Ron-Weasly book 1. V2 part 6-2

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At five minutes to three we left the castle and walked through the school grounds to Hagrid's hut. He lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Above the door was a pair of rubber boots and a magic lamp hung. When Harry knocked on the door, we heard someone frantically scratching at it from the other side and barking deafeningly. A moment later, Hagrid's booming voice reached us:

"Get back, Fang, get back!"

The door opened a crack, and a huge face overgrown with hair appeared behind it.

"Come on in," Hagrid invited. "Get back, Fang!"

Hagrid opened the door wider, barely holding the huge black dog by the collar. Hagrid did not know the name of this breed, although he explained that wild boars were hunted with such dogs.

The rain had just stopped, and drops were still falling from the roof of the hut, falling with a thud on the trampled ground. Harry and I crossed the threshold, shaking the water off our robes, and immediately plunged into the familiar comfort: the smell of hot tea, baked bread, and something smoky, as if Hagrid had recently blown up the coals.

In the corner, on a massive wooden beam, hung a combat crossbow. Charlie showed me the same one, only smaller. He looked imposing and a little alien among the mugs, baskets, and coils of rope.

"What's this?" Harry craned his neck, not daring to come any closer.

Hagrid had just bent down to a low chest and pulled out a cloth and a small jar that smelled of oil and iron. He turned around, followed Harry's gaze, and gave a slightly embarrassed grunt, as if he'd been caught doing something personal.

"A crossbow," he said simply, walking over to the wall and removing the weapon from its hook. The wood had darkened with age, and the metal had turned gray in places, but the whole thing looked sturdy, as if it had survived more than one storm. "It's an old thing, but it's true. In the Forbidden Forest without her... well, you know."

He put the crossbow on the table, and it lay down heavily, solidly, as if it knew its own worth. Hagrid opened the jar, dipped a corner of a cloth into it, and began to carefully wipe the metal parts — slowly, carefully, as if removing not rust, but some minor grudge accumulated over the days of dampness.

"See here?" He pointed to a barely noticeable reddish bloom near the trigger mechanism. "The dampness here is evil. You blink a little, and the iron starts to "cry." And I don't need crying iron. It should be dry and calm, like a cat at a warm stove.

Harry moved closer, careful not to touch the weapon, and bent down, examining the details.

"Do you... clean it every time it rains?" he asked softly.

"Not everyone," Hagrid shook his head, continuing to run the rag over the metal. "But if the night was wet, I'll take a look first thing in the morning. And I take the bowstring off — the shoulders don't like being held in suspense. The tree, it's alive, and it needs to rest."

I couldn't resist reaching out my hand, but I immediately pulled it back, afraid that the crossbow would hit me with magic, like Charlie's weapon.

"Is he... dangerous?"

"He's not making it dangerous," Hagrid replied calmly, looking up. "It's not magical, Ron. Haste and anger make it dangerous. And if it's smart and without too much fuss, then it's just an assistant. To protect yourself and those around you.

He finished wiping the metal, blew on the shiny strip as if checking for any dust, and carefully put the jar back into the chest. By the way, Harry told me that Hagrid tried to buy him a trunk for school, but Harry balked at the suitcase and that was it.

Then Hagrid took the crossbow in both hands, turned it over, checking the balance, and hung it on the hook again, this time so that no stray splashes would reach it if the door suddenly swung open in the wind.

"Well, enough about the hardware," He said more cheerfully, slapping his thighs and returning to the kettle. I have raisin muffins here, I baked them myself. Sit down, you're probably cold. Harry took another look at the crossbow — at its dark wood and polished metal — and suddenly felt that this object was not there to threaten. He was part of Hagrid's concern for his corner of the world: like dry wood by the fireplace, like a boarded-up crack from a draft, like a warm jacket on a nail. A thing that is cherished because too much may depend on it.

There was only one room in the house. Pork hams and gutted pheasants hung from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling over an open fire, and a massive bed covered with a patchwork quilt stood in the corner.

"You... uh... make yourself at home... Get settled in" Hagrid said, and Fang rushed over to me and started licking my ears. It was obvious that Fang, like his master, looked much more dangerous than he really was. He should have salivated less.

"This is Ron," Harry introduced me.

Meanwhile, Hagrid was making tea and putting cupcakes on a plate. The cupcakes made contact with the plate with such a sound that there was no doubt about their freshness — they had withered and turned to stone a long time ago. So, it would be necessary to somehow carefully abandon them. My teeth are precious to me. Although Madam Pomfrey will grow new ones and Hagrid will be offended. I'll soak them like breadcrumbs in soup. Exactly.

"Another Weasley, eh?" Hagrid asked, looking at my freckled face and red hair. "I've spent half my life hunting your brothers. Maen nhw wastad... wel... yn ceisio mynd i mewn i'r Goedwig Waharddedig, ac mae'n rhaid i mi eu dal nhw, ie! And you will climb into the forest as well as you grow up, I know you foxes."

And why am I not surprised? It was easy to break our teeth on the stone cupcakes, but Harry and I pretended that we really liked them and told Hagrid how our first days at school had been. Fang was sitting next to Harry, resting his head on his lap and drooling profusely over his school uniform. I took the cupcake in my hand and tried to soak it in a cup. Hmm, but nothing like that. But anyway, I would have eaten something more substantial. I have to go to the great hall for an afternoon snack at four o'clock. Today they promised nuts and milk from magic farms. And also dried fruits. Mmm.

Harry and I were terribly amused when we heard Hagrid call Filch an old bastard from the security guards.

"And this cat is his, Mrs. Norris... uh, I wish I could introduce her to Fang. You probably don't know, do you! As soon as I get to school, she follows me... uh... He's always on my heels, watching and sniffing around. And you can't hide from her, and you can't deceive her... She can smell me and she'll find me everywhere. Filch must have trained her on me."

And why would Filch do that? There's something fishy here, but Harry likes Hagrid, so I won't stop them from communicating.

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like me, advised Harry not to worry because Snape doesn't like the vast majority of the students.

"Harry, he doesn't like everyone who hasn't passed the owls at least well."

"But I think he hates me." Harry sounded upset.

"It's nothing!" Hagrid objected. "Why would he? He always liked your mom. A couple of the best potion makers of the year."

However, Hagrid slightly looked away as he said these words. Another problem. Snape definitely reacts to his friend in some way too aggressively. Although when he made sure that Harry was cutting the ingredients well and stirring them in time, he calmed down. Snape doesn't even hate my brothers as much as Harry's appearance. Although he constantly catches his brothers playing pranks and gives them detention and takes them off.

"What about your brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked hurriedly, turning to me. "I really liked him: he was too good with animals."

Had Hagrid deliberately changed the subject? While I was telling Hagrid about Charlie, who studies dragons in a nature reserve with access from Romania, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the cover for the kettle. It was a clipping from The Prophet. Harry started discussing the safe robbery with Hagrid, but Hagrid just mumbled and looked away. It's all strange. Why would the forester keep this particular clipping if there were no other newspapers?

After lunch, I sat on a log outside Hagrid's hut and thoughtfully scratched the Brat behind the ears. He squinted sleepily and occasionally clicked his teeth, as if he was dreaming of chasing a cat. I put an orange ribbon soaked in a parasite potion that Percy asked me to make around my rat's neck.

"Hagrid, where do you have... well, at Hogwarts... can you get cereal for a rat?" I finally asked. "I thought Madame Moore had a Fluffy Tail in the store, but there's only bird and cat food.

Hagrid looked up from fixing the rope and looked at me with good-natured surprise:

"Grawn? Yn sicr. Mae gen i wenith, ceirch, a hyd yn oed haidd yn fy ngardd." Well, yes, Hagrid has a big vegetable garden. He told Harry and me that he was also feeding the animals in the forest. "I'll give you a bag, no problem."

He got up, slammed the barn door, and soon returned with a canvas bag that smelled deliciously of freshly harvested crops.

"Here you go. Just don't tell the other students that you took it from me, otherwise the pilgrimage will begin for food."

I beamed:

"Thanks, Hagrid! You're the best."

"It's nothing. Rats are a good thing. I remember one of my friends had a rat... well, come on, it's a long story."

I turned around, already pouring grain into the palm of the Brat's hand as I walked:

"What's the story?"

Hagrid waved his hand and smiled into his beard.

"Go on, or you'll be late for lunch at school." Harry had just come out of the booth behind the house. I still couldn't choose between the bags and kept babbling, as if the number of words would make the decision more obvious:

"And if the Brat is given a mixture with seeds? He's a rodent, rodents love sunflower seeds! Or is it too greasy? Hagrid, say something! I used to have a female, so she loved sunflower seeds very much. And Percy said he fed the Brat with grain seeds."

Hagrid stood with his legs apart and looked at I with a patient half-smile.

"Hush, hush. The ancestor is not a crystal vase. Let's see what I have here first...."

"Hagrid, can I add dried berries to him?"

"You can give me rosehip or blueberries with cranberries. I have some dried ones. Just not a lot, no more than three berries a week."

He reached into his super jacket and took out a couple of bags of berries.

"I like to nibble them myself. But let's get some sleep."

At that moment, the tabby cat, who had been digging up a bed of carrots with the air of a sovereign mistress of the garden, suddenly froze, pricked up her ears and darted to the side, as if someone had scared her off. And in its place, right out of the loose earth, a tiny gray muzzle appeared. The mouse quickly moved its nose, twitched its whiskers, and began busily rummaging around, as if checking if someone had buried something tasty here. Harry, who was just coming out from behind the cabbage patch where he was chasing the second cat, froze for a second, and then chuckled softly:

"Well, now the mouse is also spoiling the beds."

I immediately forgot about the bags and craned my neck:

"Where? Where's the mouse? Oh... what if her Forefather gets scared of her? He might be a rat, but suddenly..."

"May he not be afraid of anyone" Hagrid snorted, but there was a sparkle in his eyes. "I have a whole republic of rodents in my garden. Everyone is used to each other. This mouse is not his enemy, and she is not afraid of him."

The mouse, as if hearing these words, froze for a moment, sniffed again, and then darted into a narrow gap between two stones at the edge of the garden bed — and seemed to disappear. The cat, who was watching all this from a safe distance, snorted in disappointment, as if she was offended that the prey had disappeared so quickly.

"You see," Hagrid nodded at the empty spot where the mouse had been swarming. There's a lot of life here. And the beds are suffering, and everyone has something to do.

Harry smiled and brushed a blade of grass off his robes.

"But the Brat will definitely not be bored here." That's for sure," boomed Hagrid. "Okay, stop looking at the mouse. You can let your pet out to take a walk in the garden while we drink tea. Let me pour a little out of each bag for you, mix it up, and see what he likes best."

I beamed:

"Precisely! He'll choose for himself! Percy was telling me how smart his rat was."

Hagrid began to measure out the grain, and Harry took another look at the garden where the mouse had set up its excavations. It suddenly occurred to him that this was the special comfort of Hagrid's hut: everything is alive here, everything is in a hurry, swarming, making noise — and at the same time everything somehow gets along with each other.

After chatting a little more, we went home. On the way, Harry talked about the package that Hagrid took from the bank on the day of the robbery. Hmm, and what was there? Do I even need to get involved in this?

We came just in time for an afternoon snack. Harry helped himself to a handful of walnuts, and I asked the elves for hazelnuts.

In the evening, I went for a walk with the Brat, grabbing carrots from a bowl and a bag of cereals. I was just getting a piece of carrot out of my bag for the Brat when that same gray cat, Selena, stepped out of the shadows. She slowly approached, sniffed, and her glowing green eyes focused on the rat, which was crunching into a vegetable.

I instinctively covered the Brat with my palm.

"Hey, don't touch him! He's not a pest, he's... mine!"

The cat, instead of rushing at the rat, only tilted its head slightly, as if considering my words, and then let out a melodious "meow" — almost mocking. Then she stretched out her paw and gently, with the tips of her claws, lightly pushed a piece of carrot that had fallen out of her weakened paws towards the Brat.

The rat, undeterred, picked up the treat and stared at the cat with obvious approval. A brownie appeared around the corner.

"Oh, have you met yet?" He said cheerfully. "Selena knows who belongs and who doesn't. She senses if the animal is a pet or just a pest. Your brat is a pet, so she won't hurt him."

"Really?" I breathed out a sigh of relief. "And I was scared... we had wild cats living next to our house, they were constantly chasing him."

"The magical cats of Hogwarts are not just hunters," The brownie lowered his voice, as if sharing a great secret. "They sense magic and intent. And they protect those who are not evil. You see, she even treated your rat. It's a sign of respect."