Ron-Weasly book 2

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.