Ron-Weasly book 2. part 7

"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.