance, rushing inside. The reason for this was obviously the huge sign on the upper window:

Gilderoy Lockhart signs autobiography

"I AM A WIZARD" today from 12.30 to 16.30.

Damn. Here we are. Or did Mom drag us to the presentation on purpose?

"We're about to see Lockhart himself," Hermione stammered in delight. "He wrote almost all the textbooks on our list!"

The crowd consisted mainly of women in their fifties. At the entrance, the stuffy wizard kept repeating:

"Take it easy, lady, take it easy! Don't push! Please be careful with the books!"

Harry, Hermione, and I squeezed in. Well, well! The queue stretched across the store to the very end, where Lockhart signed his books. Picking up a book called "Holidays with a hag", we all rushed along the queue to where our parents were standing.

"Here you are! Perfectly!" Mom exclaimed, breathing excitedly and smoothing her hair. "One more minute and we'll see him!"

And now - oh, happiness! - We saw it. He was sitting at a table surrounded by his own portraits. They all winked and flashed dazzling smiles at their female fans. Lockhart was alive, wearing a robe the color of forget-me-nots to match his blue eyes. The magic hat is perched famously on golden curls.

A short, nervous-looking man danced around the table, constantly snapping a large camera, from which thick purple smoke poured out with each flash.

"Don't get in the way!" He barked at me, backing away and stepping on my foot. Don't you see, I'm shooting for the Daily Prophet."

"Too bad for me!" I rubbed my bruised leg with the other.

Lockhart heard an exclamation. He looked in my direction. And suddenly he jumped up, looking as if he had seen Merlin in person.

"It can't be! Could it really be Harry Potter himself!" He rejoiced.

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly. Lockhart rushed to his friend, grabbed his arm, and dragged him to the table. And the crowd burst into thunderous applause. Posing for a photographer, Lockhart forcefully shook Harry's hand, which had flushed to the roots of his hair. The camera was clicking like crazy, blowing thick clouds of smoke in the direction of our family.

"Harry! Smile wider!" Lockhart smiled brilliantly himself. "You and I will decorate the front page!"

The little man finished filming, and Lockhart released the boy's hand. Harry didn't know where to turn from embarrassment. Lockhart grabbed him by the shoulder and stopped him from taking a step. Pulling Harry towards him and demanding silence with a wave of his hand, he solemnly announced:

"Ladies and gentlemen, What unforgettable moments! Let me make one small statement to you. Young Harry came to Flourish and Blotts today to buy my autographed book, but he won't have to spend any money. I give him all my books."

The audience applauded again.

"That's not all." Lockhart shook Harry slightly, causing the boy's glasses to slide down the tip of his nose. "You know, Harry, you're going to get a lot more than just my book, I'm a Wizard. From now on, you and your friends will have a living wizard at your disposal. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. It is with great pleasure and pride that I inform you that since the first of September I have been invited to take up the post of Professor of Defense against the Dark Arts at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry! The audience gave Lockhart a standing ovation, and Lockhart himself presented Harry with all his seven books, and Harry finally found his freedom. He looked around the room and, noticing Jeanie, walked towards her, staggering under the weight of Lockhart's writings.

"This is for you, Ginny," he said, putting all the books into the cauldron on the floor next to her. "I'll buy one for myself. Study well!"

"I see you're happy!" Malfoy's voice came from behind him.

Harry straightened up. Draco Malfoy was standing next to him, smiling his cheeky smile.

"The famous Harry Potter! You didn't have time to enter the bookstore and immediately found youself on the first page of The Prophet!"

Ginny stared at Draco in surprise.

"Don't bother him! Harry didn't want that at all," Suddenly she said. It was the first time Ginny had opened her mouth in front of Harry.

"The bride and groom! Ha ha ha!" Draco began to tease them.

Ginny blushed. Hermione and I, seeing something was wrong, rushed to the rescue. We both had stacks of Lockhart textbooks in our hands.

"Oh, it's you!" I looked at Draco as if he were a dead cockroach. Cockroaches often come to our house, as well as vole rats, then mom brings them out with some kind of potion. "I bet you're surprised you met Harry here."

"I'm even more surprised to see you in this store. Wow, so many purchases! Your parents will probably go hungry for a month now."

I blushed harder than Ginny. I threw the books into her cauldron and rushed at Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione managed to grab me by the skirts of my robes.

"Ron! Stop it now!" The father shouted, pushing through the crowd with the twins. "Go outside. This is not a store, but a madhouse."

"Bah! Who do I see! Arthur Weasley!"

It was Mr. Malfoy. When he reached his son, he put his hand on his shoulder and grinned, just like Draco.

"Hello, Lucius," his father greeted him coldly.

"I heard that the Ministry has added jobs. All these raids, you know! Do they even pay you overtime?"

With that, he reached into Ginny's cauldron and dug out an old, battered textbook, The Beginner's Guide to Reincarnation, among Lockhart's glossy books.

"Apparently not," he sighed. "Is it worth shaming the name of a wizard if you don't even get paid for it?"

The father blushed even more deeply than the children. Yeah, with his habit of spending half his earnings on his Muggle quirks, like kicking in the balls with a sickle.

"We have different ideas about what dishonors the name of a wizard, Mr. Malfoy," he snapped.

"It's obvious." Malfoy turned his gray eyes to Hermione's parents, who were looking at the escalating quarrel with fear. "Who are you hanging out with! There's nowhere to fall lower."

By the way, how did they get into the Leaky Cauldron? There are also distraction charms for Muggles. Are they squibs?

Then Dad couldn't stand it either. Kicking the pathetically clanking cauldron, he rushed at Mr. Malfoy, grabbed him by the chest and threw him onto a bookshelf.

"I'll show you how to hurt my friends," He shouted, catching the heavy books falling on him with his back.

"That's him, Father! Hit him hard!" The twins were screaming.

"Arthur! Please don't," my mother begged.

The crowd rushed to the exit, sweeping away bookshelves in its path.

"Lady! Please stop!" the salesman was struggling, trying to restore order.

"It's a pure madhouse! Get the fuck out of here!" A voice boomed out.

Of course, it was Hagrid rushing to help. He easily overcame the rubble of books and in the blink of an eye pulled the brawlers apart. My father had a split lip, and Mr. Malfoy had a huge black eye, the mark of a blow from a thick Encyclopedia of Toadstools. The elder Malfoy still had Ginny's textbook in his hands. He put it back into the cauldron, and his eyes twinkled maliciously.

"Here's your book, girl. Your father can't buy a better one."

With these words, he freed himself from Hagrid's arms, looked expressively at his son, and both hurried away.

"And why, Arthur, are you paying attention to the damned" Hagrid muttered and began tugging at his father's robes, almost knocking him to the floor. This family, vestimo, is rotten to the core! Don't worry so much about them. Bad blood! Let's go outside quickly."

The whole company left the store. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were trembling with fear, and Mom was seething with rage.

"You're setting a good example for the kids.... Fight in public... God! What Gilderoy Lockhart will think."

"Gilderoy Lockhart was on top of bliss!" Fred reassured his mother. "I didn't hear how he asked that guy from the newspaper to insert a battle scene into the report. I've heard of it. Totally obsessed with popularity!"

We went to pay for the textbooks, to the lamentation of the seller that he would no longer get involved with the crowd of fans of this hero.

Our whole company entered the Leaky Cauldron with their heads down. The Grangers left the inn through the opposite exit leading to London Street. The father started to ask them how the bus stops work, but when he caught his wife's eye, he obediently fell silent. It was time to get back to the Burrow, and Harry and my family hurried to the fireplace.

I hope Harry gets there okay this time.

Chapter 3 flying to school and its consequences.

Summer vacation ended too quickly. Of course, I missed Hogwarts, but the month I spent with Harry was the best of my life. We walked around the neighborhood of the burrow without going far into the magical world. My friend was interested in everything. The twins were in their room, cooking something. Jeanie kept a diary for herself and constantly wrote in it.

On the last night, my mother had a huge dinner: She cooked, fried, and baked all of Harry's favorite dishes. There was molasses pudding for the sweetmeat - you can lick your fingers! The evening ended with fireworks, George and Fred lit sparklers, and for almost half an hour red and blue stars danced on the walls and ceiling. Then everyone had a cup of hot chocolate and went to bed.

We gathered for a long time in the morning. And even though we woke up with the roosters, it seemed like we wouldn't have time to do anything. Mom was in a bad mood, rushing around the house in search of feathers and clean socks, the other inhabitants of the "Hole", half-dressed, with toasts in their hands, bumped into each other on the stairs, munching on the move, and my father almost broke his neck, tripping over a chicken as he hurried across the yard to the car, dragging Ginny's heavy suitcase.

Bulky suitcases easily fit into the trunk. Finally, everyone was seated, and Ginny and Mom sat in the front seat, which was as long as a garden bench. Turning back to where Harry, Fred, George, Percy, and I were comfortably ensconced, she was surprised:

Muggles aren't as stupid as we think they are. Such a roomy car! But you'd never tell by the look of it.

My father turned on the ignition, and the overloaded Ford rolled heavily out of the yard. Harry turned back, apparently wanting to take a last look at the house. Before I could say goodbye to the house, the car backed up: George had forgotten the box of firecrackers.

Five minutes later, there was another stop, and Fred took off after the broom. Finally, they reached the highway safely, and then Ginny threw up her hands: she had left her diary at home. I had to go back for the diary. We looked at the clock, and it turned out that we were late for the train. The situation in the car was tense.

My father looked at my mother pleadingly.

"Molly, dear..."

"No way, Arthur!"

"But no one will see us. This is the little button from the invisibility device, I inserted it myself. Let's turn it on just for the duration of takeoff, then we'll bury ourselves in the clouds. And we'll be there in ten minutes. No one will know anything..." my father swore to my mother.

"I said no, Arthur. Especially in broad daylight!"

At a quarter past ten we stopped at King's Cross Station. My father rushed across the road to get the luggage carts, and soon our whole company was almost running to the platform.

"Percy goes first," Mom ordered, nervously glancing at her watch.

There were five minutes left before the train left, and there were eight of us, plus this barrier.

Percy took a sharp step forward and disappeared. Dad followed, followed by Fred and George.

"I'll take Ginny," Mom said, "and you're right behind us."

Grabbing Ginny's hand, she rushed forward. And in the blink of an eye, she and her daughter disappeared. Harry and I followed them.

"Let's go together," I suggested, "there's only one minute left."

Harry made sure that Hedwig's cage was firmly seated on the suitcase, and steered the cart straight at the barrier. We walked bent over the cart, aiming at the barrier and increasing our pace by the second. A few steps before the barrier, they started running, and...

boom!

The carts hit the barrier and bounced back. My suitcase fell with a crash, Harry was knocked off his feet, the cage bounced on the floor of the platform, and Hedwig flew out with indignant screams. The surrounding people stared in amazement at the incomprehensible incident.

"What are you doing!" One of the station attendants attacked us.

"I couldn't handle the cart," Harry thought up an explanation, getting to his feet and rubbing his bruised side. I rushed to catch Hedwig, which caused the indignation of onlookers who were outraged by the cruel treatment of the bird. Harry's cage is really too small for such an owl.

"Why didn't we manage to break through the barrier like everyone else?" Harry asked me in a whisper.

"I can't imagine..." I looked around in disbelief. Half a dozen onlookers were still staring at us.

"We're going to miss the train," he said in a sinking voice. "I don't understand why the entrance didn't open...."

I tried to break through again. He aimed accurately, rolled the cart to the barrier and pushed it forward with all his might. The metal barrier did not budge.

"That's it," I said, stunned. "The train left. What happens if Mom and Dad come out on the wrong side and we part ways? Do you have any Muggle money?"

"About five pounds." Harry said gloomily. "Do you remember when we went to the bank? But I wanted to buy lenses in the summer, as that healer advised."

"Is that a lot?"

"It's definitely enough to live for a couple of days."

I pressed my ear to the cold metal of the barrier.

"I can't hear anything," I muttered, confused. "What should we do now? How long will the parents be looking for us?"

We looked around - we're still attracting attention, mainly because Hedwig keeps screaming loudly.

"It's probably best to get back to the car," Harry suggested it. "Everyone's looking at us here"...

"Harry!" I exclaimed, and the joyful lights flashed in my eyes again. "The car!"

"What is a car?"

Exactly. Most of the road will be in the magical world, so the main thing is to fly through London, and then we'll dive for the train.

"We can fly to Hogwarts in our car!"

"But I thought..."

"We're in a desperate situation, aren't we? We have to go to school! In an emergency, even underage wizards are allowed to use magic. Paragraph nine of the Code, I think...."

"Can you drive a flying car?" Harry asked.

"Easily." I turned the cart towards the exit of the station. "Let's go quickly! Let's hurry up and catch up with the London-Hogwarts express. And we'll get on his tail."

We pushed the carts through the crowd, went out onto the forecourt and turned right into an alley where an old Ford Anglia was parked.

After tapping my wand a few times, I opened the roomy trunk, and we loaded our suitcases into it, put Hedwig's cage in the back seat, and settled ourselves in the front. Grimacing, I took out a package of sandwiches. Damn, beef again. What about Harry? About the pork leg. We exchanged packages of sandwiches made by Mom and got into the car.

"Make sure that no one notices anything." I said, and with another stroke of my wand, I turned on the ignition.

"It's all right," he said.

And I pressed the tiny silver button on the dashboard. The Ford disappeared into thin air, and so did we. I could feel the seat vibrating beneath us, hear the sound of the engine, feel the steering wheel in my palms. Apparently, I turned into a pair of pupils hovering two meters above the ground in an unattractive alley filled with cars.

"Let's go," I said.

And the alley, along with the reddish-brown buildings on both sides, fell through somewhere. In a few more seconds, the whole of London lay in plain sight below us, partly sparkling with lights, partly shrouded in smoke. No one seems to have noticed our takeoff.

Suddenly, something fired softly, and the car gained visibility along with us. I pressed the button with all my might. Damn it, what the fuck? Everything worked last time.

"It's stuck somewhere," I said, confused.

They hit the button one at a time. The car disappeared again. And then she reappeared, as if nothing had happened.

"Hold on!" I shouted and pressed the accelerator pedal sharply: the car soared up, got inside a dense layer of clouds and flew blindly, as if in a thick fog.

"Where to now?" Harry asked, peering into the milky whiteness that enveloped the car from all sides.

"Now we need to find the train."

"Come on then hurry down..."

The car broke out of the cloud zone, and we twisted in our seats, each in his own direction, hung down.

"There he is, ahead! I can see him!" Harry was delighted.

I looked in the direction where my friend was pointing. The London-Hogwarts express was writhing below like a long crimson snake.

"It goes due north," I determined it by the compass on the control panel. Which is logical. The school is located in the north of Scotland. In one of the corners of the magical world of Earth. "We will check it every half hour. Now hold on tight..."

The car pierced through the clouds and found itself in a haze of sunlight. The world has been transformed. Under the wheels there is an endless sea of puffy snow-white clouds, boundless blue all around, and a dazzlingly bright sun above everything. Well, the charms of a temperature pleasant to people are installed in the car. My brothers and I checked. It's the same in the sun as in the evening.

"Here," I said, "you only have to be afraid of airplanes."

I remembered my experience of flying on a broom when I almost crashed into an airplane that flew into us through the passage in the village. It's not clear who was more scared. Me or that girl.

Harry and I looked at each other and started laughing nervously. They laughed and laughed and couldn't stop for a long time.

It was like we were in a magical dream. Towers and domes of cumulus clouds float by, the car interior is flooded with hot radiance, a pot-bellied bag of toffee with a bag of sandwiches in the glove compartment. And ahead is a triumphant landing on the green lawn running around Hogwarts Castle, and the envious glances of the twins Fred and George.

We flew north, dived down every half hour, checked the direction. And each time we saw more and more new paintings below. London had long been left behind, well-tended green fields had gone, which were replaced by pinkish-purple moorlands, here and there villages with old toy churches could be seen. A huge city floated by, with tiny cars scurrying through the streets like colorful ants. Damn, it's been a long time since we've been diving into the magical world. We don't want Muggles to notice us. I thought the train would leave the Muggle part of the world sooner.

A few hours of monotonous flight, however, noticeably reduced our enthusiasm. The toffee made me very thirsty. I looked only at the front and checked the compass. Harry offered to hold the steering wheel while I ate the sandwiches, but I didn't dare. How great it would be to ride now in one of the cool carriages that rolled along the rails far below, and drink a glass of icy pumpkin juice delivered by a kind chubby witch! But why couldn't we get to platform nine and three quarters?

"We're probably coming soon, aren't we?" I croaked, a few more hours later. The sun was already sinking into the cloud fields, brightening them with all shades of red. "Should I go down again?"

The train was still below us, crawling down the side of a snow-capped mountain. It was much darker under the clouds that hid the sun.

I stepped on the accelerator and the car took off again, but then for some reason the engine howled ominously. Damn, did she run out of gas? Or are we just flying too long?

Harry and I exchanged nervous glances.

"He's probably tired," I suggested. "So much work without a break!"

We pretended that nothing special was happening, and the howling grew stronger. It was getting dark fast, and the stars were already starting to light up in the dark. The wipers on the car began to shake for some reason. As if they were expressing dissatisfaction.

"We're very close now," I said, more to the car than to Harry. "At all." He tapped the panel lid with his fingers. Soon they began to descend again, peering into the darkness, looking for familiar signs.

"Look at that!" Harry suddenly shouted. "Right ahead!"

High on the cliff overlooking the lake, the towers and turrets of Hogwarts Castle stood out against the dark night sky. Well, finally. Now the main thing is to reach the castle. But the car was already shaking violently, and it was rapidly losing speed.

"Just a little more," I begged her, yanking on the steering wheel. "We're almost there."

We've never ridden it for so long. The engine was roaring. Thin jets of steam flew out from under the hood. We were already approaching the lake.

The car rocked violently. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, so that my knuckles turned white. The car rocked again.

"Just a little more," I breathed. We were flying over the lake, right at the castle. I stepped on the pedal.

There was a loud clang, several exhaust emissions, and the engine finally stopped.

"Yeah," I said into the silence. The hood of the car dived down. We started to fall, gaining speed, and in another minute we would crash into the solid castle wall.

"Wait a minute!" I yelled, twisting the steering wheel.

A couple of centimeters from the wall, the car turned into a high arch and flew inside the castle. The greenhouses were dark below, followed by garden beds, and then the lawn began. The car continued to descend. I let go of the steering wheel and took my magic wand out of my back pocket.

"Stop! Stop!" I shouted, banging on the windshield with my wand, but the car kept falling vertically to the ground.

"Be careful, tree!" Harry yelled, throwing himself on the steering wheel. But it was too late.

Kr-rak!

With the heart-rending sound of metal hitting the bark of a tree, the car crashed into a thick trunk and fell to the ground, bouncing like a ball. Thick steam was pouring out from under the flattened hood. Hedwig was screaming in a horrified voice. Harry slammed his forehead into the windshield, and an egg-sized lump popped up. I crashed into the steering wheel. Damn, not again! I let out a cry of despair.

"Are you alive?" Harry asked, startled.

"My wand," I said shakily. "Look what happened to her."

The wand split into two pieces, held back by a thin splinter.

Harry opened his mouth to comfort me: the magic wand can be repaired at school. At the same moment, something hit the left door with the force of a cannonball.

"What's happening?" I looked out the windshield and gasped. A branch as thick as a good python whipped against the glass. The tree we crashed into was striking back. The glass is well enchanted for impenetrability, and the body of the car is reinforced with magic, otherwise it would have crushed us already.

Another twisting branch lashed at the right-hand door. The windshield shook with the rattling of knuckle-like branches, and one huge branch, twisted like a ram's horn, struck violently at the roof.

"This is too much!" I exclaimed. "Let's get out of here!"

I put my whole body against the door, but a powerful uppercut threw me into Harry's lap.

Another huge branch hit the ceiling of the car with a deafening roar. The damn tree. How long will the enchantment on the car last?

"We're lost." I was ready to cry. The car suddenly began to vibrate, and the engine turned on by itself. Well, thank God.

"Reverse gear!" Harry shouted, and the car jerked back. Damn, did her father make her a controlling personality like a golem? What the fuck? And the willow tree kept trying to reach the offenders with snake branches.: We could hear its roots cracking. The brawler almost tore herself out of the ground, wanting revenge.

"We were on the verge of death." I said, barely catching my breath. "Well done, Ford!"

Ford, however, seemed to have run out of patience. With an indignant clang, both doors flew open, the seats threw us to the sides, and we fell flat to the ground. A loud knock from behind announced that the car had emptied our suitcases out of the trunk. Hedwig's cage flew overhead. The door opened, and Hedwig broke free. Making long, angry screams, the bird flew smoothly towards the school. And the scratched Ford, emitting steam, rumbled into the darkness, expressing the strongest indignation with the red lights of the taillights.

"Come back!" I shouted after him. "Come back! My mother will kill me!" My father will be more forgiving. But Mom can even take up the rod.

But the Ford, with a final snort of exhaust, disappeared into the darkness.

"We were really unlucky," I said dejectedly, and bent down to pick up the rat Skabers.

"Wow! Of all the trees here, crash into the one that fights back!" And I turned back, glancing at the old weeping willow-it was still waving its branches vindictively. But I still have to write home about a runaway car and a broken wand. The parents will be furious. Especially Mom. She generally gets turned on quickly, just like her sister.

"Yeah, bad luck," said Harry unhappily. "Let's go straight to school."

I put on my jacket. And he went with Harry to the entrance to the castle. The return was not at all as victorious as it seemed. Exhausted, stiff, and bruised, we grabbed our suitcases by the handles and trudged up the hill to the huge oak doors of the school. It's good that our suitcases are enchanted, and weight relief makes them much lighter at Hogwarts than in the ordinary world.

"The grand opening is probably already underway," I said, dropping my suitcase at the front stairs. He quietly approached the brightly lit window and looked inside.

"Come here, Harry," I called. "The distribution has already started!"

Harry came over and we watched the ceremony taking place in the Great Hall. I kept looking for my little sister. Will she get into Gryffindor or will she go to her friend Luna in Ravenclaw?

A multitude of burning candles hovered over four long set tables, making the golden dishes and goblets sparkle and shimmer with all the colors of the rainbow. And above the candles all over the ceiling-its magical property was that it mirrored the state of the sky-the familiar constellations burned brightly.

Through the forest of black pointed hats, I could make out a long line of terrified freshmen entering the hall one by one. Ginny was one of them. I recognized her immediately by the bright red hair that distinguished our whole family. Like Ginny and Bill, I was the owner of fiery red hair, like all the Pruits. And the rest went to take after Dad. Professor McGonagall, a bespectacled witch with a tight knot of hair at the back of her head, was putting the famous Hat on a stool, distributing the newcomers to the faculties.

At the beginning of each school year, this ancient Hat, dirty and full of patches, whispered to the new students who would study in which of the four houses (Gryffindor, Halfpuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin). I remembered well how exactly one year ago I put on this Hat and waited with bated breath for the decision of my fate. And of course he got into Gryffindor. Last year, Harry and I helped our house win an inter-house competition. Slytherin was left behind for the first time in seven years. Although Malfoy told me before he left that we were crooks. They say we were awarded unfairly. To which I told him that our dean had taken away 150 points from our faculty, which was also unfair.

A little boy with mouse-colored hair came up to the stool with a Hat. Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster, was overseeing the distribution from his seat at the faculty banquet table. His white beard was silvery, and the lenses of his half-glasses glittered from the wavering flames of hundreds of candles. Gilderoy Lockhart was sitting a few seats away from him, wearing an aquamarine raincoat. And the very end of the table was decorated with the mighty figure of the hairy forester Hagrid.

"Look," Harry whispered to me. "There's an empty seat at the teacher's desk. There is no Snape. I wonder where he is."

Professor Severus Snape was his least favorite teacher. And Harry wasn't one of his favorites, either. The tough, sarcastic Snape taught potions at school; the professor was revered only by students of his own Slytherin department. Whom he always protected in conflicts with other teachers.

"Maybe he's sick," I suggested hopefully.

"Or maybe he's completely gone? Because he didn't get the defense against the dark arts teaching position again?"

"Or maybe he was kicked out?" I said enthusiastically. "Everyone can't stand him...."

"Or maybe," said an icy voice from behind, "he's standing right now waiting for you two to tell him why you didn't take the train back to school."

I turned around. Severus Snape himself stood two steps away, his black robes billowing in the wind. He was very thin, with a yellowish-gray face and a hooked nose; Her black hair, oiled with a special compound, fell over her shoulders. When I saw his smile, I realized that Harry and I were in big trouble.

"Follow me!" ordered the formidable professor.

Not daring to look at each other, we followed him up the steps and entered a huge hall, where the slightest sound echoed loudly.

The hall was illuminated by the flames of torches. Delicious smells wafted in from the Great Hall, but Snape led us away from the warmth and light and down a narrow stone staircase leading to the dungeons.

"Come in." He opened the door on the first landing.

Shivering from the cold, we found ourselves in Severus Snape's office. The empty, cold fireplace did not promise a pleasant conversation. In the semi-darkness, I could make out shelves along the walls lined with large glass jars, in which floated a hideous-looking incomprehensible thing that did not arouse the slightest curiosity in me, at least for now. Snape slammed the door shut and looked at his prisoners.

"So the train," he began in a low voice, "is not good enough for the famous Harry Potter and his faithful backup singer Ron Weasley. You want to show up to school with a bang, huh?"

"No, sir, it's the barrier at King's Cross Station...."

Harry began to defend himself.

"Shut up! So what did you do with this car?"

I sighed heavily. The professor opened today's issue of the Evening Prophet newspaper, and I understood what was going on.

"Muggles saw you," he hissed, pointing at the headline. "Muggles were amazed by a Ford Anglia flying in the sky," he began to read aloud. "Two Londoners claim to have seen an old Ford fly over the post office tower... at noon in Norfolk, Mrs. Hetty Bayliss was hanging laundry in the yard..." And there are six or seven such messages. If I'm not mistaken, your father works in the department of "Illegal use of Muggle inventions?" He turned to me, grinning maliciously. "No, just think... his own son..."

I wanted to swear dirty. What if they find out that my father enchanted this car? What will happen then? I wish I'd thought of that before!

"Looking around the park," Snape continued, "I discovered that significant damage had been done to the priceless Rattlesnake Willow, the rarest specimen of the subspecies of weeping willows."

"This Rattling Willow of yours has done much more damage to us!" I blurted out.

"Shut up!" Snape barked again. "To my great regret, you are not in my faculty, and I cannot expel you. But I'm going to go get those who have these lucky powers right now. In the meantime, you will wait here."

We turned pale and stared at each other in despair. I didn't feel hungry anymore. If Snape went after Professor McGonagall, the head of the Gryffindor faculty, don't expect any relief. She is, of course, a more fair person than Snape, but she is also very strict.

Ten minutes later, Snape returned, and, of course, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. I've seen her angry once, but either I've forgotten how thin her lips can be when she's angry, or she's never been so angry in front of my eyes. When she entered the office, she immediately waved her magic wand, we recoiled in fear, but she only lit a fire in the fireplace, which immediately hummed encouragingly.

"Sit down," she suggested.

We both sat down on chairs closer to the fire.

"Now tell me!" McGonagall demanded, her glasses glinting angrily.

And I began to describe our misadventures, starting with the barrier that refused to let us onto the magic platform.

"...we just had no other way out, Professor, we couldn't get on our train in any way."

"Why didn't you send a letter with an owl? You had an owl, didn't you?" The Professor looked at Harry sternly.

Harry lowered his head. Damn, I'm so used to the Arrow barely dragging. She would have been flying for a couple of days.

"I... I didn't think..."

"It's very clear."

There was a knock on the door, and Snape, beaming with happiness, unlocked it. The headmaster, Professor Dumbledore, entered the office.

I cringed into a ball. Dumbledore looked extremely serious. He looked at us with his hooked nose hanging down.

After a long silence, Dumbledore finally said:

"Please explain why you did that."

It would have been better if he had shouted at us, such disappointment sounded in his voice.

Harry described everything in detail, omitting one thing - that the enchanted car belongs to my father. According to his story, it turned out that we were lucky: there was a flying car in the station parking lot. Dumbledore didn't seem to believe him, even though he didn't ask anything. Finally, Harry finished the sad story - the headmaster continued to stare silently through his glasses at the pitiful defendants. Oh, we were unlucky. We've only been at Hogwarts for a year and we're getting kicked out. I hope Dad will put us in a simpler school to finish our studies.

"We'll go pack our things," I said very quietly.

"What are you talking about, Roland Weasley?" Professor McGonagall asked sternly.

"You want to expel us from school, don't you?"

Harry cast a quick glance at Dumbledore.

"Not today, Mr. Weasley," the headmaster replied. "But I'm giving you both one last warning. You have committed a very serious offense. I will write to your families today. And if this happens again, I will have to expel you."

The glee drained from Snape's face, as if he had heard that the Christmas holidays had been canceled. Clearing his throat, he turned to the director:

"Professor Dumbledore, these youngsters have violated the Law restricting Underage magic, caused serious damage to an old, very valuable willow tree... this act of vandalism..."

"It's up to Professor McGonagall to decide on their punishment," Dumbledore spoke calmly. "They study at her faculty, she is responsible for them. So I went to the banquet, Minerva," He turned to the learned lady. "We need to make some announcements. Come on, Severus. What a delicious cake awaits us!"

After giving Harry and me the look of a venomous snake, Snape followed the headmaster out of the office. We were left alone with Professor McGonagall, who looked at us with a stern but fair eye.

"You'd better go to the infirmary right now, Weasley, you've got a cut on your forehead that's bleeding."

"Not very much. Besides, everything grows on me quickly." I hurriedly wiped the scratch above my eye with my sleeve. "I would like to see, Professor, how my sister will be distributed."

"The distribution ceremony has already ended. Your sister got into Gryffindor too."

"Great!"

"And as for Gryffindor..." McGonagall began.

"Professor," Harry interrupted her, "when we got into that car, the semester at school hadn't started yet. So... I guess... they won't deduct points from Gryffindor?" Harry asked with concern.

Professor McGonagall looked at him intently, and it seemed to me that a smile touched her lips. Anyway, they weren't so thin anymore.

"No, I won't deduct any points from the faculty. But you will not be able to avoid punishment, you will do socially useful work after school."

A letter to parents. The Ford is gone. The wand is broken. The father is awaiting trial at work. Nightmare.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand over Snape's desk. And out of nowhere, a plate full of sandwiches and two silver cups of pumpkin juice appeared on it.

"Eat," she said, "and go to your bedroom. And I still have to go back to the banquet."

When the door slammed behind her, I whistled loudly and long.

"And I already decided - goodbye to school! We're going to finish our studies at the Welsh School as some kind of weaklings." I exclaimed and greedily grabbed a sandwich.

"And me too, are you sure they would have taken us there?" Harry followed my example.

"Half of the Weasley clan went to school there. We often have weak magicians. Dad's two older brothers graduated from that school. We attacked the sandwiches with hunger. Damn, I caught my mom's when Ford was throwing them away. I'll give it to Percy. He likes beef.

"Well, how unlucky we are!" I said, munching on a chicken sandwich. "Fred and George flew this Ford about five or six times, and not a single Muggle noticed. I swallowed and took another big bite. "But still, why couldn't we get to the platform through this barrier?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders.

"Now you have to weigh your every step." Harry said, happily sipping pumpkin juice from a silver goblet with ice floes floating in it. "It's a pity that we weren't allowed to attend the banquet.... It's my favorite treacle tart.

"She just decided to hide us from everyone," I suggested. "So that no one would say on a night like this: but still, it's cool to fly to school in a Ford!"

After eating to the brim - the plate was a self-made one - we left the office and went the familiar way to Gryffindor Tower. Everything was quiet in the castle, and the party was over. We walked past mumbling portraits, clanking knights' armor, climbed a narrow stone staircase, and finally reached a passage where there was a secret entrance to Gryffindor Tower, masked by a large portrait of a very plump lady in a pink silk dress.

"The password?" the lady asked, seeing us very close.

"Mmm..." said Harry, as if remembering. We didn't know the new password, because we hadn't seen Percy yet. But help arrived immediately. There were quick footsteps behind us, and we turned to see Hermione chasing after us.

"It's you! Where have you been? There is a ridiculous rumor that you were expelled for allegedly crashing a flying car."

"No, we haven't been expelled," Harry assured her.

"I hope you're not saying that you flew to school...."

Hermione sounded like Professor McGonagall.

"Save the lecture for another time. Tell me the password instead!" I demanded impatiently. I don't feel like sleeping.

"Turkey, but that's not the main thing..." Hermione was clearly angry.

Her words, however, were drowned out by the thunder of applause: the door with the lady opened, and we found ourselves on the threshold of the Common living room. The entire faculty seemed to be awake. The room was crowded, and there were even rickety chairs and rickety tables. They've obviously been waiting for us for a long time. Dozens of hands reached out to us and dragged us inside through the entrance marked by the portrait. Hermione squeezed in after him.

"Amazing!" Lee Jordan shouted. "Brilliant! What a comeback! Crash into a Rattling Willow tree! The school won't forget this for a hundred years!"

"Well done!" some fifth-year student praised.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. Fred and George made their way to the front row through the crowd.

"Why didn't you invite us? We could easily come back!"

I blushed and smiled guiltily. Harry nudged me in the side and nodded at the prefect. Percy was moving toward us, ready to tell us what he thought of us. I immediately assessed the situation.

"We're very tired, let's go upstairs." I said, and our couple, pushing aside the crowd, rushed to the end of the hall, to the door to the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

"While." Harry waved at Hermione, who looked almost as reproachful as Percy.

Accompanied by enthusiastic cheers and friendly pats on the back, we finally reached the landing. The door slammed shut behind us, and a blissful silence enveloped us. We almost ran upstairs. Our bedroom was right under the roof, and now there was a sign on the door that read "2nd year." We entered a familiar round room with tall narrow windows, in which there were five beds under velvet curtains. The suitcases had already been brought in, and they were waiting for the owners at the foot of the beds, I looked at Harry in embarrassment.

"I know there's nothing to be happy about and all that... but..."

The door flew open, and three sophomores ran into the bedroom: Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom.

"Unbelievable!" Seamus beamed.

"Fantastic!" Dean chimed in.

"Amazing!" Neville finished, his eyes burning with horror and delight.

My mouth opened into a satisfied smile of its own accord.

Chapter 4. The first lessons

But I didn't feel like smiling the next day. Everything didn't go well in the morning. The magical ceiling in the Great Hall was covered with boring gray clouds. The four dining tables are properly lined with bowls of oatmeal porridge, plates of smoked trout, toasts, dishes of scrambled eggs and fried bacon. Harry and I sat down at our table next to Hermione, who was poring over her favorite book, Encounters with Vampires. And what does she find in this writing? Mom likes it too, though. Hermione was still angry with us about the illegal flight, judging by how dryly she greeted us. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, smiled when he saw us. Neville was a chubby kid who kept getting into trouble. Besides, he was always forgetting everything.

"The mail is about to arrive," he said. "Grandma has to send some things, I didn't bring everything."

And indeed, I had no time to start fishing when the wings of owls flew in overhead, there were at least a hundred of them. They circled the hall, shouting long-drawn out, drowning out the voices of boys and girls, and dropping letters and parcels here and there. One heavy bag slammed right on Neville's head, and immediately something big and shaggy fell into Hermione's jug, splashing everyone with milk and showering them with feathers. This is...

"Arrow!" I exclaimed, pulling the wet, dirty owl out of the jug by its paws. The owl lay motionless on the table, paws up, a wet red envelope in its beak. "How awful!"

A piece of fish fell out of my hands. I wiped my fingers with a napkin and reached with trembling fingers for the terrifying envelope. Arrow is fine - it will lie down for half an hour and come to life. Not for the first time already. It's the norm for her after long flights. The owl Spirit likes us, that's why he's been living with our family for so long.

"It's okay, she's breathing," said Hermione, stroking the owl with the tip of her finger.

"That's not what I'm talking about. That's what I mean!" I carefully pulled the red envelope out of my beak. What a shame, they sent me a Loudspeaker! And you can't run away with the envelope, it's already starting to smoke.

"What's the matter?" Harry asked.

"She... she sent me a Thundercracker," I whispered.

"Open it quickly," Neville said just as quietly. "Otherwise it will be worse. My grandmother also sent such a letter once. I had completely forgotten about him. So that was it!"

"And what is a Public Speaker?" Harry looked from our terrified faces to the red envelope.

I stared at the letter, which was already beginning to smoke from the corners. Maybe I'll still have time to run out into the hall?

"Open up!" Neville pushed me. "It's going to burst into flames!"

He's right, it's better to open it yourself, otherwise it will explode. I tore open the envelope and threw it on the table and reached under the counter.

"Cover your ears!"

Neville put his fingers in his ears. I would have shut up too, but my hands were busy. The huge hall was filled with a roar, from which dust fell from the ceiling. But soon I discerned the words in the roar:

"...steal a car," the letter thundered. "I wouldn't be surprised if you get expelled from school. Wait, I'll get to you. I think you understand what we went through when we couldn't find the car in place..."

Mom screamed a hundred times louder than usual; spoons and plates bounced on the tables from her voice, which was further amplified by the echo reflected by the stone walls. Those sitting at the tables turned on their chairs, looking for the unfortunate person who had received this message. I almost slid off my chair in shame, so that only my crimson forehead was visible. And the letter continued:

"... in the evening ... a letter from Dumbledore. I thought my father would die of grief. We raised you in a completely different way. You and Harry could both have died!"

"...absolutely monstrous. Your father is going to have a trial at work, and you're to blame for that. If you commit another such offense, we will immediately remove you from school."

That was the end of the letter, and a ringing silence reigned in the hall. A red envelope, thrown on the countertop, burst into flames, and a handful of ashes remained from it.

Damn, Mom doesn't know about the wand yet. We'll have to wait until the mother cools down. Besides, they don't have any money right now anyway. Harry and I sat with our eyes wide open and panting, as if we had just been doused by a wave of surf. Many people were laughing, but soon the casual chatter resumed at the tables.

Hermione slammed the book shut and stared at me.

"I don't know what you expected, Ron. But you..."

"Don't tell me I deserve this," I blurted out.

But there was no time to delve into these sad thoughts. Professor McGonagall was walking along the table, giving everyone a timetable. I read in my leaflet that our class has two first lessons - herbology along with Halfpaths.

Harry and Hermione and I left the castle, passed through the vegetable gardens and hurried to the greenhouses where magical flowers and herbs grew. The broadcast letter did at least one good thing: Hermione felt that we were more than punished, and she became sweet and friendly again, as always.

As we approached the greenhouse, we saw our entire class at the door, waiting for Professor Sprout. At the same moment, the professor herself appeared; together with Gilderoy Lockhart, they were walking across the lawn from Rattlesnake Willow. Professor Sprout had bandages and plaster casts in her hands. I turned my gaze to the willow tree, several of its branches decorated with plaster trays. And I felt remorse again for the beaten Ford. I didn't feel sorry for the harmful tree at all.

Professor Sprout was a small, chubby witch with a mended- mended hat on disheveled hair; her dress was always in the ground, and she herself had dirty nails, it was immediately obvious that she was constantly messing with the ground. Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand, was as immaculate as ever, his turquoise cape billowing, golden curls shimmering under a perfectly fitting hat of the same color, trimmed with a gold border. Handsome, damn it.

"Hello everyone" He greeted the students from afar with a beaming smile. "I was showing Professor Sprout how to cure a Rattlesnake Willow! But please don't think that the professor knows less about herbology than I do! It's just that I've dealt with exotic plants during my travels...."

"Kids, greenhouse number three!" Professor Sprout ordered, clearly upset. There was no trace of her usual lively and friendly disposition today. Was she so upset about willow? Or is she already sick of this peacock?

The guys made quite a noise. Last year, we only worked in greenhouse number one. In greenhouse number three, the plants were much more interesting, even dangerous. The professor took a large key from her belt and unlocked the greenhouse door. From there, warmth, the smell of damp earth, fertilizers, and the heavy scent of giant umbrella-sized flowers hanging from the ceiling wafted over me. Harry started to step inside after Hermione and me, but Lockhart's hand stopped him.

"Harry! I need you for a few words. Do you mind if Harry is about three minutes late, Professor?"

Judging by the displeased face, Sprout objected.

"That's great," said Lockhart and slammed the door in the face of the professor of herbology.

While Harry was chatting with the professor, we went into the greenhouse and stood by the boxes of dew, waiting for him. Professor Sprout was standing by a wooden bench in the center of the greenhouse, on which were about twenty pairs of ear plugs. After waiting for Harry to take his place next to Hermione, the woman, unhappy with the delay, began the lesson.

"Today we will be transplanting mandrakes", She said. "Who wants to tell you about the properties of this plant?"

No one was surprised that Hermione raised her hand first. Behind her, Neville is uncertain.

"Mandragora, or mandragorum is a powerful remedy for restoring health," Hermione rattled off as if she knew the textbook by heart. With her memory, I wouldn't be surprised. "The mandrake is used to restore a person who has undergone a spell to his original appearance."

"Great. Ten points for Gryffindor," Said Professor Sprout. "Mandrake is the main component of most antidotes. But the mandrake itself is not safe. Who can say why?"

Hermione's hand shot up again. She almost brushed the glasses off Harry's nose. He barely managed to stagger back. Neville raised his hand uncertainly.

"Neville, don't be shy."

"The cry of the mandrake is deadly to anyone who hears it," Neville answered without hesitation. Apparently, the professor is used to him answering her lessons instead of Hermione.

"Absolutely right. Let's add another ten points. The mandrakes that are now in front of you are seedlings that are still very young."

The professor pointed to the deep drawers, and the whole class moved forward to get a better look. The boxes were filled with rows of purple-green leaves sticking out of the ground, each with about a hundred small mandrakes. I didn't notice anything special about them, although I had heard stories about the "crying of the mandrake".

"Take the headphones," Professor Sprout ordered. Pushing, we rushed to the bench, I didn't want to sit in pink faux furs for the whole lesson, and the others seemed to, too. I don't want to look like a girl. Sprout calmly took them for herself and lifted them over the table.

"When I say, "Put on your headphones," try to put them on so that you can't hear anything at all. When it's time to take off the headphones, I'll give you a thumbs up. Put on your headphones!"

I quickly put on a pair of headphones with red fur, and the silence was complete. Professor Sprout put on her own, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grabbed one of the plants tightly and pulled hard.

Harry said something, but I couldn't hear him. It's a good charm, but I'd also use a charm to talk to each other.

Instead of roots, a tiny, dirt-stained, ugly baby popped out of the ground. Leaves were growing right out of the top of his head, his skin was pale green, dotted with multicolored dots, and it was obvious that he was screaming his head off. Professor Sprout took a large flower pot from under the table and planted the mandrake in dark, moist compost, leaving only a bunch of leaves outside. Then she dusted off the compost on her hands, gave a thumbs up, and took off her headphones. I followed her example.

"Because our mandrakes are still very small," she explained, "Crying doesn't kill them." She spoke so calmly, as if she had watered a pot of begonia instead of performing a real miracle in front of all of us. "But their screams can deafen you for four hours. I'm sure none of you want to miss the first day of class, so make sure that your headphones cover your ears tightly. When the lesson ends, I'll give you a sign. You will work with four people with each box, the compost is here, in bags. And make sure that the burning antennica does not touch the tentacles, it burns."

As she spoke, the professor slapped a dark red thorny plant quite hard, which was surreptitiously pulling a long probe towards her shoulder, and the probe instantly withdrew. Our inseparable trio was joined by a curly-haired boy from the Halfpuff house. I didn't remember him, we never talked. If we had a constant feud with the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws didn't pay attention to anything except their research, then the Halpafs were constantly busy fighting with Professor Sprout. Future farmers, what to take from them. Neville should have gone to the Halfpuffs with his love of plants. He belongs there. But as Neville confessed to us, the hat persuaded him to go to Gryffindor.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," Halpafetz introduced himself affably, shaking Harry's hand. I know you, of course. You're the famous Harry Potter... You're Hermione Granger, first in all subjects. Justin shook her hand too. Hermione beamed. And you're Ron Weasley. You won the McGonagall chess game that year, didn't you?

"That's right, I really like playing with small golems."

"And Lockhart is strong!" Justin continued, beaming. "Brave as a lion. Have you read his books? I would have died of fright if I had been attacked in a phone booth by a vampire. And at least he's henna! I fought and won. Fantastic! My parents enrolled me in Eton, but I'm so happy that I'm studying here."

Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Your parents are upset, aren't they?"

"Of course, my mom was a little upset, but I gave her Lockhart books to read, and she realized how wonderful it is to have a wizard in the family, especially a well-educated one.... I've been reading them since last year. It's good that Lockhart is now our professor."

Wow, a boy, but he fell for this nonsense. How was Lockhart allowed to smuggle his books in as textbooks in the first place? Did McGonagall even read them? Or does she not know what literature she approves as textbooks?

Justin fell silent, and the conversation did not resume. The headphones were on, and we started transplanting mandrakes. Professor Sprout easily handled the first seedling, that's why she was a professor of herbology. The case, however, turned out to be not so simple. The mandrakes did not want to leave their home and move to a separate pot, they writhed, kicked, pounded with sharp, strong fists, gnashed their teeth. I stubbornly stuffed one thick mandrake into the pot. Then another one.

By the end of the lesson, I, like everyone else, was covered in sweat, stained with dirt, and my hands hurt from unaccustomed use. Although we have a garden, we hardly plant vegetables there - it's easier to buy from farmers. The same Halfpaffians grow very good vegetables and fruits. And what kind of strawberries do the Hartmans have... Dirty and tired, we dragged ourselves to the castle, where we took a shower, and the Gryffindors went to transfiguration class.

It was always difficult in Professor McGonagall's classes, but especially today. Everything I learned last year seemed to have completely slipped my mind over the summer. The task was to turn a dung beetle into a big button. I reached for last year's notes. So the bugs. Yeah, yeah, well, I see...

Before class, I took a piece of magic duct tape from an upperclassman and wrapped it around a magic wand. I hoped that it would work somehow. Hagrid does magic with his halves, doesn't he? But the wand seems to have completely deteriorated. It kept crackling and sparking, and when I tried to turn the beetle, it emitted thick smoke, smelly like a rotten egg. I couldn't see anything in the smoke, and I accidentally squashed a bug with my elbow, so I had to ask for a new one. Which, of course, upset Professor McGonagall.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the bell from class. My brain was squeezed out like a sponge. Everyone ran out of the classroom except Harry and me. I started banging my wand on the table, saying angrily:

"Stupid useless piece of wood!"

"Write home," Harry advised me in response to the shower of sparks that burst from the unfortunate wand. "Have them send you a new one."

"And I'll get another Speaker," I sighed heavily, stuffing my wand into my bag. "And they have nothing to send. I got almost a broken one anyway. And a new one requires at least four galleons, if you take it from Kendal. And you'll have to leave school to find the right one, and they won't let you leave until the holidays."

Let's go to the dining room for lunch. Hermione showed us a whole handful of excellent coat buttons that she got in transfiguration class, which made me feel even worse. Why does everyone have normal chopsticks, but I got such junk? All my brothers have new ones, but I've already got a used one. And all the father with his car. Dumn. Although it would be even more insulting if I broke a new wand.

"What do we have in the afternoon?" I asked gloomily, putting food on my plate.

"Defense against the Dark Arts," Hermione reported immediately. Why does she sound so dreamy? Looking over her shoulder at the piece of paper she was examining, I was surprised.

"Why do you have little hearts against all Lockhart's lessons?" I asked, grabbing Hermione's schedule from her hands. Maybe I'm just seeing things because I'm tired.

Hermione snatched the timetable sheet from me and blushed deeply.

That she really has a crush on this peacock?! It would have been better if Harry had chosen him, he's also a hero. Although she rather sees Harry as a younger brother.

After lunch, we went out into the courtyard, where the sky was overcast with gloomy clouds. Hermione sat down on the stone steps, tucking her bag under her ass and turned back to her "Meetings with vampires." Harry and I were standing next to each other, talking about Quidditch. There was a boy with gray hair standing not far from us, whom I noticed through the window in the Great Hall during the distribution ceremony. The boy stared at Harry, wide-eyed, as if mesmerized. He was clutching an ordinary-looking Muggle camera in his hand. The boy blushed. So another fan, wasn't there enough excitement for me at the beginning of my freshman year? That you'll have to fight off a friend from a crowd of fans again?

"Don't be angry, Harry. I'm Colin Creevey", He said it in one breath, hesitantly stepping forward when he noticed Harry looking at him. "I'm a Gryffindor too. How do you think... how would you look at... if I took a picture?" He raised the camera.

"A snapshot?" Harry asked, puzzled. Buddy, don't be dumb. He won't calm down until he gets you on camera. Future reporters are like that... Hmm, can I get in on the action with this kid? I don't stop him from taking pictures of Harry, and he gives me a share of the profits? The main thing is that a friend does not find out, otherwise he will be offended. So, he's in the same year as Jeanie. I need to give her a hint to get a guy involved. Maybe they'll even become friends, but since Luna got to Ravenclaw, they don't even communicate. Jeanie is still sitting in the living room and writing in her diary.

"Well, yes, a picture. To prove that we know each other." Colin continued, taking another step closer. "I know all about you. I've been told so much about you: how You-Know-Who wanted to kill you, how you miraculously escaped, and he disappeared forever, and all that.... That you have a lightning-like scar on your forehead (his gaze lingered on Harry's forehead). And one boy from our class said that if you develop the film in a special solution, your photos will move. That's right, the twins will be able to brew a potion for him. It's not particularly difficult, but I won't take it on. Colin sighed with a sob from the excess of his feelings and continued:

"How wonderful it is here! Strange things happened to me at home, and I didn't even know it was magic. But then I got a letter from Hogwarts and I understood everything. My dad is a milkman, and he still doesn't believe in magic. I want to send him lots and lots of pictures. It would be great if he got yours." He looked at Harry pleadingly. "Could your friend take a picture of me with you so that we stand side by side? Could you sign the photo?" The boy said plaintively, looking hopefully at Harry. Yeah. I don't envy the guy. Seamus's situation with his father is even worse, though.

"Sign a photo? Are you handing out autographed photos of yourself, Potter?" Well of course. And the main slug is here, much less without him. No, I understand he's Harry's relative and all that. But the way he periodically tries to straighten his brain is something. Not only is he walking around his mother, but he's also throwing mud at my family and Hermione's. For which he gets punched in the face when the teachers are not around.

Draco Malfoy's loud, mocking voice echoed through the courtyard. He stopped behind Colin, accompanied by two loyal friends Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like real thugs. Hurry up to take the queue! Malfoy shouted at the students who filled the courtyard.

"Harry Potter is signing autographs!"

"I'm not giving anything away," Harry said, clenching his fists. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," Colin blurted out, his torso barely thicker than Crabbe's neck.

"For me? Envious?" Malfoy was clearly in shock. Draco wasn't shouting anymore, half the yard was already listening to him. "Why be envious? So that they cut half my skull? No thanks! I'm not that stupid." Crabbe and Goyle just giggled stupidly. So, someone hasn't received it for a long time.

"Choke on the slugs, Malfoy!" I exploded, pointing my wand at him. Crabbe stopped giggling and began threateningly rubbing his knuckles the size of chestnuts. Well, yes, well, yes. First, we'll have to knock out his friends as usual. Fortunately, they are dumb as a cork. Especially Creb.

"Easier on the corners, Weasley," Malfoy warned mockingly. "I wouldn't pick a fight if I were you. Did you forget that your mom promised to pick you up from school?" And, mimicking, he squeaked: "If you commit even one offense..."

The fifth-year Slytherin students laughed out loud.

"Weasley wants your autographed picture too, Potter," Malfoy curled his lip contemptuously. "This treasure would be worth more than his entire house."

I waved my taped wand, but Hermione snapped the book shut and whispered to me:

I put the wand away and started flexing my arm muscles. Now someone's going to grab it. Knock out Creb first, then Goyle. And then I'm going to punch that blond bastard in the face.

"Stop it!" She glanced at Gilderoy Lockhart, who was approaching.

"What, what's going on here?" Gilderoy flew like a blue bird, his turquoise robe fluttering behind him like laundry drying in the wind. "Who's handing out autographed photos here?"

Lockhart put his arm around Harry's shoulders and, smiling from the breadth of his white-toothed mouth, sang:

"You don't have to ask! We've crossed paths with you again, Harry! Go ahead, Mr. Creevey. We are ready!" He gave Colin a beaming smile. Colin made a face of displeasure. Apparently, he didn't fall for this peacock's writings and was only a fan of a friend.

"A double portrait, Mr. Creevey. It couldn't be better. And we'll both sign it!" Lockhart ordered.

I went up to him and spoke softly so that Harry and Lockhart wouldn't hear.

"The girls will tear off this photo with their hands. When you've developed the Lockhart film, you can sell it for a couple of galleons."

Colin fiddled with his camera for a bit, took a picture, and just then the bell rang for class. He also shifted the camera so that Harry got a good angle.

"Go to classes! Faster!" commanded Lockhart and rushed to the entrance himself. "He was still holding Harry's shoulders, a Solomonic decision." Lockhart spoke from the height of his greatness, entering the castle with Harry through the side doors. Hermione and I trailed behind them "in that scene with young Creevey, I was your shield. Since he took pictures of the two of us, your enemies won't blame you: look how he puts himself above others...." I'm really going to send my sister to Colin, who will help him develop and sell the photo. She makes excellent potions, as Mom says.

Not listening to Harry's mumbling excuses, Lockhart dragged him further down the corridor under the eyes of students rushing to their lessons.

"Let me tell you frankly: handing out autographed photos at this stage of your career is the height of imprudence. The time will come when you, like me now, will need to have a pack of such photos ready, but," He laughed cheerfully, "I think it's a little early today."

They entered the defense against the Dark Arts room, and Harry finally found his freedom.

Lockhart rushed off to show off at the blackboard. Harry pulled down his robes and settled himself in the last row. After that, he sat down at the table and placed a stack of all seven books by Gilderoy Lockhart in front of him - he seemed to hide behind them from the author.

Immediately, the rest of the students entered the office, talking loudly. Hermione and I finally squeezed through the doorway and hurried over to Harry, sitting next to him - me on the left, Hermione on the right.

Well, it's red.

"I could fry eggs on your face!" I whispered. "Pray to God that Colin and Ginny don't get to know each other, or maybe they'll create a Harry Potter fan club." Oh, by the way. I need to tell Jeanie not to make a fuss, or Harry will lose his temper and I'll have to cover for their club of fans of photoraphies. It's a pity about the kid's camera, but if I break it so badly, they won't fix it. Bill taught me how to break the spell. And damn, he's got a regular Muggle camera. Well, I'll break it too.

"Be quiet!" Harry nudged me with his elbow. "I don't want Lockhart to hear." That yes. I don't want this peacock to ruin all our raspberries. He's a hero, but only housewives and Muggleborns are into him.

When everyone was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, and the classroom became quiet. He reached out, picked up Neville's copy of The Troll Trail, and held it up, revealing his own winking portrait on the cover.

"It's me," he said, and winked back. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Knight of the Order of Merlin, third Class, honorary member of the League of Defense against the Dark Forces and five-time winner of the Magic Weekly prize for the most charming smile. But let's not talk about it now. Believe me, it wasn't with a smile that I got rid of the Irish death-heralding ghost!"

Gilderoy paused, expecting laughter. Several of the students smiled rather sourly. I see you've all bought a complete set of my books.

But we didn't have to buy, did we? That's a freak. And there weren't any in the junk shop, so I had to spend money on Flourishes and Blots. And the books there are expensive. It's a good thing the twins took one set for two.

"How wonderful it is! Let's start the lesson with a test paper. Don't be scared! I just want to check how carefully you've read them and what you've learned from them...."

Gilderoy handed each of them the question sheets and returned to the table.

"I'll give you half an hour," he said. "Go ahead."

On the first page I read:

"1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?

2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition?

3. In your opinion, what is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?"

And so on and so forth. The last, fifty-fourth question sounded like this:

54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday and what do you think is the perfect gift for him?"

He's completely out of his mind. I tried to remember at least something from his books, but then I gave up and started writing fantasizing about the first impression of his "exploits". No, of course he's a hero, but 50 percent of his books are self-praises, another 20 are descriptions of the area and it was interesting, and the rest are spells, and he didn't give formulas, but described only the effects. Yes, my crazy squib comics were more interesting. I am generally silent about books about traveling into the depths of the magical world.

Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and quickly looked through them.

"Ay-ay-ay!" He shook his head reproachfully. "Almost none of you remember that my favorite color is lilac. I write about this in the book "Yorkshire Yetis". And some people would do well to read "Encounters with Vampires" more carefully. In chapter twelve, I write in black and white that the perfect birthday gift for me is goodwill between all people, magicians and non-magicians. But, of course, I wouldn't mind a bottle of Ogden's good fiery whiskey!

And Lockhart winked impishly once more. I stared at Lockhart with a puzzled look. And this is the teacher? What can he teach you? Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was all ears. The only thing that brought her back to reality was her name being spoken to the whole class.

"But Miss Hermione Granger knows my ambition. Yes, I want to rid the world of evil and flood the market with hair preservation products of my own invention." Hmm, but his hair is really awesome. Does he make his own concoctions, like my mom? Awesome. Why the hell didn't he start selling them instead of becoming a teacher? Mom sells her products in Diagon Alley. Lockhart, meanwhile, continued to read her answers. "Good girl!" He flipped through Hermione's work again. "She deserves the highest praise. Where is Miss Hermione Granger?"

My girlfriend raised a trembling hand. With her memory, haha. She remembers everything she reads, and without any artifacts. But something needs to be done about her attachment to this peacock. And it's not a love spell, she looked at it like that in the bookstore. And I didn't buy his books. Damn, did she buy them earlier for easy reading, as she puts it?

"Excellent!" Lockhart exuded delight. "Excellent with a plus! Ten points for Gryffindor. And now let's get down to business...."

With that, he bent down at his desk and picked up a large cloth-covered cage from the floor.

"Today I will teach you how to curb the most vile creatures that exist in the world of magicians and wizards. I'm warning you: you're going to see something really terrible in this room. But don't be afraid, as long as I'm around, nothing bad will happen to you. All I ask is that you stay calm."

Harry peered curiously out from behind his barricade. I was staring intently at the cage. There's clearly someone alive there. This is the first time we've seen a living creature. Lockhart put his hand on the cloth covering the cage. Dean and Seamus stopped shaking with laughter. Neville was clearly cowering, sitting at a table in the front row.

"Keep your voice down," Lockhart said, wagging a finger. "They can get overexcited."

The whole class held their breath, Lockhart pulled off the cloth. What?! Damn, even a child can handle them. It is enough to take a book in your hand, or something else with which you can visit them. I remember helping Aunt Muriel on her estate to bring out their colony. They fly slowly and all the danger lies in their poisonous teeth. It's good that we have a low magic background for them at home. These household pests usually settle in old manors. And a thick cloth helps against bites, and the doxy detoxifier is a great thing, but then you need to wear a respirator. So that you don't get too much of it yourself.

"Yes, that's them," he said dramatically. "Newly captured Cornish pixies."

Seamus Finnigan couldn't help but giggle so visibly that even Lockhart didn't mistake his chuckle for a scream of horror.

"What is it?" He broke into a smile.

"But... but they're not dangerous at all", Seamus said through laughter. I guess I used to drive them around with a book when I was a kid, too.

"Don't tell me." Lockhart shook his head. "Their fun can be very unpleasant."

The pixies were bright blue, about twenty centimeters tall, with pointed muzzles. When they came out into the light after dark, they screamed shrilly, as if a regiment of trumpeters had burst into the classroom, rushed around the cage, began to drum on poles and make faces, half teasing the audience, half amused.

"Now let's see," Gilderoy Lockhart raised his voice, "how you deal with them!" And he opened the cage. Fuck! I quickly threw my things into a bag and shoved it under the table.

"Harry, Hermione, hide your things!"

They won't get under the table. I really don't want to collect scraps of my belongings all over the classroom after the mayhem they caused.

What started here! The end of the world! Pixies jumped out of the cage like little rockets and flew in all directions. Two pranksters grabbed Neville by the ears and flew up to the ceiling with him. Well, wizards are generally tougher than ordinary people, so Neville's ears barely suffered. Five or six of them, having smashed the window and showered the last row with glass fragments, flew out of the classroom. The others began to smash everything that fell into their nimble hands, with the fury of an enraged rhinoceros. They broke ink bubbles and flooded the entire classroom, scattered the trash can, tore books and notebooks to shreds, tore paintings from the walls, and threw bags and textbooks through the broken window. In less than five minutes, the whole class was sitting under the tables. Only poor Neville was hanging from the ceiling, holding on to the chandelier.

"What are you afraid of? Go ahead! Chase them back to the cage! It's just a pixie," shouted Lockhart. He rolled up his sleeves, waved his wand, and spoke quickly:

"Pixie olc faigh an fuck as seo!" (Nasty pixie get the fuck out of here!)

I stared at him in amazement. Did he decide to banish pixies with an Irish obscenity?

His words, however, did not tame the raging evil spirits. One even grabbed Lockhart's wand and threw it out the window. Lockhart gasped and ducked under his own desk. It was just in time - the chandelier couldn't stand it and Neville fell right onto the spot where the professor had been standing a second ago.

Just then the bell rang, and the whole class rushed to the door. It became quieter in the office, Lockhart got out from under the table, saw us ready to rush out the door, and ordered:

"Please, friends, put the remaining pixies back in the cage. Fifteen Gryffindor balls in advance."

The professor briskly rushed past us and slammed the door in our faces.

"And you'll believe him after that!" I exclaimed angrily, getting a good slap in the face from one of the raging pixies.

"He just wanted to put us in a real life setting", Said Hermione. Without hesitation, she cast a Freezing spell on the two pixies and effortlessly sent them into the cage.

"In your opinion, is this a real life situation?" Harry said, struggling with the pixy who was dancing in front of him, sticking his tongue out. "Lockhart just didn't know what to do with them!"

"Nonsense," said Hermione calmly. "You've read his books. Remember all the amazing feats that he has accomplished."

"He's just writing about what he's done," I clarified.

"I checked that these feats were indeed accomplished."

We spent half an hour freezing the blue scoundrels. Moreover, Harry and Hermione were immobilizing them with spells, so I just took a textbook in my hand and hit these blue creatures with it. Interestingly, they stopped bothering me almost immediately. After collecting their carcasses from the floor into a cage and covering it with a blanket again, we caught our breath and went to the history of magic. Harry and I wanted to skip this useless lesson, but Hermione balked. Damn, that's what she's writing down there, he's reading from a textbook, and in such a way that it's impossible to listen.

Chapter 5 Ron pukes up slugs.

Harry began to hide from Professor Lockhart, which he was good at. But to his great regret, it turned out to be much more difficult to hide from Creevey.

My magic wand has been working really badly so far. Electrical tape definitely didn't help. But I have to take exams with her. I'll have to write home in the winter. That's if Percy hasn't snitched on his parents by now. On Friday morning, in a spell lesson, she outdid herself: she broke out of my hands and hit the frail old Professor Flitwick in the forehead, where a huge green boil popped up. The professor scolded me for half an hour about witchcraft with a broken conductor. He promised to solve this problem by the end of the year.

We were all going to visit forest ranger Hagrid on the weekend. But on Saturday, Harry disappeared somewhere in the morning. I rummaged in the bedroom and found a note on his bed.

"He went to practice."

So early in the morning? Is Oliver completely out of his mind? After talking with Hermione, they decided to grab Harry some breakfast sandwiches. After eating scrambled eggs and bacon and grabbing toast with sausages and jam, we went to the stadium. So, where is everyone? In the stadium, Creevey is just sitting dejectedly and waiting for something. Yeah, well, we'll wait. Although if Colin is here, Harry should also be here. He can smell it, as my sister puts it.

We sat on the podium and discussed Lockhart's books. I was trying to figure out what Hermione liked so much about them. She insisted on an interesting style. Well, yes, well, yes. He's a really good writer. She actually bought his books before the first year to read about the magical world. But it's supposed to be a textbook! When the team entered the field, the sun had already risen, although there were still layers of fog on the grass. Well, finally. So, why are they in uniform? I waved to my friend, and he flew up to us.

"Haven't you finished yet?" I was surprised.

"We haven't even started yet," Harry muttered, looking enviously at the toast and jam that we had brought with us after breakfast and were already eating. "Wood was explaining the new tactics to us."

"Don't worry, buddy, we've brought you something to eat." I showed him the package of toast and sausages.

Harry sighed and glanced sideways at Oliver, straddled the broom, pushed off from the podium and soared into the sky.

"Then we'll eat!" He shouted to us. Harry flew around the stadium at full speed, ahead of Fred and George.

Colin was standing at the top of the podium. He was snapping the camera non-stop, and the sounds in the empty stadium were unusually loud.

"Look at this, Harry! Over here!" Colin screamed desperately. He was jumping up and down on the podium and waving his hand.

Wood started cursing, but George pointed at the green-uniformed players who were walking onto the field with brooms on their shoulders. Wood went down so sharply that the landing was very sensitive for him. He was slightly unsteady as he moved towards the Slytherins with Harry and the twins.

"Flint!" Wood barked at the opposing captain. "Now is our time! We got up at a little light! Get out of here!"

Marcus Flint was bigger than Wood. Sometimes it seemed to me that he looked like a troll. Even now, he had a goofy smile on his face.

Alicia, Katie, and Angelina came over. The Slytherins, none of whom were girls, stood shoulder to shoulder and grinned contemptuously.

"But I've booked the stadium!" shouted Wood. "Booked before lunch!"

Flint handed him a piece of paper. A seventh player came out from behind the six players, almost a head shorter than the rest. He's also blond.

Hermione and I ran across the field to the teams gathered around the brooms.

"What's happening?" I asked Harry. "Why don't you play? What's this guy doing here?"

I stared at Malfoy in surprise, dressed in a Slytherin gym uniform. All seven of them were standing with their brooms outstretched. Polished to a high gloss, brand new, with gold letters "Nimbus-2001", they dazzlingly sparkled in the rays of the morning sun.

"I'm the new Slytherin team seeker, Weasley," Malfoy declared smugly. "We admire the brooms. My dad bought them for our whole team."

I couldn't take my admiring gaze off the seven magnificent high-speed brooms. Awesome Nimbus 2001! Oh, I wish I had one. Although I'm not going to play Quidditch professionally, I'm sick of the crowds in the stadium that need to be entertained. I would have made do with two hundred comets.

"They're good, aren't they?" asked Malfoy innocently. "Don't worry, collect money from the fans and buy them too. Or put up for auction your "Chistomets-5". Museums all over the world will fight over them," he mocked.

The Slytherin team burst into laughter.

"But not a single player of our skool team bought a place in the team", Hermione rapped out. "They all got there because of their talent."

Malfoy's smug face twisted into a grimace of hatred. Something's going to happen now. I would be offended too.

"And no one's asking for your opinion, mudblood!" He blurted out. That thing. I understand if we had strong differences in magical power depending on our origin, but there aren't any. Muggleborns are sometimes even stronger than purebloods. At least those who are accepted into Hogwarts. Besides, without the infusion of fresh blood, we would have died out long ago.

Before he could close his mouth, an unimaginable noise arose. Flint rushed to shield Malfoy from Fred and George's fists. Alicia was screaming:

"How dare you say that!"

And I'm screaming:

"You're going to pay for this, Malfoy!" He pulled his wand out of his pocket and slid it under Flint's arm, pointing it directly at Malfoy's face. "eat slugs" A loud bang echoed through the stadium, a green ray shot out from the other end of the wand and hit me in the stomach. I fell and rolled on the grass. Holy shit, I forgot it was broken again!

"Ron, are you okay?" Hermione rushed over to me.

I wanted to answer her, opened my mouth and... belched deafeningly. Slugs fell out of his mouth. Bli-in! How could I forget about the condition of my wand?! The Sizerins roared with laughter.

Flint doubled over and would have collapsed on the grass if it hadn't been for the broom. Malfoy couldn't stand on his feet and was laughing on all fours, pounding the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors surrounded me, spewing out big shiny slugs. The sight was so unpleasant that no one dared to help me.

"Let's take him to Hagrid's it's not far" Harry turned to Hermione. She nodded bravely, and my friends grabbed me under the arms and pulled me to my feet.

"What's wrong, Harry? What happened? Is he sick? But you can cure him, right?" It was Colin, who had escaped from the podium and was dancing around Harry and Hermione.

I once again vomited inside out, and a new batch of slugs fell out of my mouth.

"Wow!" Colin exclaimed enthusiastically and brought the camera up to his eyes. "Harry! Hold him for a second!"

I'll definitely break his camera someday. Or just curse?

"Get out of my way, Colin!" Harry asked angrily. Or maybe just give him a punch in the eye so he knows what can and can't be filmed? I was led out of the stadium towards the Forbidden Forest.

"We're almost there, Ron," Hermione encouraged me, spotting the ranger's cottage between the trees. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes... you'll feel better right away..."

When the house was about five meters away, the door swung open. But it wasn't the owner who appeared: Gilderoy Lockhart strode out of the door, dressed this time in a lilac robe.

"This way," Harry whispered, pushing me behind a nearby bush. Hermione didn't follow us very willingly.

"It's very simple, you just need to know what to do!" Lockhart explained to Hagrid in a professorial tone. "If you need any help, you know where to find me! I'll send you my book. It's strange that you still don't have it. I'll sign it tonight and send it over. Goodbye!" Lockhart strode off in the direction of the castle.

Harry waited until he was out of sight, then led me out from behind the bushes and hurried to the door. We all pounded on the door.

Hagrid opened it immediately, looking clearly displeased. But when he saw us on the porch, he blossomed.

"Where have you gone? Come in, come in! I thought it was Professor Lockhart back...."

Harry and Hermione dragged me into Hagrid's only room, which served as a bedroom, living room, and dining room. There was a huge bed against one wall, and a cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace. Harry sat me down in a chair and hurriedly began telling Hagrid what had happened to me, but the giant didn't seem bothered by the slug story.

"It's better to let them climb out than sit inside", He cheerfully declared, placing a large copper basin in front of me. "Come on, Ron, don't be shy."

I bent over the basin. I probably should have gone to Madam Pomfrey, but then I thought about how long she would lock me in the med wing and decided to put up with it. I was so caught up in trying to contain the slugs that I completely forgot about the sandwiches for Harry.

"Perhaps we can only wait for it to stop by itself?" Hermione asked worriedly. "It's not an easy spell to break, especially if the wand is broken...."

Hagrid was bustling around, setting the table for tea. Wolfhound Fang came up to Harry, put his head on his lap and immediately slobbered all over his robes.

"What did Lockhart want from you, Hagrid?" Harry asked, scratching Fang behind the ears.

"He taught me how to clean a well of algae", Hagrid grumbled, removing the half-plucked rooster from the table and putting the kettle in its place.

"I don't know without him." He was talking about a ghost causing death. "It's like he, er-er kicked him out of somewhere. He was probably lying, ready to eat the kettle cover, yes!"

It wasn't like Hagrid. He never spoke ill of the Hogwarts professors. Hermione said, raising her voice a little:

"I think you're being unfair, Hagrid, Professor Dumbledore himself chose him to be professor of defense against the Dark Arts!"

"And who to choose from?" Hagrid replied, handing us a plate of molasses toffees. I suffered all the time, puking slugs over the basin. "Defense... you see... no one wants to teach. This position is cursed, they haven't held it for more than a year, yes! Okay, you'd better tell me", Hagrid asked, nodding in my direction. "Who was he trying to bewitch?"

"Malfoy. He called Hermione names. It was kind of rude, because everyone just got mad. He called my mom the same thing on the train."

"He called me a nasty name," I croaked, lifting my head from the basin. Beads of sweat stood out on my pale face. "Called her a mudblood"...

Feeling another bout of vomiting, I bent over the basin again. Hagrid turned purple with rage.

"Look, he bastard!" He roared, turning to Hermione.

"I do not know what that means," she said softly. "Of course, I understand, it's terribly rude...."

"This is the most vile insult." My head popped out over the table again.

"Mudbloods are those who were born into a Muggle family. Who doesn't have magical parents. There are some magicians who consider themselves the best. For example, the Malfoys. They boast that they have the purest blood in their veins." I sobbed and spat into the little slug's outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued: "Actually, it doesn't mean anything to almost all wizards. If you honor our traditions and customs, what difference does it make whether you come from a family of magicians or Muggles!" We're all human, except for laughing at magical creatures. The same Professor Flivik who inherited the magical properties of his goblin kin. I went on to say, "take Neville Logbottom, for example: the blood is much cleaner, and even the boiler can't set it straight. And Crab and Goyle, they're really dumb."

"And our Hermione can do anything! She knows... oh, no... All the spells!" Hagrid exclaimed proudly. "Well, that's an exaggeration, but she's really the smartest witch in our class."

Hermione blushed like a poppy at such praise.

"It's shameless to call people that," I said, wiping beads of sweat from my forehead with a trembling hand. "Dirty blood! It's about the blood! Yes, most wizards are half-breeds now. If we hadn't married Muggle-borns, we would all have died out long ago. But it's better not to marry Muggles. Kids can be squibs. It's just a matter of luck. And Muggles are afraid of us when they find out that the child is a magician."

Then I belched and disappeared under the table again.

"It's not your fault... this one... wanted to put a spell on him, Ron", Hagrid shouted, trying to cover the thud of the slugs falling into the basin. "It's even better that the wand didn't work. Go put a spell on Draco, Lucius Malfoy will immediately... come to school. And then expect trouble!"

They were silent.

"Harry," Hagrid suddenly turned to him, as if he remembered something, "I almost got offended here. You're the one who signs the photos. Didn't you sign it for me? Do you think I'm the worst?"

Harry was indignant. Yeah, he even unclenched his teeth after the toffee, and I thought he'd just sit there with his mouth glued shut. Hagrid's toffee should only be eaten warmed up, then they are not so viscous.

"I didn't sign any photos," he exclaimed fervently. "And if Lockhart says..."

Hagrid laughed.

"I'm just kidding." The giant good-naturedly slapped Harry on the back, causing him to bump his face into the table. "Well, yes, I didn't sign it. That's what I told Lockhart: why the devil is Harry, he's already the most famous of them all."

"I don't think he liked it," Harry rubbed his bruised chin.

"The whole thing is skewed!" Hagrid replied, and his eyes twinkled with amusement. "And then I just blurt out that I haven't read his books at all. He jumped up and... uh... left. Would you like some toffee, Ron?"

So that the slugs will completely kill me?

"No, thanks." I ducked out from behind the desk. "It's better not to take any chances."

"Come and see what's growing here," Hagrid called after Harry and Hermione had finished their tea. Then we went out into the garden.

There were huge pumpkins on a small plot behind the house. Each was the size of a good boulder.

"Noble pumpkins, right?" Hagrid exclaimed. "It's for Halloween. They'll... er... swell up by then...."

"And what do you feed them?" Harry asked with interest. He told me that he was working on Aunt Petunia's garden. And she cleans the house. And they usually cook food together. But his aunt is always nagging at him.

"Well, you know... uh... I, yes... helped them...." Hagrid mumbled, making sure we were alone behind the house.

Hagrid's pink umbrella stood against the wall. We've noticed for a long time that the giant casts magic on them little by little when no one is watching. Officially, Hagrid had no right to use magic. He was expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, but we haven't been able to figure out why yet. Whenever they talked about it, Hagrid would start coughing absently, as if he had gone deaf, until Harry changed the subject. But for some reason they didn't take him to simpler schools.

"An Inflating spell, right?" Hermione's voice was full of reproach and admiration. "You did a great job on them."

"Your little sister liked it too," Hagrid nodded in my direction. "I saw her yesterday." Had she finally gotten out for a walk? Hagrid glanced at Harry and smiled through his beard. "She said she was, uh, admiring the surroundings, but I think she was, uh, expecting to meet someone at my place." And Hagrid winked at Harry. "And she wouldn't have refused the signed one"...

"Stop it!" Harry exclaimed.

I giggled, and the slugs fell into the garden. I wonder how Harry will react when he finds out that Colin has already taken a couple of dozen ordinary photos for her, in exchange for the twins' help in developing the photo? No, at first they tried to develop magical photos with Harry, but he just runs away from them. She's probably shy. It happens. But ordinary photos turn out to be normal.

"Be careful!" Hagrid growled and immediately dragged me away from the precious pumpkins.

It was almost lunchtime. We said goodbye to Hagrid and went to the castle. I hiccuped occasionally, but I seemed to have run out of slugs-I only regurgitated a couple of tiny ones the whole way.

As soon as we entered the lobby, we heard our last names.

"It's finally here, Potter, and the Weasleys." Professor McGonagall was approaching us. She looked very stern.

You will work out your punishments in the evening.

"What are we going to do, Professor?" I asked, stifling a burp.

"You, Weasley, will be cleaning the silver in the Hall of Honor under the supervision of Mr. Filch", Professor McGonagall replied. "And no magic, Weasley: you'll be working with your hands."

I took a deep breath. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was hated by every single Hogwarts student.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart - his fans have flooded him with letters."

"Not again! Can I also clean the silver in the Hall of Honor?" Harry sounded desperate.

"Of course not." Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Professor Lockhart asked you to help him. At eight o'clock sharp, and don't be late!"

The mood was ruined. Harry and I entered the Great Hall, hunched over, Hermione following us, her face clearly saying, "You shouldn't have broken the school rules!" We discussed our punishments while sitting at the table and having lunch.

"Filch will keep me up all night," I lamented. "And no magic! There are three hundred cups in this room! And I don't know how to use my hands like Muggles at all!"

"I'd love to trade with you," Harry said miserably. I've been practicing with the Dursleys. Reply to letters from Lockhart fans... It's just a nightmare!"

Is it interesting to him that he has never received letters from fans? And the parcels? It's weird. My sister definitely wrote to him.

As it turned out, Harry had not received any letters at all before the first letter from Hogwarts. And even now he doesn't receive letters from fans. Maybe there really is protection at his aunt's house?

Saturday afternoon melted away quickly. Before I knew it, the clock was already pointing at five minutes to eight. Harry staggered down the second-floor hallway to Lockhart's office. I went to Filch.

What a nightmare. Not only did he make me rub goblets without magic, but I also had another bout of slug eruption. Filch was finally satisfied with how I cleaned a certain Riddle's cup. Damn, I threw up on him a few times, I wish I'd gone to the hospital wing anyway. At least I had some sandwiches on my way back to the living room. Damn, my arm is cramping.

I stumbled into the room, supporting my right arm with my left. I smelled strongly of silver cleaner. Harry was already in the bedroom and seemed to be waiting for me.

"My arm is cramped," I moaned, falling onto the bed. "He made me polish the Quidditch Cup fourteen times! And when I was cleaning the Cup "For special services to the school," the slugs came out of me again, and I spent ages scrubbing the slime off it.... What about you and Lockhart?"

Lowering his voice so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry sat up in bed and told me about the disembodied voice that wanted to kill.

"And Lockhart said he hadn't heard anything?" I asked. Then he frowned. "Do you think he lied? But I don't understand... even invisible people open doors! Maybe it was a ghost? They say the same bloody baron likes to walk around the school invisible."

"Yes, of course," Harry replied, sinking back onto the pillow. "I don't understand anything either."

Chapter 6 The death of Headless Nick.

October came, cold and dampness flooded the surroundings, made their way into the castle. Madam Pomfrey was constantly busy now- the whole school was coughing and sneezing. Her "Bouncy Pepper Potion" worked instantly, and everything would have been fine if it hadn't been for the side effect.: for those who took the tincture, smoke poured out of their ears for three hours. My sister looked sluggish and haggard. Percy even took her to the hospital ward and forced her to drink this drug. He probably suffers because the moon is on another house. Although after I set her up with Creevey, she seemed to have more fun.

Heavy raindrops pounded on the castle windows for a week without a break. The lake overflowed its banks, the flower beds turned into a muddy mess, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of a carriage. But none of this dampened Oliver Wood's enthusiasm. The training continued. I was even glad I wasn't on the Quidditch team. Just playing is one thing, but playing Quidditch professionally is not. I don't need such happiness.

It was raining again today, and my friend had a workout. He came back kind of excited and rushed to change clothes as usual. After finally changing into clean, dry clothes, Harry joined us in the Common Room. After that, he told about the request of Headless Nick.

"A death anniversary party?" Hermione asked with interest. "I bet very few living people can boast that they were at such a reception. It's probably going to be amazing! And it would occur to you to celebrate the anniversary of your own death! I shook my head disapprovingly. It would have been better if we had gone to the great hall for the celebration. But since Harry promised, what can you do? I've been doing my potions homework, and it's always been depressing for me. Knowing which potion is made for what and how to use it is one thing, I need it. But I probably won't need to cook it, except for the most necessary potions like hematopoietic and pericarp. I will buy the same bonfire ready-made. I will buy the same bone growth ready-made. As well as a set of antidotes and strengthening potions.

In my opinion, it will be a mortal melancholy.... Outside, rain was lashing at the slate-black panes, but the room was bright and cozy. A bright fire was burning in the fireplace. The students, sitting in upholstered chairs, read, talked, and did their homework. Fred and George were setting up an experiment: what happens if you feed Dr. Firecracker's sparkler to a salamander? In the magical creature care room, Fred had "released" a bright orange lizard from its confinement, and now it was steaming on a table surrounded by a bunch of curious people.

The salamander suddenly soared up and spun wildly around the room, crackling loudly and scattering sparks. Orange stars fell from her mouth, there was a slight explosion, and the salamander, engulfed in flames, disappeared. Damn, it looks like she's dead. Having dispersed the people, Percy shouted hoarsely at the twins.

The whole school was looking forward to the Halloween banquet. The great hall was traditionally decorated with live bats and lanterns made from huge Hagrid pumpkins - each pumpkin could fit three people! Rumor had it that Dumbledore had invited a troupe of dancing skeletons to the party. They usually stay in their necropolis cities and don't go out into the Earthly world. They don't like the magical background.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione told Harry adamantly when he mentioned his unwillingness to attend the birthday party. "You promised Nick you'd go to his anniversary party.

Boys, let's take some food with us for dinner. I read that ghosts never have fresh food on their birthday.

At exactly seven o'clock in the evening, Harry, Hermione, and I walked past the Great Hall, where candles shone invitingly and golden dishes glittered on the tables. We overcame the temptation and headed for the stairs leading down to the basements.

I wanted to go to the great hall for food, but there was only a pumpkin. I wanted to go to the great hall for food, but there was only a pumpkin. The couple of sandwiches I made for lunch won't be enough for me. Well, maybe we'll be back in time for dessert. They entered a corridor that led to a large underground room, the one where Nick was hosting his reception. The hallway was lit by candles, which made it even darker. Long, thin, black candles burned with a bright blue flame, and in their ghostly light we ourselves looked like ghosts. The hallway was getting colder with every step. Suddenly, a deafening sound touched our ears, as if thousands of nails were scratching on a giant blackboard at the same time.

"Is that music?" I whispered in horror. That grating got to my bones.

We turned the corner and saw an almost Headless Nick wrapped in black velvet. Hmm, he changed his clothes, and I didn't know that ghosts could do that. Nick hovered at the entrance to the hall, greeting the approaching guests. Welcome, dear friends," Nick said in a mournful tone as we approached. Welcome! I am so glad that you have honored me with your visit. He took off his feathered hat and invited us inside with a low bow.

An incredible sight presented itself to our eyes. The underground hall was filled with hundreds of ghosts. Pearl-white transparent couples waltzed on the dance floor to the heart-rending sound of thirty musical saws. They were played by musicians in black velvet standing on the stage. Such imposing skeletons in black clothes and tools painted black. A giant candelabrum hung from the ceiling, and a thousand candles flooded the hall with midnight blue light. The room was as cold as a freezer, and thick steam was pouring out of our mouths. It's good that we thought to wear warm trousers and sweaters under our robes.

"Shall we take a walk around the hall?" Harry suggested.

"Be careful, you just don't have to go through any of the guests." I nervously remarked, and we, carefully looking around, rushed forward along the edge of the dance floor.

They walked past a group of gloomy nuns, past a ragged man in chains, past a Fat Monk, the cheerful ghost of a Halfpuff, past a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. I noticed that the ghosts were avoiding the Bloody Baron, the ghost of the Slytherin dungeon. He was a thin man with bulging eyes, wrapped in a robe, on which bloodstains shimmered silvery.

"You are welcome!" Hermione whispered, freezing in place. "Turn around, and quickly. I really don't want to talk to Myrtle the Crybaby right now...."

"With whom, with whom?" Harry asked as we turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

"It's a ghost from the girls' bathroom on the second floor," Hermione replied.

"A ghost from the bathroom?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Hermione, nodding. "The toilet has not been working for a year now because Myrtle is constantly crying and flooding the room."

"Personally, I only go there if absolutely necessary. You go into the booth on your own, and there Myrtle sees you and starts crying...."

Oh, the grub! Maybe it's not that bad?

"Look, the banquet table!" I interrupted her.

There was indeed a long table against the opposite wall, also covered with black velvet. We, who had managed to get pretty hungry, swallowed our saliva and picked up our pace. A sickening smell touched our sense of smell, a minute, two - and we saw the treat itself and stopped dead. Large rotten fish stretched out on beautiful silver platters, black-burnt cupcakes were piled on trays, a tripe of mutton stuffed with giblets, teeming with fat white worms, rested on a large plate, next to a huge piece of cheese covered in fluffy green mold. In the center of the table is a giant birthday cake in the shape of a tombstone, on it is written in black sugar letters: "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Delphington. He died on October 31, 1492."

An impressive-sized ghost approached the table, bent down and moved forward, passing through the table in such a way that for a moment a rotten salmon fell into his wide-open mouth.

"Do you feel the taste of food if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," the ghost replied sadly and sauntered away.

I think they deliberately let the food go rotten so that the smell and taste would be stronger. Hermione stated confidently, clutching her nose with her hands and bending down to examine the half-decomposed mutton tripe more closely. Damn, and she's not disgusted? It's impossible to breathe there. There are also worms. Brr.

"Let's get out of here, I'm sick," I said, turning pale.

Before we could turn away from the table, a small man suddenly flew out from under it and hovered in front of us in the air.

"Hello, Peeves," Harry said cautiously.

Unlike ghosts, the poltergeist was neither pale nor transparent. He was wearing a bright orange paper hat and a rotating bow tie around his neck. There was a wide grin on his ugly face.

"Peanuts?" He offered, handing us a bowl filled with rancid peanuts.

"No, thanks," Hermione shook her head.

"I heard you talking about poor Myrtle." The poltergeist's eyes danced with unfriendly lights. "You were very rude about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed: "Hey, Myrtle!"

"Don't, Peeves, don't tell her what I said about her, she'll be very upset", Hermione whispered desperately. "That's not what I wanted to say, I don't mind at all... uh, hello, Myrtle!"

A plump ghost of a teacher floated up to us. The girl's face was half hidden by long disheveled hair and thick glasses that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. I've never seen such a sad expression on his face in my life.

"Well?" she asked gloomily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione asked in a mock cheerful tone. "I'm really glad to see you off the toilet."

Myrtle sneezed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you." Peeves whispered sarcastically in Myrtle's ear.

"I told... I told..." Hermione began uncertainly "How well you look today."

Hermione scowled at the poltergeist. Myrtle looked at Hermione in disbelief.

"You're making fun of me," she said. Silver tears glistened in her small transparent eyes.

"No, honestly!" Hermione retorted hotly, elbowing Harry painfully in the side, then me. "Didn't I tell you that Myrtle looks great today?"

"Y-yes..." said Harry.

"That's exactly what she said", I agreed, wincing at the elbow.

"Don't lie to me!"

Myrtle exhaled, bursting into tears, and Peeves clicked his tongue merrily over her shoulder.

"Do you think I do not know what they are saying about me behind my back? Fat Myrtle, that's what they say! Ugly Myrtle! Curly-haired crybaby Myrtle!"

"And you forgot pimple Myrtle," Peeves hissed in her ear.

Myrtle, the crybaby, burst into inconsolable sobs and stormed out of the basement. Her assailant raced after her, pelting the ghost with rotten nuts and shouting loudly:

"Pimply! Pimply!"

"Poor thing," Hermione sighed sadly.

I wonder how she floods the toilet? Ghosts usually can't interact with the physical world. Through the crowd, we noticed an almost Headless Nick swimming towards us.

"How do you like it?" Nick asked kindly.

"Very much," the three of us lied together.

"Almost everyone invited came," Nick proudly remarked, "The Weeping Widow came from Kent itself... The time for my speech is approaching, I'll go warn the orchestra."

But before Nick could move, the orchestra suddenly stopped. The musicians and guests fell silent. The sound of a hunting horn was heard.

"It's them," said Nearly Headless Nick bitterly.

Ten ghostly horses, each with a headless rider, flew through the wall into the dungeon. The audience applauded loudly. I looked at them gloomily, yeah, and why the hell did Nick invite them? The audience applauded loudly. I looked at them gloomily, yeah, and why the hell did Nick invite them? Oh, yes, so that Harry could convince them to accept him into their ranks. Harry started clapping too, but stopped when he noticed Nick's sad face.

The horses galloped to the middle of the dance floor and stopped, rearing up and digging the floor with their hooves. The procession was led by a tall ghost holding a head under his arm, which blew a horn, puffing out his cheeks. He jumped off his horse and threw his bearded head high into the air, so that she could see everyone gathered. The guests laughed together. The headless ghost put his head in its natural place and quickly rushed towards the Almost Headless

"Nick. Nick!" he thundered. "How are you? Is your head still hanging by a thread?"

He laughed loudly and slapped the Nearly Headless Nick on the shoulder.

"Welcome, Patrick," Nick greeted him with restraint.

"Oh, the living!" Sir Patrick exclaimed, spotting Harry, me, and Hermione. He jumped high in feigned surprise, so that his head flew off his shoulders again. The audience roared with laughter.

"It's a lot of fun," said Nearly Headless Nick gloomily.

"Stop it, Nick!" Sir Patrick's head shouted from the floor. "Nick is still upset that we didn't accept him into the Club! I can explain, take a look at it"...

"Yes, take a look!" Harry picked up, "Isn't it true that Nick has a menacing, intimidating look..."

"I looked at Nick and my friend skeptically. Yeah. I wouldn't have believed it."

"Ha!" the head lying on the floor exclaimed. "I'll bet my horse that Nick set you up."

"Please pay attention! I'd like to make a speech." Almost headless Nick approached the stage, flew up onto it and fell right into a beam of bluish-icy light.

"My deceased, grieved relatives and friends, ladies and gentlemen," He began. "It is with great regret that I want to inform you..."

However, no one listened to him. Sir Patrick and the members of the Bounty Hunters Club were playing hockey, and the guests, who were passionate about the game, forgot about Nick.

Nearly headless Nick tried in vain to get their attention back, but gave up when Sir Patrick's head floated past him to loud applause and gave him a sly wink. I felt terribly cold, and my empty stomach was making itself felt. Well, Hermione warned us about the food at lunch and we stocked up on sandwiches.

"Whatever you want, but I can't stay here any longer." I said, my teeth chattering from the cold.

The orchestra started playing again, and the ghosts rushed to the dance floor.

"Let's get out of here," Harry agreed.

We backed toward the door, nodding and smiling left and right. A minute later, we were hurrying up the stairs, lit by black candles.

"Maybe we can at least make it to dessert." I said hopefully, my stomach rumbling.

Harry stumbled and leaned against the cold wall to steady himself. He looked around and stared intently into the dimly lit corridor.

"Harry, what's the matter with you?" I started, but Harry cut me off.

"That voice again! Be quiet for a minute..."

I listened carefully. It seems quiet. Only the water is dripping somewhere.

"Do you hear that?" Harry asked.

Hermione and I froze, not taking our eyes off him.

Harry looked up and stared at the dark ceiling.

"Hurry up!" Harry shouted and ran up the steps leading to the hall.

Harry rushed to the marble staircase and raced up to the second floor, Hermione and I keeping pace with him.

"Harry, what are you..." I began, panting from running.

Harry strained his ears. "It's going to kill someone!"

He shouted and, ignoring our confused faces, rushed up again. He took the stairs three at a time.

"Harry, what's the matter?" I asked, panting. "I don't hear anything."...

On the third floor, Harry raced down the hallway again, turning left and right. Hermione and I kept up, breathing heavily. No need to run and generally pump your muscles, you need to. But the robe is not very suitable for this. I need to write home, let my mother send Bili's old things. He also ran outside.

Hermione suddenly screamed: something was shining ahead. We hurried there, looking around. Words were written in huge letters on the wall between two windows, glistening in the torchlight with red paint:

"THE SECRET ROOM IS OPEN AGAIN. TREMBLE, ENEMIES OF THE HEIR!"

I took a closer look. There was something gray hanging against the wall. And what is this... What's that hanging under the sign? I asked with a trembling voice. They approached cautiously. Harry slipped - a large puddle of water had spilled onto the floor from somewhere. Hermione and I caught him before he could fall. We looked at the object hanging under the ominous words, which seemed like a gloomy shadow from a distance, and were stunned - it was Mrs. Norris, the school caretaker's cat, and we immediately recognized her. The three of us rushed back, splashing water from nowhere. The petrified cat was suspended by its tail from a torch bracket. His bulging eyes were wide open. We stared at her for a few seconds, not moving, not saying a word. Okay, we need to get out of here before anyone notices us. I was the first to find my voice.

"Let's get out of here," I said.

"But we must try to do something... to help her somehow...." Harry began lamely.

Damn, he's playing the hero again. If we get caught here, everyone will think that we were joking.

"We'd better get out of here right now. Maybe someone will see us here!"

I tried to reach his mind. But it was too late. A multitude of voices could be heard from afar, which meant that the banquet was over. The footsteps of dozens of feet were approaching us from one side of the corridor. The cheers of cheerful, well-fed girls and boys could be heard. A moment later, we were surrounded by a festive crowd. But as soon as the first people who came up saw the hanging cat, silence immediately reigned in the corridor. Harry, Hermione, and I found ourselves alone in the center of the circle - no one dared approach us, even though there were curious people pressing in from behind, everyone wanted to know what had happened here.

"Tremble, enemies of the heir!" Someone shouted loudly. "The cat comes first - the next ones will be those with unclean blood in their veins!"

It was Draco Malfoy. He pushed his way through the crowd, his always cold eyes came alive, a blush played on his pale face. Looking at the frozen cat, he smiled wryly.

Chapter 7 The Secret Room is open again.

"What's going on here? Ar?" Argus Filch pushed through the crowd when he heard Malfoy, but at the sight of his cat, he backed away and clutched his head in horror. "What's wrong with my cat? What?" He screamed, his eyes bulging.

And then he noticed Harry.

"It's you! You killed my cat!" screamed Filch. "I'll kill you myself... oh, you..."

He rushed to his friend, pushing through the crowd.

"Calm down, Argus."

McGonagall put a reassuring hand on the caretaker's shoulder. Dumbledore appeared, accompanied by several professors. Strutting past the three of us, he carefully removed Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket. Come with me, Argus. You too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger. Lockhart, beaming, approached Dumbledore.

"My office is the closest, Mr. Director, right up the stairs. Come to my place..."

"Thank you, Gilderoy," the director replied.

"The crowd silently parted." Lockhart, proud and pleased, hurried after Dumbledore, followed by Professors McGonagall and Snape. Filch, looking at the cat in the director's arms, brought up the rear.

As soon as we entered the office, portraits of Lockhart ran off the walls, all with their hair in curlers. The lively Lockhart lit candles on his desk and moved away, giving way to Dumbledore, who put the cat on the table and began to study it carefully. Harry, Hermione, and I exchanged glances and sat down on chairs away from the light. Dumbledore was gently feeling Mrs. Norris, almost touching her fur with the tip of his hooked nose, on which half-glasses sat. Professor McGonagall was also leaning over the cat, squinting like Dumbledore. Snape retreated into the shadows, a faint smile curling his lips. Lockhart paced around the office, making guess after guess.

"The cat was definitely killed by a spell. Most likely, Transmogrifian torture. I've seen it work so many times! It's a pity that I wasn't around: I know the opposite spell. I would have saved the cat....

Filch was sitting in a chair next to the desk, helplessly pressing his hands to his face and sobbing after every word Lockhart said.; He didn't have the courage to look at Mrs. Norris. Dumbledore kept whispering, tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but in vain, the cat showed no signs of life, just like an artfully made scarecrow.

"To Ouagadougou," Lockhart continued as he walked, "There have been several similar cases in a row, they are described in detail in my biography. I remember handing out a few amulets, and the disaster stopped...."

The returned portraits of Lockhart on the walls nodded their heads in agreement, one of them forgot to remove the hairnet from his hair.

Finally Dumbledore straightened up and said thoughtfully:

"She's alive, Argus." - Well, thank Merlin. This bastard won't try to kill Harry. I'd like to convince him that we didn't do it. Lockhart paused in disappointment: who's going to listen to how many murders he's managed to prevent now?

"Is she alive?" Filch said faintly, spreading his fingers and looking at Mrs. Norris. "But... but she's stiff."

"Numb," Dumbledore corrected.

"It's as clear as day!" Lockhart interjected.

"From what, I don't know yet...."

"That's who knows!" Filch took his hands away from his tear-stained face and stared at Harry. What had his friend done to him?

"A second-year student can't do that," said Dumbledore, "We are dealing with the most sophisticated black magic...."

"It's him, it's him," Filch yelled, sputtering and blushing. "You saw what he wrote on the wall. He found it in my room...."

Filch paused shyly. Then I finally decided to say

"He knows I'm... I'm... he knows I'm a squib", Completely embarrassed, he said softly.

Yeah, well, yes. I've never seen him do magic. And why did they take him to a magic school? Even brownies don't obey him.

"I didn't lay a finger on Mrs. Norris," Harry said firmly. Everyone, even the Lockharts on the walls, looked at him reproachfully. "I've never even heard of squibs." I told him about my mom's cousin. Or did he not understand?

"Don't lie!" Filch got angry. "You've seen my Correspondence Course in Witchcraft for Beginners."

"Mr. Director, let me say," Snape's voice came from the shadows. "Potter and his friends, of course, could have accidentally turned up at the crime scene", He started and smiled, as if he didn't believe his own words. "But here's the strange thing: why did they come up into this corridor at all? And why did they leave the ghost festival?"

"All the ghosts saw us there...." The three of us defended ourselves with one voice.

"Yes, but why did you leave anyway?" Snape was asking, candlelight dancing in his black eyes. "Why did you have to go upstairs?"

Hermione and I looked at Harry. It would be better if he didn't talk about that voice. They'll also take you for a psycho.

"We... we..." he hesitated.

"We were very tired and wanted to sleep." I said quickly.

"What about dinner?" A malicious smile curved Snape's thin face. "There doesn't seem to be anything edible at ghost parties."

"We took sandwiches to the bedroom for lunch," I said to the plaintive accompaniment of my stomach. Snape grinned.

"In my opinion, Mr. Headmaster, Potter is clearly hiding something. Punish him and he will tell the truth. I would expel him from the Gryffindor team."

"Come on, Severus," Professor McGonagall intervened, "just expel it right away!"

"You didn't hit a cat on the head with a broomstick. And there's no evidence at all that Potter took her life."

Dumbledore was staring at Harry intently.

"He's innocent, Severus. The opposite has not yet been proven." Dumbledore reminded Professor Snape.

Snape trembled with barely suppressed indignation. Still angry that we weren't expelled. Filch's eyes bulged again.

"My cat is petrified! He must be punished!" he yelled.

"We'll disenchant your cat, Argus", the director reassured Filch. "Professor Sprout has mandrakes. When they grow up, we'll make a potion and revive Mrs. Norris."

"I'll make this medicine," Lockhart persisted. "I have a lot of experience! I can make living water from mandrakes with my eyes closed...."

"Allow me," Snape replied coldly, "but I think I'm a potions expert at school." There was an awkward silence. I was glad that Snape had sent Lockhart. I wouldn't want that peacock to poison anyone. Even Filch's cat.

"You are dismissed," Dumbledore dismissed us.

Harry, Hermione, and I almost ran out of Lockhart's office and went upstairs to lock ourselves in the classroom. We're depressed. Damn, but now everyone thinks that we bewitched the cat. Harry looked at us sideways.

Do you think I should have told you about the voice?

"Of course not," I replied. "If you see a voice, it's a bad sign, even in the magical world."

"But do you believe me?"

"Of course, it's just... you know... it's all weird...."

"I know it's weird," Harry replied. "And then there are these words on the wall. "THE SECRET ROOM IS OPEN AGAIN." What do they mean?"

"I think I've already heard from someone about the Secret Room at Hogwarts...." I drawled, "It's not from Bill, it's not..."

"And what is a squib?" Harry asked. I just giggled.

"Of course, it's not funny, but Filch... Squibs are those who were born into a family of wizards, but have been deprived of magical powers since birth. It's like the Muggles are the other way around. Squibs are very rare. More precisely, they are very carefully hidden because it is a disgrace for a pure-blooded family. And half-breeds remain living in the Muggle world with a Muggle parent. And if Filch is learning magic from the book Witchcraft for Beginners, then he's probably really a squib. Now it's clear why he hates the students so much.... I really feel sorry for him." And I smiled sympathetically. Mom's cousin is well settled in the Muggle world and doesn't even think about magic, but Filch constantly sees an example of what he himself is deprived of. Horror. Why didn't they put him in the Muggle world at all, because that's what all the old wizarding families do?

A clock struck somewhere.

"It's midnight," Harry hurried, "hurry up to the bedroom, otherwise Snape will come and cling to something again."

I took the sandwich I hadn't eaten before dinner out of my pocket and took half a bite at once. Damn, I'm hungry, so my stomach is grumbling.

"Here, take mine," Harry handed me his half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich.

"Thanks Harry, I don't feel like eating. Maybe persuade the twins to go to the kitchen to get food?"

***

For several days, there was nothing but talk about Mrs. Norris, and all because of Filch. He was hovering around the place where his cat had been bewitched, as if he was waiting for the culprit. I tried in vain to erase the writing on the wall with the help of "Mrs. Chistix's Universal Magic Stain Remover." He hid in the hallways, attacking schoolchildren, looking for a chance to punish them for "breathing too loudly" or "looking too happy." My sister wasn't herself after the accident with Filch's cat.

If it weren't for Percy the rat, who has been living with us for the eleventh year, we would have gotten a cat a long time ago.

"But you didn't know Mrs. Norris at all", I reassured her, "it's even better without her. Well, don't worry." Ginny's lips trembled at those words. She loves cats very much," I explained to my friends. But we already have a Skabbers living with us, so Mom won't let her have one of her own. This has never happened here. They'll catch this psycho and get him out of here, you can be sure of that. It would just be nice if he could put a Daze on Filch first.

Ginny suddenly turned pale.

"A joke! I hastened to add." Damn, he meant well, but it looks like he scared her even more.

Hermione was also unsettled. She had always loved to read, and now she was completely immersed in books. No matter how hard Harry and I tried to find out what was going on with her, it was all in vain. Her behavior only became clearer on Wednesday. After potions class, Snape left Harry to scrape test tube worms off the tables. In general, he likes to exploit Harry during work sessions or just detaining him after class, while simultaneously lecturing him on how to make potions or walking around his bully father. We went to the library, where we waited for him.

I was sitting at the far end of the library, measuring my magic history homework: Professor Beans had given me a meter-long essay on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards." It's strange, he usually talks about goblins. Have you decided to give something about wizards? So, we need to add something else.

"It's just a problem," I said, putting the tape measure away. The scroll immediately rolled up. "It's missing as much as twenty centimeters... And Hermione scribbled, and even in small handwriting, as much as one and a half meters."

"And where is she?" Harry asked, picked up the tape measure and unfolded his essay.

"There." I waved my hand at the long rows of bookshelves. "He's looking for a book. She probably decided to set a record by reading the entire library by Christmas."

Harry told me how Justin Finch-Fletchley shied away from him. I was trying to finish my essay at the time.

"So what!" I replied, writing the last few centimeters with a flourish. "Justin is a famous jerk. He even worships Lockhart...."

Hermione popped out from behind the shelves, clearly upset.

"The whole "Hogwarts Story" has been given out," she said indignantly and, sitting down with us, added: ""Sign up and wait two weeks"! I managed to leave her at home! And all because of the Lockhart books: I just couldn't fit in my suitcase...."

Hmm, is she disappointed with them? Well, if so.

"Why do you need the Hogwarts Story?" Harry asked curiously.

"Because that's why everyone needs it. Read the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."

"What kind of Room is this?"

Harry asked. I had already stopped thinking about her, all my attention was occupied by the damn essay.

"There is this legend in the "History"", Hermione bit her lip, "but not in the other books. I don't remember her at all...."

He can promote a friend to her job, there are only 5 centimeters left. But there is no time to search for information anymore.

"Hermione, and Hermione," I looked at my watch in despair, "let me read your essay."

"And don't ask!" Hermione asked angrily. "What have you been doing for ten days?"

"I have only five centimeters left. What do you feel sorry for?"

The bell rang, and we ran to wizarding history; Hermione and I argued the whole way. It's a pity to let her write off 5 centimeters. I did the rest myself. Damn, Binns will lower the score.

It was the most depressing thing I've ever seen. The lectures were given by Professor Binns, the only ghost teacher in the whole school. It was boring, but it was fun-Mr. Beans came to class right from the blackboard. It was said that this ancient morel did not even notice how he died: he went to class one day, and the body remained sitting by the fireplace in the staff room.

Today, as always, Professor Beans opened his notes and let's creak like an unpainted cart; The class soon fell into a doze, and occasionally someone would wake up, write down a name or date, and go back to sleep. I didn't even try to record after him. Anyway, the Bagshot textbook is much more interesting, and the main thing is not only about goblin wars. No, I understand that you need to know the enemy, but you don't have to talk about them all the time. He had been creaking like this for half an hour, and suddenly something out of the ordinary happened: Hermione raised her hand.

Professor Beans looked up from his notebook in surprise, he had just reached the middle of a mournful lecture on the International Convention of Wizards of 1289.

"Yes, Miss... uh..."

"Granger, the professor. I wanted to ask you about the Chamber of Secrets", Hermione spoke clearly.

Dean Thomas, who was staring blankly out the window, came to his senses; Lavender Brown, who was lying on her desk with her arms crossed and her head resting on them, started up; Neville took his hands off the desk altogether.

Professor Beans blinked.

"My subject is the history of magic," He rasped hoarsely on one note. "I, Miss Granger, deal with facts, not myths and legends." Beans cleared his throat dryly, as if he had broken a stick of chalk, and continued: "In September of this year, the subcommittee of Magicians of Sardinia..."

He stumbled again as Hermione raised her hand again.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"But, sir, every legend is based on facts, right?"

Professor Binns was so stunned that it seemed to me that no one had ever asked him anything, either during his lifetime or after his death. Professor Binns was so stunned that it seemed to me that no one had ever asked him anything, either during his lifetime or after his death.

"Well," Beans drawled, looking at Hermione as if he'd never seen her before. "Perhaps you're right. However, the legend you asked about is pure nonsense, fiction, I would even say...."

But there was nowhere to go, the whole class pricked up their ears. Beans looked around the students absently: dozens of eyes stared at him questioningly.

"Well, that's good." Beans was even taken aback. "Let me remember..."

The Chamber of Secrets... um, um... the Room of Secrets... you all know that Hogwarts School was founded more than a thousand years ago - the exact date is unknown - by four of the greatest magicians and sorceresses of their time. Our faculties bear their names. Godric Gryffindor, Penelope Halfpuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, away from the eyes of meticulous Muggles: at that time, ordinary people were afraid of magic, so wizards and witches had to hide." He looked unseeingly at the students and continued: "For quite a long time they lived in friendship and harmony, they looked for capable young people and taught them how they could at this very school. Well, then Slytherin and the others had a big fight. Slytherin required very strict selection. He believed that the secrets of magic should be kept in the families of pure-blooded wizards. He didn't trust Muggles, because they turned over pureblood magicians to the Inquisition, and they often burned at the stake. Eventually, Slytherin and Gryffindor fell out completely, and Slytherin left the school." Professor Binns pursed his lips, making his face look like the face of an old wrinkled turtle. "That's all the chronicles tell us. But over time, the legend of the Chamber of Secrets overshadowed the facts. They started saying that Slytherin had made a secret room in the castle. That's how the myth originated. According to him, before leaving school, Slytherin put a spell seal on the Room. Since then, no one can enter it, only the heir of Slytherin will remove the spell, release the Horror trapped in the Room and expel those who are unworthy to study magical arts from school with his help.

Beans finished speaking, and a tense silence fell over the class. The students stared at the ghost, waiting for him to continue, but Beans was tired of this nonsense.

"All this, of course, is a myth. They were looking for a room, and more than once; The most knowledgeable witches and magicians were looking for it. The room does not exist. It's just a scary tale for fools.

Hermione raised her hand again.

"Sir, what is this, "horror trapped in a Room"?"

"Legend has it that this is a monster that will obey only the heir of Slytherin," Professor Beans explained in a dry, rustling voice "something snakelike, because all Slytherins were snake-eaters."

The students looked at each other in fright.

"Don't be afraid, there is no Room." Professor Binns shuffled his papers. "No room, no monster."

"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "you're saying that only the real heir to Slytherin can open the room. Doesn't that mean that no one will find her until he shows up?"

"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," Professor Binns said angrily. "This Room is not there. If not a single headmaster has found it...."

I wonder if Binns can't remember the names, or if Seamus looks so much like his ancestor that the prof is confused?

"Sorry, Professor," squeaked Parvati Patil, "maybe we just need black magic here, but we don't have black magicians."

"Just because a wizard doesn't use black magic, Miss Pennyfeather, doesn't mean he doesn't have it", Beans raised his voice. "I repeat: if Dumbledore's predecessors... The same director is Nigelus Black..."

"But maybe you need to be related to Slytherin, but the director..." Dean Thomas started, but Professor Beans lost his temper.

"That's enough of this!" He snapped. "It's all a myth, a fairy tale, a legend. Bear in mind: There is no room. As there is not the slightest evidence that Slytherin even set up a secret closet in the castle. I'm sorry I told you this stupid story. And let's get back to the true story, to solid, reliable, verified facts."

Less than five minutes later, the class was sleepy again.

"Salazar Slytherin was clearly nuts" I declared after the lesson. Harry, Hermione, and I made our way through the crowd to our tower, hurried to leave our backpacks there and go to dinner. "So that's who, it turns out, started this mess with blood purity. I wouldn't go to his house for anything. If the Hat had assigned me to him, I wouldn't have hesitated to go home to another simpler school. Well, or transferred to Beauxbatons."

Hermione nodded understandingly, but Harry remained silent.

We bumped into Colin Creevey in the crowd.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hello, Colin," Harry replied.

"Harry, a boy in my class said that you..."

But the crowd picked him up and carried him further into the Great Hall. Tiny, light Colin still managed to shout from afar: "Bye, Harry!" and disappeared from sight.

"What did the boy in his class say?" Hermione asked.

"I'm probably the heir to Slytherin." Harry said gloomily.

"What they won't make up!" I grimaced. Damn, there are already rumors. The end of last year wasn't enough for us, I thought gloomily.

There were fewer people on the spiral staircase in the tower.

"Do you really think there's a Secret Room?" I asked Hermione.

"Who knows?" Hermione frowned. "Dumbledore couldn't revive Mrs. Norris, and I think it wasn't a human who put her under a spell. - Beyond the next turn of the stairs was the hallway where Mrs. Norris had been found. Everything was as before, except there was no cat on the torch bracket, and there was a chair against the wall where the words "THE SECRET ROOM IS OPEN AGAIN" were emblazoned.

"Filch set it up. He's on duty here," I explained.

The hallway was empty now. The three of us exchanged glances. Let's look for it! Maybe there are some footprints here," Harry suggested, dropping his backpack and getting down on all fours. "Here's a charred spot! And so..."

"Come and take a look," Hermione laughed.

Harry got up and walked over to the window closest to the writing on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the top glass: a line of spiders was hurrying along it towards a barely noticeable crack. Behind her, a long silvery spider web waved like a wisp of smoke. The spiders were clearly in a hurry to get out.

Pancake. The spiders. The spiders! Alive! I backed away. And then he turned away altogether so as not to see them.

"What's the matter with them? I've never seen anything like it," said Hermione.

"Me too," Harry added, "and you, Ron? Eh, Ron?"

Harry turned to me.

"What are you?" Harry asked.

"I'm... afraid of spiders," I managed to say, staring at the inscription on the wall. Really? Hermione was surprised. "But you've made potions out of them a thousand times."...

"Dried spiders are still nothing. But the living ones..."

I was afraid to even turn my head in their direction. Hermione giggled.

"It's not funny," I snapped. - When I was three years old, I broke the shaft of Fred's toy broom, and he got angry and turned my teddy bear into a huge shaggy spider. He also bit me. I would have looked at you like that then..." I said, and I shuddered with disgust.

Hermione could barely contain her laughter. Harry, distracting me from the spiders, asked:

"Do you remember when there was water on the floor here? Where did it come from? Someone wiped it off afterwards."

"Remember. The water was at this door." I went to the door, held out my hand, and immediately pulled it back when I noticed the sign on the door.

"What are you?" Harry was surprised.

"You can't go there. This is a girls' bathroom."

"So what: it doesn't work." Hermione went to the door. "Myrtle the Crybaby lives here. Let's go take a look."

And, ignoring the sign saying "Toilet is not working," Hermione opened the door.

What a dreary and shabby toilet it was! A row of cracked stone washbasins stretched under a long, stained and stained mirror. The dimly burning candle ends were reflected in the wet floor; the paint on the doors of the booths was peeling and in some places hung in flakes, one door was dangling on a single hinge. Couldn't they have done the repairs here? Or does the ghost not let brownies in?

Hermione put her finger to her lips and walked to the last booth. Hello, Myrtle, how are you? Harry and I moved closer. Myrtle hovered over the tank, picking at a pimple on her chin. This is the girls' bathroom," Myrtle said, eyeing Harry and me suspiciously. And they're not girls. Well, yes," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how... nice it is here."

And she waved her hand at either the dim mirror or the wet floor. Ask her if she saw anything. Harry asked in a whisper.

"What are you whispering about?" Myrtle looked at Harry suspiciously.

"We're not whispering," Harry replied, "I just wanted to ask"...

"And why is everyone whispering behind my back?" Myrtle whimpered. "If I'm dead, can't I be offended?"

"No one meant to offend you, Myrtle," Hermione tried to reassure her, "Harry just..."

"Of course, no one meant to offend! I've suffered so much in my life. And here you are - it all started all over again."

"We just wanted to ask if you've seen anything unusual in the last few days." Hermione didn't wait to ask. "During the holiday, someone attacked a cat right in front of the door to your toilet."

"Maybe someone was here?" Harry added.

"I didn't see anyone," Myrtle replied ruefully. "I was so offended at the party that when I came back here, I wanted to strangle myself, but then I remembered that I... that I was..."

"She died," I helped.

Well, it looks like I shouldn't have said that. Myrtle sobbed miserably, flew over the open tank and dived straight into the toilet, spraying us from head to toe. Her muffled moans came from the tank. Harry and I gaped, and Hermione shrugged her shoulders in disappointment:

"By the way, this can be considered fun for Myrtle. Okay, let's get out of here." Before I could close the bathroom door behind me, from where I could hear gurgling sobs, someone from upstairs shouted loudly,

"Ron!" so we jumped: Percy was standing on the landing. What the fuck would he think of me?

"This is a girls' bathroom," he said through gritted teeth. "What were you doing there?"

"It's nothing special," I shrugged. "We were looking for evidence."

Percy put on a menacing look, just like our mother.

"Get out of here quickly..." He came down to us and, waving his arms, began to crowd us towards the stairs. "What does it look like!? Everyone's having dinner, and they're here again!"

"So what?" I stopped and held Percy's gaze. "We didn't even touch the cat!"

"I told Ginny the same thing. But she's still afraid that you'll be kicked out of school, and her eyes are wet all day. At least you thought about her!"

"What did you tell me about Ginny? You don't give a damn about her." My ears were on fire. "You're just afraid that they won't make you a school prefect because of it."

"Minus five points for Gryffindor." Percy, green with anger, fingered the prefect's badge. "This is a good lesson for you. And no more investigations! Otherwise I'll write to our mom."

Has he written yet? That asshole. It looks like I'm going to have to write, and it's worth writing about Bill's clothes. I think it's in our attic.

Percy turned and walked away, his neck as red as my ears.

In the Common Room, Harry, Hermione, and I sat down away from Percy. I put a few blotches on magic formulas in my homework, took a magic wand with a gloomy look - I wanted to bring them out and accidentally set fire to the scroll with the essay. The scroll burst into flames, and I went berserk too. Damn, now we have to rewrite everything. With a wave of my hand, I slammed the spell book shut. Hermione followed my example. Then she pulled my scroll towards her and waved her wand. The scroll was smoothed out, the traces of fire and blotches disappeared.

"Thank you Hermione. I sighed." I'd be sick of rewriting everything.

"Who attacked the cat anyway?" She asked softly, as if continuing an interrupted conversation. "Who needs a school without squibs and Muggleborns?"

Malfoy immediately comes to mind. And the other Slytherins are no better. But the problem is that the children of former Death Eaters study in the second and first years.

"Really, who could hate Muggleborns so much?" I answered the question with feigned perplexity.

"Are you talking about Malfoy?" Hermione looked at me questioningly.

"About whom else? You heard what he said, didn't you?: "You're next, mudbloods," remember? Look at his ratty face, I bet you a couple of galleons it's him...."

"Is Malfoy the heir to Slytherin? I can't believe it", Hermione interrupted me.

"And his family?" Now Harry has put down his books too. "They all went to Slytherin, and Malfoy talks about it all the time. Maybe they're all Slytherin relatives? Malfoy's father is definitely an evil wizard."

"The Malfoys could have kept the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries", I added, "and pass from father to son." They couldn't come to power with the Dark Lord, so now they've decided to mess with Muggleborns at school.

"Yes, it could be," said Hermione, not very confidently.

"But even if that's the case, you can't prove it," Harry frowned.

"There's one way," Hermione whispered, and cast a wary glance in Percy's direction. "However, he is very difficult and threatens a lot of trouble. This method is a violation of all school rules."

And how long is she going to delay this method? By the way, is it better for me and Harry not to break the rules at all, or has she forgotten about it?

"In three or four weeks, when you're ready, tell us your way," I quipped. "Just keep in mind that if Harry and I get caught, we'll be kicked out of school."

"It's already ripe," Hermione replied calmly. "We need to get into the Slytherin Common Room and find out the secret from Malfoy himself, but, of course, so that he doesn't understand that it's us."

So that the Slytherins can kill us quietly? They won't even call the dean.

"And how to do it?" Harry asked in disbelief to my loud hysterical laughter.

"It's very simple, boys. You just need to brew a Polyjuice potion."

"What kind of potion?" Harry and I exclaimed in unison.

"Snape talked about him in one of the lessons...."

"You have nothing to do but listen to Snape," I muttered.

He only tells us nasty things. Especially Harry and Neville. Neville understands that his hands are growing out of his ass, but he doesn't understand why he's clinging to his friend at all. Harry makes potions pretty well according to the textbook. And it cuts the ingredients perfectly. When I told him the basics of potion making, everything went well for him, he just started imagining that he was making a particularly difficult soup. Harry said that his aunt has been teaching cooking since the age of six. She herself worked as a chef in a restaurant before his cousin was born. And they wanted to send him to culinary college to study after school.

Although yes, when he's not swearing, he's talking to the point. The problem is that he swears around Harry all the time. It would be nice if a friend's hands grew out of his ass, but no. Although maybe it pisses him off that a friend can't calculate the proportions of the added ingredients? As I noticed, I started counting myself. Although I'm trying to improve him, my friend has serious problems with math. He even asked Hermione to send him a textbook from her school. She collects books in general. Well, as it got better with calculations, so Snape began to cling less. Although every lesson is sarcastically passed over it anyway. Especially the hair sticking out in all directions. Just like Hermione's hair. I'm making potions in a bandana.

"It's a drug that turns one person into another." Hermione ignored the barb. "We can turn into one of the Slytherins, and no one will recognize us. You see, Malfoy will blurt out something: he likes to brag."

"I don't like your idea," I said, frowning. "What if we stay Slytherins forever?"

"Nonsense," Hermione waved her hand impatiently, "The effect of the potion is wearing off soon. But how do I get the recipe? Snape said it was in the book Powerful Potions. And it's probably kept in a Special section of the school library."

In the Special Section, books were given out only with the written permission of the teacher.

"So how do we get permission?" I asked dejectedly. "Who would believe that we need a book for nothing? Any fool would understand that we want to cook something like that."

"We can say that we are very interested in the theory of composing potions...."

"Well, yes! You'll fool our professors, of course!" I objected. "Unless there's a complete idiot."

Stop.. An idiot? Yes, we have an idiot here who leads the way. It remains to get him an autograph. But he's not exactly a moron, is he?

Chapter 8 Going to get a book.

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Аннотация: At first, Harry didn't respond to emails. Now we haven't been able to get to school yet. Then the students' stupor began. In general, it's a nightmare and, most importantly, nasty slugs have almost nothing to do with it!

Горный-Цветок Ron-Weasly book 2

Горный-Цветок
Ron-Weasly book 2