Ron-Weasly book 1. V2

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."

Selena, as if confirming his words, gracefully turned around and, raising her tail high, disappeared into the shadows. The brat, after finishing the carrots, made a pleased squeak, as if thanking for an unexpected gift.

"Okay," I smiled, untying the bag of seeds and putting them on the bowl I'd brought from the bedroom. It looks like you've got a patron here. Just don't get too used to the free treats! I'm still your master, and I'll feed you myself.

I went back to the bedroom.

I took a small paper bag out of my pocket and carefully poured three maroon berries into my palm.

"It's rosehip," I explained a little sheepishly, as if I was afraid they'd laugh at me. "Hagrid said it was good for rats. The brat busily sniffed the treat, grabbed one berry and dragged it to his corner, as if it were the greatest treasure.

Chapter 7.1 flights

During the first week at school, Malfoy and I hardly bumped into each other in class — the only classes we had together were Professor Snape's. He was always around with his goons, telling us what kind of broom he had at home, how good he was at Quidditch, and what his mom had sent him today. But on Saturday, after returning from Hagrid's, Harry and I noticed a notice posted in the Gryffindor Common Room, which caused us to groan. Broomstick flights began on Tuesday, and the first-year students of the Gryffindor and Slytherin faculties had to learn to fly together.

"That's great," said Harry gloomily. "Just what I've always dreamed of. Making a fool of himself in front of Malfoy — and not just a fool, but a fool sitting on a broom and not knowing how to take off.

"How do you know who's going to look like a fool?" I answered reasonably. "Of course, I know that Malfoy brags to everyone that he is a great Quidditch player. But I'm willing to bet on my old broom that it's all nonsense. In the end, kids get baby brooms with built-in speed and height limiters. Jeanie and I had one. It's old, of course, but you can fly. I gave it to my sister when Charlie gave me his old comet.

Malfoy really talked too much about flying. He loudly regretted that freshmen were not accepted into the faculty teams, and told long boastful stories about where and how he flew on a variety of brooms. The stories usually ended with Malfoy managing to evade Muggle helicopters with incredible dexterity and at the very last moment.

He's driving, Muggle cars don't fly into our magical world, and it's also problematic to come in. There are muggle-repelling charms on all the entrances to the magical world. Although Harry Vaughn says that he describes helicopters correctly. Apparently there is a military base next to the passage and Malfoy saw them.

However, Malfoy was not the only one who talked about this topic — to hear Seamus Finnigan, he spent his entire childhood on a broom. And I was ready to tell anyone who would listen to me about how I once took Charlie's old broom and narrowly avoided a collision with a hang glider. I embellished it, of course, but what you won't do for the attention of the girls. Lavender also loved listening to my stories.

In general, everyone who was born into wizarding families talked incessantly about Quidditch. I've already gotten into a serious argument with Dean Thomas over Quidditch. Dean loved football, and I thought there was nothing interesting about a game that was played with just one ball and the players were forbidden to fly. The next day, I was pointing at the images of the players on the WestHam football team poster that hung over Dean's bed. I tried to make them move. I couldn't believe that in Muggle photographs, everyone was motionless, unlike in photographs of the wizarding world, where people appeared and disappeared, winked and smiled. I even showed Harry and Dean my album of Ped Guns and Weasley's home photos.

However, there were exceptions among those born into wizarding families. So, Neville admitted that he had never had a broom in his life, because his grandmother strictly forbade him to even think about flying. Harry and I completely agreed with her — Neville managed to get into the most incredible stories, even standing on two legs. He was very clumsy, so it was just scary to give him a broom.

Hermione Granger, like Harry, who grew up in a Muggle family, was as nervous as Neville about the upcoming flights. If flying could be learned from a textbook, Hermione would already be soaring in the skies better than any bird, but that was impossible. Although Hermione, to her credit, couldn't help but make at least one attempt. At breakfast on Tuesday, she bored everyone at the table by quoting tips and tricks for beginners to fly, which she had learned from a library book called "The History of Quidditch." However, Neville listened to her very attentively, not missing a single word and constantly asking questions. Apparently, he was counting on theory to help him stay on the broom a few hours later. But I was very glad when Hermione's lecture ended with the arrival of the mail.

There were eggs and bacon on the table this morning. And, of course, oatmeal porridge with milk, which Harry immediately pulled towards him. I took the egg and pulled the jug of pumpkin juice towards me.

"More oatmeal," Neville grumbled. "Harry, how do you eat it every day?"

"I just add different jams or raisins, depending on what's on the table."

Harry hadn't received a single letter since Friday, which, of course, Malfoy hadn't failed to point out. Malfoy's owl — or rather, unlike the others, he had an owl, because Malfoy liked to emphasize his originality — constantly brought him packages of sweets from home, which he solemnly opened at the table, treating his friends.

Damn, he even offered Harry a pie once, but with such aplomb that Harry didn't take it. Harry told me that he came to the potions room earlier that day, and was waiting for me.

* * *

Pov Harry (Friday)

The hallway outside the potions room was buzzing like a disturbed beehive: students were rushing to their next lesson, someone was arguing loudly about homework, and Draco Malfoy suddenly popped around the bend — and it immediately seemed to quiet down by half a tone. In his hands was a neat box from home, tied with a green and silver ribbon; he carried it as if it were not cakes, but something much more valuable — like a rare ingredient for a potion.