Ron-Weasly book 1. V2

It was something terrifying, about four meters tall, with dull granite-gray skin, a lumpy body resembling a boulder, and a tiny bald head that looked more like a coconut. The troll had short legs as thick as wood and flat, calloused feet. His arms were much longer than his legs, and therefore the giant club that the troll held in his hand dragged along the floor behind him, and the smell coming from him could have struck better than any club.

The troll stopped, froze at the doorway, and bent down to look inside. He wiggled his long ears, seemingly trying to make some kind of decision. The process was delayed because the troll's brain, judging by the size of its head, was tiny. However, in the end, the decision was made and the troll, hunched over, crawled into the room.

"Look, the key's still in the lock," Harry whispered, "We can lock him in there."

"It's not a bad idea," I replied nervously. As we crept towards the door, my mouth went dry. "Praying to heaven that the troll would not leave the room, we crept very close. And then Harry darted forward, slammed the door, and turned the key in the lock."

"There is!"

Elated with success, flushed with pride, we headed back the way we came from, but before we could reach the corner, we heard a desperate scream of terror. And it was coming from the room that Harry had locked a few seconds ago.

"Oh, no," I said softly, turning pale like a Bloody Baron.

"This is a women's bathroom!" Harry gasped.

"Hermione!" We exclaimed after a moment. The last thing we wanted to do was do what we had to do, but what choice did we have? Abruptly, we turned around and rushed back to the door. Harry's hands were shaking with fear, and he couldn't turn the key in the lock. Finally, he succeeded. He pulled the door open and we ran inside.

Hermione Granger was standing against the wall directly in front of the door. She shrank back, as if she were trying, like a ghost, to seep through the wall. She looked like she was going to pass out. The troll was approaching her, brandishing a club and knocking down the shells attached to the walls.

"Distract him!" Harry shouted at me desperately. He grabbed a washbasin plug that was lying on the floor and threw it at the wall with all his might.

The troll froze a few meters away from Hermione. He awkwardly turned around to see who had made such a noise. His small evil eyes stared at Harry. The troll hesitated, deciding who to attack, and then took a step towards Harry, raising his club.

"Hey, you empty head!" I shouted, having managed to reach the corner of the toilet room, and threw a broken piece of metal pipe at the troll.

The troll didn't even seem to notice that a piece of iron had hit him in the shoulder. But he heard the scream and stopped again, turning his ugly face towards me and giving Harry the opportunity to run around him and get next to Hermione.

"Come on, let's run! Let's run!" Harry shouted, trying to pull Hermione towards the door. But she didn't move or give in, as if rooted to the wall. Her mouth was open in horror.

Harry's screams and the echoes echoing through the room, ricocheting off the walls, made the troll even more confused. He was clearly confused when he had so many goals in front of him, and did not know what to do. Suddenly the troll roared and took a step towards me: I was the closest to him and I had nowhere to run.

And then Harry ran up and jumped on the troll from behind, managing to grab onto his neck and wrap both arms around it from behind. What the fuck is he doing?! The troll, given his size, of course, could not feel that little skinny Harry was hanging on him, but even the troll could not help but notice that a long piece of wood was being shoved into his nose. At the moment of the jump, Harry was holding a wand in his hands, which he pulled out for some reason after flying into the room. He obviously did it subconsciously, because as a freshman, a wand could not help him in the fight against a troll. Magic has almost no effect on them at all. But it turned out that Harry had pulled it out for a reason, and when he jumped into the troll's neck, wrapping both arms around it from behind, the wand in his right hand stuck deep into the troll's nostril.

Howling in pain, the troll spun around and swung the club, while Harry hung on to it, clinging to his neck with all his might. At any second, the troll could throw him to the floor or flatten him with a blow from a club.

Hermione, almost fainting from terror, sank to the floor. And I pulled out my magic wand, completely unaware of what I was going to do, and shouted the first thing that came to mind, pointing at the club.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

It worked! The club broke free from the troll's hand, rose into the air and hovered for a moment, then slowly turned over and crashed with a terrible crash on the head of its owner. The troll staggered and fell to the floor with such force that the walls of the room shook.

Harry got to his feet. He was shaking and couldn't catch his breath. I froze in place with my wand raised, looking at the result of my work. I did it. It worked! I need to practice more, because I can do magic. I'm taking a deep breath. Ugh, we need to get out of here before the troll wakes up.

"Is he... is he dead?" Hermione broke the silence first.

"I don't think so," Harry replied, finding his voice second. "I guess he's just knocked out."

Harry bent down and pulled his wand out of the troll's nose. She was covered in what looked like dried gray glue.

"Ugh, his snot is disgusting."

Harry wiped his wand on the troll's trousers. The slamming of doors and loud footsteps made us all look up. We didn't even realize what a fuss we were making here. Someone downstairs must have heard the heavy thuds and the roar of the troll, and a moment later Professor McGonagall burst into the room, followed by Professor Snape, followed by Professor Quirrell. Quirrell looked at the troll, whined softly, and immediately plopped down on the floor, clutching his heart.

And this coward is our defense against the dark arts? It would be better to continue studying Muggle studies. They say he was a good teacher.

Snape bent over the troll, and Professor McGonagall glared at Harry and me. I've never seen her so angry. Her lips were even white. Or is it out of fear for us? Damn, here we are.

"What, let me ask you, were you thinking about?" There was cold fury in Professor McGonagall's voice. Harry squinted at me, but I didn't move from my place and still held my wand in my raised hand. "You're just lucky to be alive. Why aren't you in the bedroom?"

Snape glanced at Harry's face with a knife-sharp gaze. Harry stared at the floor.

Suddenly, a faint girl's voice came from the shadows.

"Professor McGonagall, they were here because they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione somehow managed to get to her feet.

"I went to look for the troll because... Because I thought I could handle him on my own... Because I've read everything in the library about trolls, and I know everything about them..."

I dropped my wand in surprise. Who would have believed that Hermione Granger — to think of Hermione Granger — was lying to her teacher's face?! Even if I didn't know who Hermione was, it still wouldn't have occurred to me that she might be lying," her voice sounded so true.

"If they hadn't found me, I would have been dead by now." Hermione continued. "Harry jumped on his neck and stuck his wand in his nostril, and Ron enchanted his club and knocked him out. They just didn't have time to call any of the professors. When they appeared, the troll was about to kill me."

Harry and I tried to make our faces look as if this story hadn't surprised us at all — as if everything had happened exactly as Hermione described. I stared at Hermione in shock.

"Well, in that case..." said Professor McGonagall thoughtfully, looking at all three of them. "Miss Granger, you stupid girl, how could you possibly think that you could subdue a mountain troll on your own?!"

Hermione lowered her head. Harry and I were silent. I would never have thought that Hermione had violated the school rules. But now she presented everything as if she had deliberately committed a serious violation. And all this in order to get us out of trouble. It was as unexpected as if Snape had started handing out sweets to the students.

"Miss Granger, it's your fault that five penalty points are being credited to Gryffindor! Professor McGonagall said dryly. "I had a very high opinion of you and was very disappointed by your misconduct. "If you're okay, you'd better go back to Gryffindor Tower." All the faculties finish the interrupted festive dinner in their living rooms." Hermione left the room. Professor McGonagall turned to Harry and me.

"Well, even after listening to Miss Granger's story, I still maintain that you were just lucky. Nevertheless, not every freshman is able to cope with an adult mountain troll. Each of you gets five bonus points. I will inform Professor Dumbledore of what has happened. You can go now."

We hurriedly left the bathroom and didn't say a word until we were two floors up and finally breathed a sigh of relief. It was very nice to be away from the troll, his smell, and everything related to this story.

"You could have given us more than ten points," I grumbled.

I would never have thought that the lives of children in this Britain's best school were valued so low. You could make a memorial plaque for us.

"You mean five," Harry corrected me.

Don't forget that she gave Hermione five points.

"She did well to get us out of trouble," I admitted. "Although we actually saved her."

"We probably wouldn't have had to save her if we hadn't locked the troll in the toilet," Harry reminded him. He's right about that, of course. And it's worth apologizing to her.

We came to the portrait of a Fat Lady.

"Piglet," we said in one voice and climbed inside. It was crowded and noisy inside. Everyone made up for what they had missed at the banquet by eating the food that had been brought upstairs. Everyone except Hermione, who was standing off to the side, waiting for us. Harry and I approached her and froze, not knowing what to say. And then each of us said, "Thank you."

"Granger, I'm sorry I said all that nonsense. You're the best student in the class. Do you want me to be your friend?"

Harry nodded.

"me too."

"Thanks boys. I really want to."

And we hurried to the tables. From that moment on, Hermione Granger became our friend. There are events that you can't help but feel sympathy for each other. And the victory over the four-meter mountain troll is undoubtedly one of such events.

Interlude 3. Harry's letter and Aunt Petunia's reply

The Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts, late autumn. It's snowing outside the windows, and a fire is crackling in the fireplace. Harry is sitting at the table, wrapped up in a robe and a wool sweater that Aunt Petunia gave him. He writes a letter, periodically rubbing his frozen fingers.

On the table is a sheet of parchment, torn off unevenly along the edge. The handwriting is a bit clumsy — it's obvious that Harry writes in a hurry and in the cold. And he still writes clumsily with a pen.

"Dear Aunt Petunia,

I hope you and Uncle Vernon are doing well, and Dudley isn't bothering you too much. I am writing to you with a small request. It gets very cold here at Hogwarts, especially when you go to herbology or caring for magical creatures classes. My regular trousers don't keep me warm at all, and my robe doesn't protect me from the wind.

Could you buy me some warm trousers at a second-hand store? I'm ready to work it out at home in the summer — I can help in the kitchen, wash dishes, clean the garden, do anything. I don't have Muggle money for new things, and I don't want to ask my friends.

Thanks a lot in advance.

Your nephew,

Harry"

Harry seals the envelope, ties it to Hedwig's leg, and watches as the bird flies off into the snowy gloom.

* * *

The Dursleys' kitchen, two days after the letter was sent. Petunia is standing at the stove, stirring the soup and frowning at the envelope lying on the table, which was brought by her nephew's snow-white owl.

Petunia mutters to herself

"Those owls again... As if you can't write normally, like a human being."

She reluctantly opens the letter, reads it, then reads it again. Her face softens for a moment, but she immediately frowns.

Petunia grumbles aloud, as if making excuses. Well of course. He'll freeze, catch a cold, then he'll hurt... and what should I do with him?

She puts down the letter, goes to the closet, takes out her wallet and counts the money.

"I won't tell Vernon. He'll just start grumbling about `those things of his.'"

The next day, Petunia goes to the nearest second-hand store. She chooses for a long time, feels the fabric, meticulously examines every warm thing.

The seller politely offers to help.

"Are you looking for something specific?"

Petunia strictly:

"Warm trousers. For a teenager. To avoid blowing, getting wet, and stretching on your knees. And shoes. Winter ones. With a thick sole."

The seller nods and brings several options. Petunia chooses the tightest trousers — dark gray, with fleece lining — and sturdy winter boots with fur lining.

Petunia to herself

"Hopefully not small. Although ... if anything, it will be possible to twist."

"Would you like a pair of flannel shirts for the boy?"

"Yes, they won't be superfluous."

She pays for the purchase, packs her things into a large box, and puts a note on top:

"Harry,

I got your letter. Here are warm trousers, a pair of shirts and boots to keep warm. Be sure to wear it, especially in bad weather. In the summer, you will work in the kitchen, as promised — you will peel vegetables and set the table. And don't even think about giving up shirts because of the green color. Yes, you're in Gryffindor, I remember Lily saying that you like red, but what do shirts have to do with it?

Aunt Petunia"

The box is sent with his nephew's owl to Hogwarts. A smart bird, she realized when she was asked to wait. And it's good that she's so big, she was able to lift such a weight.

* * *

The Gryffindor common room, a few days later. Harry receives the package, opens it, and freezes.

Harry says softly, to himself

" Aunty..."

He pulls out trousers-thick, with a soft lining-and boots: sturdy, heavy, obviously worn, but in excellent condition. Trying on shirts. There's a note under them. Harry reads it, and a smile appears on his face.