Ron-Weasly book 1. V2 part 7-1

Draco chuckled a little, almost in earnest:

"Take it sweet, you've always been partial to your mother's baskets. I'm not going to offer Potter anything else. Although he also likes baskets, I noticed at the feast. I was almost sitting against it then, and because of our ghost, who decided to entertain me with a conversation, I was hungry. Let him deal with his pride."

Theo opened the box, took a cake, took a bite, and nodded approvingly:

"Delicious. They know a lot about the Manor. I love your mom's pastries."

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the logs crackling in the fireplace. And there was something right in that silence, as if the world had fallen back into place: not perfect, not simple, but its own, understandable, where there was someone nearby who would not laugh at your offense, but would simply take the cake and say that it was delicious.

* * *

end Pov

By the way, Harry also stands out with his owl. His owl was the only polar owl in school, but at least they gave it to him and he values it very much. He always goes to the owlery to check on her.

The great hall smelled of warm bread, cinnamon, and something else, homely, as if the school itself was wrapping students in a soft blanket of familiar smells. There was a lot of noise, arguing, and laughter at the tables, and in the midst of this familiar chaos, a familiar sharp scream suddenly rang out, which immediately made Harry cheerfully raise his head from his porridge with raisins.

"Ugh!"

He raised his head — and immediately found her: Hedwig was circling under the arches, white, like a piece of winter sky that had accidentally flown into a warm hall. She circled around, as if checking to make sure everything was in place, and then confidently descended and gently landed right in front of Harry, flapping her wings a little to keep her balance on the edge of the table.

"Hedwig!" Harry couldn't hide his smile. She came out wide, real, and he suddenly felt so calm, as if everything had fallen into place again. He held out his hand, and the owl immediately tilted its head, exposing the feathers at its beak to be stroked. You've arrived again! I thought you thought it was warmer in the tower"...

The owl clicked its beak as if it snorted:

"And who will make sure that you don't miss an important letter?" — and pushed him into the palm of her hand with a warm side. Harry laughed, and it sounded a little louder than it should have, but he didn't care. There were already the usual whispers around, but now there was almost no surprise in those voices — rather a familiar, almost good-natured grumble, as if someone forgot an umbrella every day and everyone already knew: well, here we go again.

"That owl again," someone from Ravenclaw drawled, but without irritation, more as part of a familiar ritual. "Well, how much can I do? She almost hit Professor Flitwick when she flew in. When I saw her flying into Gryffindor Tower the day before yesterday, I initially mistook her for a messenger of winter. Do you know how it is in fairy tales?.."

"I saw her over the woods yesterday," the Halfpuff guy picked up, leaning over to his neighbor. "Circled just above the edge of the forest. Now I'm not scared anymore: I think, well, it's Hedwig. So it's okay."

The girl in the green tie smiled at the owl:

"She's already like her own. As if there's something missing without her."

I, who had been diligently spreading jam on toast, looked up, squinted at Hedwig, and chuckled:

"Well, now we have everything at home here. Porridge, arguments about potions, and Hedwig, who always flies in like she's announcing a royal decree.

Hermione, who had already unfolded her transfiguration textbook right next to her plate, looked at the owl with a soft smile:

"You know, Harry, I think she just gets bored if she doesn't see you for a long time. Polar owls get attached. And she knows where she belongs."

Harry ran his fingers over Hedwig's silky feathers again, and Hedwig hooted softly, as if agreeing with Hermione.

"The main thing is that she doesn't drop the letter in my porridge again." I muttered, although I didn't feel annoyed at the spoiled porridge, I was just trying it out and then thinking of giving it to Harry.

Hedwig squinted at me with an amber eye, as if she understood every word perfectly, and proudly turned away, making it clear that such trifles did not concern her. Then she gently poked Harry's shoulder with her beak, quite at home, without any importance, just to remind him: "I'm here."

Harry smiled as he looked at her and thought that this was probably the real feeling of home: when there was someone who would always find their way to you, even if the corridors of Hogwarts were confusing, the lessons were endless, and the whole world seemed to expect something big from you. For now, it's enough that Hedwig has returned, sat on the edge of the table, and now everything feels a little more right again.

"Harry, are you feeding her at all?" I asked when Hedwig stared at my bacon with interest. "Hedwig, I'm sorry, but you can't do this."

Harry handed Hedwig a piece of the bun he was eating. I almost choked on the scrambled eggs I was chewing.

"Here, eat. You've been flying all day... Ron, Hagrid said she'd feed herself on rats and lemengs."

The owl squinted an amber eye at the bun, as if assessing the degree of absurdity, and turned away.

I chuckled,

"Well, yeah. She doesn't need buns. She should have caught someone. And by the way, Harry, do you know how many owls live in the owlet house? You can't feed on all the rats in the forest."

Hermione shook her head, but not sternly, but with a slight smile:

"Potter, owls need meat. And it's better not just a piece, but... well, you know. Bones, feathers— all together. They keep special food for the postal owls in the kitchen. The brownies know."

Embarrassed, Harry put the bun away.

"I'm sorry," he said softly to Hedwig. "I just wanted it to be delicious for you, like it is for me." The owl tilted its head slightly, as if forgiving this awkwardness, and hooted softly. And then, as if to comfort him, she bumped her warm side into his shoulder, saying that the main thing was that you thought of me.

"Harry, go to the kitchen, if you want to go together. And we'll arrange with the elves to supply your owl with mice or quails. Dad arranged with Mili to supply quails for Eroll, and Percy went to find out about his owl, too. Or write to Mrs. Moore at her pet store."

"Yes, let me write to Mrs. Moore at her pet store after school before lunch."

The evening in the Gryffindor common room was cozy and noisy: someone was arguing about Quidditch tactics, someone was rustling parchments, and Harry was sitting by the window, where Hedwig was sitting calmly on the back of a chair. She clicked her beak softly from time to time, as if listening to the conversations, but on the whole she looked pleased — she only glanced at Harry from time to time as if she wanted to remind him: "What about food?"

Harry sighed guiltily, took out a crumpled envelope and an even more crumpled bag from his pocket and muttered:

"I'm sorry, I fixed it. Honestly."

Мне очень жаль, но я все исправил. Честно.

"Dear Mrs. Moore,

I have a polar owl, Hedwig. I accidentally tried to feed her human food, but she doesn't seem very happy. Tell me, please, what is the right way to feed postal owls? If possible, send me something suitable.

Sincerely, Harry Potter."

And in the evening, the brownie brought him a neat bag with the seal of the store and a short note:

"Dear Mr. Potter,

a special food with pieces of quail, dried insects and a drop of strengthening infusion is best suited for the polar owl so that the wings do not get tired. And if you want, go to the Hogwarts kitchen and ask the elves: they have special treats for owls that have been tested for centuries. As a Hogwarts student, you can ask the brownie to feed your pet while you are at school. This is included in the cost of your tuition, which was paid for by your parents.

Yours truly, Mrs. Moore."

Harry carefully untied the ribbon on the bag, and a spicy, slightly wild smell hit his nose — not sweet, not flour, but some kind of forest, real.

"Look," Harry said softly, handing Hedwig one piece in his open palm. "It's from Mrs. Moore. There's... well, as she wrote, quail and something strengthening. So that you don't get tired."

Hedwig tilted her head, studied the treat carefully, then gave a short hoot, as if checking to see if he was joking, and carefully picked up a piece with her beak. She swallowed, blinked her amber eyes, and immediately reached for the next one.

Harry exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath for a long time.

Next to me, I looked up from a bar of magic chocolate from the Sweet Kingdom, squinted at the bag and chuckled:

"Well, at least it's not a bun. This is already progress."

Percy, who was sitting next to him in an armchair, looked up from his textbook on ancient runes and grumbled:

"Mrs. Moore knows her stuff. She also gave my owl such treats when she was with me on vacation. They say there's even a little frost extract in them to keep owls warm on long flights."

"Frost extract?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrows slightly. "Is it... safe?"

"Absolutely," Percy nodded confidently. "It's magic. Everything is calculated. By the way, the extract is extracted from the berries of the snowberry, mixed with blue mountain flower."

I snorted,

"The main thing is that she doesn't start breathing ice like a Hyperborean dragon. They say they can exhale not only flames, but also ice or poison there. And also to transform into humans or elves there. They moved to us from another world in ancient times, where people began to hunt them. They say our founder is like the Malfoys of these dragons. Only the Malfoys, unlike our Bridget Wesley, had an ice dragon as their founder, and ours was a fire dragon. That's why we're always fighting.

Hedwig squinted at me, as if seriously considering the prospect of breathing ice, and hooted softly again.

Harry smiled and carefully tied the bag, leaving a few more pieces inside.

"You know," he said softly to the owl, "I'm going to be smarter now. I'll ask first, then I'll suggest it."

The owl tilted her head to the side, as if she understood every word, and gently nudged his shoulder with her warm side.

And Harry thought that the best thing about this day wasn't that he'd finally found the right treat, but that Hedwig hadn't been offended. She was just waiting for him to figure it out.

* * *

I finished chewing on a piece of pumpkin biscuits taken from the breakfast table in the great hall and waved towards the corridor leading down to the kitchens:

"If you want Hedwig to fly at all and not look at you like you're feeding her as punishment, go to Mili. She's responsible for the owls. Dad had made an agreement with her about Errol when he started to give up completely: to make him a separate diet, with strengthening broth and all that. Mili is kind, but strict: if you say "I want something delicious," she will lecture you about squirrels and toadstools."

Harry chuckled, but Ron's words were true: after the bun story, he wanted to do everything right. He tucked the bag from Mrs. Moore deeper into his pocket, just in case, as a safety net, and nodded:

"Okay. I will go. But Ron, it's probably expensive."

Harry, first of all, you now have money, as a last resort you can go to Professor Dumbledore, he is responsible for orphans of students at Hogwarts, and can give you more money for Hedwig or clothes. And secondly, the cost of feeding pets and students is included in the tuition fee, as well as teachers' salaries. That's why it's so expensive. As much as one hundred galleons a year for an apprentice." Harry's eyes were wide in shock.

"Ron, how did you get into school?"

"The older brothers passed on a free quota from the board of trustees. And our grandfather Ignotius Pruitt paid for me and Ginny. Even though he grumbles that Mom married Arthur in the last year of school, he still loves us in his own way. And Grandma Lucretia insisted that it was not a good idea for Black to study at a Welsh school."

"Awesome. Well, you have relatives. Will you show me where the kitchen is?"

"Finish your porridge and let's go. And by the way, Harry, you have a grandmother named Dorothy from the Blacks, why did Draco offer you a cake? He's your close relative. His mom Narcissa is also Black by blood."

"I can do without such relatives." — my friend muttered angrily, pushing his favorite porridge away. But Blackie, that's a kind of dark sorcerer, isn't it? Seamus told me about them."

"Yes, buddy, but my grandma sent them to the forest, as did Nymphadora Tonks' mother, by the way. She's your cousin."

"Is she the one who studies at Halfpuff with pink or purple hair? Is she clumsy? I thought she was Muggleborn."

"Yes, she. She has a Muggle-born father, like your mother. There was such a scandal when Andromeda Black married him. They say Nymphadora is a metamorph, she has coordination problems because of this. The gift has become too strong due to Tonks' fresh blood, and she cannot cope with the changes.

"Damn, I have so many relatives in the magical world, and all my life I thought I was an orphan. Where were they all when I was starving in the Dursleys' closet?" Harry thought resentfully. "Okay, Weasley, they're beggars like me, but where were the others?"

"Harry, at least have an omelet, it's delicious today."

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Well, at least you can eat toast with orange jam, you love it. Just recently, the harvest in the greenhouses of the school has ripened, so the jam is fresh. In the meantime, I'll finish the omelette, unlike you, I'm always hungry and I need a lot of energy. And you eat more if you want to grow up and gain meat. Look at yourself in the mirror, how skinny you are.

"Ron, I just can't eat much, I throw up right after eating. She can't really eat anything either, she's afraid of getting fat. Aunt Petunia can't really eat either, she's afraid of getting fat."

"Harry, can we go to the hospital wing after the kitchen?"

"Come on, I'm tired of being a suffocator. Aunt Marge grumbles all the time that I have worms. She even gave me and my cousin medicine once."

Harry spread a generous layer of orange jam on his toast, inhaled that warm, sunny scent, and for a second seemed to forget that a cool mist lay in a cloud on the grass outside the window.

"You know," he told me, "sometimes it feels like this jam is straight out of summer. It's like someone took a piece of July and rolled it into a jar."