Ron-Weasly book 1. V2

I go over and look into the box.

"Wow! New clothes? And from where?"

Harry, still smiling

"From Aunt Petunia. Can you imagine? She sent warm trousers and boots. And a couple of warm shirts."

Hermione looked surprised.

"Really? But she's... never before...."

"Yes, I didn't expect it myself. Apparently, she's still... worried."

Harry runs his hand over the soft lining of his trousers, then carefully puts them back in the box.

Then he resolutely adds out loud:

"I'll definitely work in the summer. I'll peel all the vegetables she asks for. Even cut the hated bulbs. And... maybe I'll even help her with the garden."

Ron taps him on the shoulder.

"Well, now you definitely won't freeze. And the shirts are cool, don't look like they're green. You can wear any color of clothes under the mantle, the main thing is to tie a tie."

Chapter 9 The first match

In early November, the weather turned very bad. The mountains around the castle changed from green to gray, the lake began to resemble frozen steel, and the ground turned white with frost every morning. From the windows of the tower, I saw Hagrid defrosting brooms on the flight training area several times.

Hagrid was wearing a long mole jacket, huge boots insulated with beaver fur, and rabbit-fur mittens. It's also a good thing that winters in magical Britain are warmer than in the Muggle part of it. And there are no prolonged rains. But there are dangerous animals living in forests and fields. And I'm not talking about the mountains at all. They are usually favored by dragons and wyverns.

On Saturday, Harry had to take to the field for the first time after several weeks of regular and hard training. The Gryffindor team met with the Slytherin team. If they won, the Gryffindor team would come in second place in the school championship.

Almost no one saw Harry playing Quidditch, as Wood decided, stating that Harry was the team's secret weapon, which meant that his Skills should be kept secret. But the news that Harry had become a seeker on the Gryffindor team had somehow leaked outside the team.

Since Harry and I saved Hermione from the mountain troll, she has become much more relaxed about school discipline violations, and it has become much more pleasant to communicate with her. The day before Harry's first match, the three of us went out to the frozen courtyard during recess. And there Hermione showed us her skills — she took a glass jar of jam out of her pocket, put it on the ground, said something, waved her wand, and suddenly a bright blue flame burst into the jar. The most interesting thing was that the jar of fire could be safely moved from place to place and even put in a pocket — the blue flame warmed, but did not burn, and the glass of the jar remained cold. I wonder if she can set someone on fire like that, or is it just for heating?

We were warming ourselves around the jar, with our backs to the fire, when suddenly Snape appeared in the courtyard. That's what the hard one brought him. I noticed that the professor was limping badly. Harry, Hermione, and I huddled closer around the fire so that Snape wouldn't notice it. We had no doubt that it was forbidden to light a fire in the courtyard. Snape didn't see the fire, but after looking at our guilty faces, he found another reason to quibble. I had no doubt that Snape was looking for him, and diligently. Harry was with us, and Snape hates him.

"What have you got there, Potter?" Snape asked dryly, coming closer to us.

As usual, my friend became the object of criticism.

Harry held the History of Quidditch in his hands and showed the book to the professor.

"It is forbidden to take library books out of the school building" Snape informed him. "Give me the book. For your offense, you receive five penalty points."

"He just came up with this rule," Harry muttered angrily, "looking after the limping Snape."

"I don't know, but I hope he's really hurt," I said vindictively.

* * *

It was especially noisy in the Gryffindor Common Room that night. Harry, Hermione, and I were sitting by the window, Hermione checking our spell homework. She never let us copy, "Then how do you learn anything?" — but she agreed to check our homework, and so we still got the right answers from her. Even though we had to dig through a lot of literature, it greatly accelerated the process. And our grades have become higher. But I still don't like to write. And Harry actually had to learn to write with pens. His handwriting was terrible. At least the blots can be magically removed. And the feathers are usually enchanted.

Harry was shaking with excitement about the outcome of the game. My friend didn't even finish his broth with croutons.

Harry pushed the bowl of broth away — there was still some left in it, and half-eaten crackers were floating. He pulled his knees up to his chest, settling on the couch between Hermione and me.

"Didn't you even finish the crutons?" I squinted at the bowl as if it were a personal insult. "These are the crispiest ones from the middle of the plate."

Harry smiled faintly:

"I have no appetite. I keep thinking about tomorrow's match... as if everyone is watching me."

Hermione pursed her lips, but her voice was soft:

"Then don't force yourself. You can just sit there."

I silently pushed my pack of cookies towards Harry — not crackers, but real Hogwarts ones, soft, with raisins. Bobby shared it with me in the Hogwarts kitchen.

"Here you go. No one has refused cookies yet."

Harry took one, turned it over in his fingers, and finally took a bite. The fireplace crackled in the living room, and for a minute it seemed like the world was back to normal.

My friend stood up resolutely, informing me and Hermione that he would go look for Snape and ask him to return the book to him.

"Better me than you," Hermione and I blurted out at the same time, but Harry shook his head.

He returned half an hour later. Pale and thoughtful.

"Did you succeed?" I asked, looking at Harry, who had appeared in the room. "Hey, what's the matter with you?" I pushed back my transfiguration homework.

In a whisper, Harry told us everything he had seen.

Snape got bitten by a cerberus, wow. What was he doing there, was the troll in the dungeons, or was he later bitten?

"Do you understand what all this means?" Harry exhaled, finishing his story. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog, and it happened on Halloween!"

Actually, Snape hadn't limped at Halloween yet. Well, okay, I won't quibble. Even if I wanted to shield that greasy-haired bastard, Harry wouldn't believe me.

"Ron and I were looking for you to warn you about the troll, and we saw him in the hallway — he was heading that way! He's hunting for what the dog is guarding! And I'm willing to bet my broom that he let the troll into the castle to distract attention and sow panic, and calmly steal what he's hunting for!"

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes.

"No, that's impossible," she replied. "I know he's not a very nice person, but he wouldn't try to steal what Dumbledore is hiding in the castle."

"Honestly, Hermione, to hear you say that, all the teachers are just saints." I objected fervently. "Personally, I agree with Harry. Snape could be involved in anything. But what exactly is he after? What is this dog guarding? Harry, let's play chess in transformation mode, I'll add the pieces and turn the field into a forest."

"You're always playing with Hermione."

* * *

The next morning turned out to be cold but sunny. The great hall was filled with the delicious smell of fried sausages and joyful chatter — everyone was anticipating an exciting spectacle. Today is the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. I had fried eggs with tomatoes and mushrooms.

"You should at least eat something," Hermione said worriedly, seeing that Harry was sitting in front of an empty plate.

"I don't want anything," Harry snapped.

"At least one slice of toasted bread" She insisted.

"I'm not hungry", Harry replied decisively, shaking his head vigorously for emphasis.

"Harry, you need to get strong," Seamus Finnigan came to Hermione's rescue. "Hunters are always rougher to play against than everyone else."

"Thanks, Seamus," Harry said with bitter irony.

I helped myself to a full plate and ate quickly. I tapped my wand on the table and whispered a few words to the housekeeper, and a minute later a simple clay mug with broth appeared in front of Harry — not scalding, but warm, from which a light steam was coming. There were crackers on a small plate nearby: golden, slightly salted, with a crumb of dried dill.

"It's not that you're full," I said quickly, justifying myself. "It's to... well, to keep it warm inside. It's important before the match."

Harry smiled faintly:

"You're just like Hagrid: `tea always helps.'"

I snorted:

"Well, I'm not Hagrid. But the brownies have a good broth. Try. If you can't, I'll finish it."

And from this phrase, from a simple "I'm going to finish," the tension in my chest eased a little. Harry wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the warmth seep through his fingers, and took a small sip. Wood nodded in agreement. After making sure that this bespectacled man ate at least something, my friend and I went to the stands. Harry and the team went to the locker room. I was holding a jug of pumpkin juice and a couple of sandwiches. It is not known how long the match will last. It is not customary to stop him until the Snitch is caught.

By eleven o'clock, the stadium was packed— it seemed like the whole school had gathered here. Many of them had binoculars in their hands. The stands were located high above the ground, but, nevertheless, it was sometimes difficult to see what was happening in the sky from them. If the main team plays at an altitude of twenty to twenty-five meters, then the hunters sometimes rise to fifty and dive to the ground.

I and Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and Dean, a fan of West Ham football club, sat in the top row. To give Harry a pleasant surprise, we unfurled a huge banner made from the sheet that the Brat had mutilated. "Potter's captaincy" was written on the banner. And Dean, who could draw well, painted a huge lion on the banner, the emblem of the Gryffindor faculty. When we unfolded the canvas, Hermione whispered something under her breath, and the letters and the drawing began to shimmer in different colors.

Harry followed Fred and George out of the locker room. Madame Hooch refereed the match. She stood in the center of the field, holding a broom in her hands and waiting for the teams to line up opposite each other.

"So, we need a beautiful and fair game. From each and every one of you," she said, gesturing for everyone to come closer.

She did not address all the players, but personally to the captain of the Slytherin team, sixth-year Marcus Flint. Flint looks like he had trolls in his family. Pure-blooded wizards have a problem with looks in general. Too often we marry our relatives. Therefore, old families periodically marry Muggle-borns. Take Harry's mother, who was adopted into the Potter family. Although Bill says that James has fallen head over heels in love with Lily.

"Please get on your brooms." Hooch ordered.

Harry climbed onto his Nimbus 2000.

Madam Hooch forcefully blew the silver whistle and soared high into the air with the fourteen players. The match has started. The twins' friend Lee Jordan's sonorous voice could be heard from the commentator's podium.

"...And now the quaffle is in the hands of Angelina Johnson from Gryffindor. This girl is a great hunter, and, by the way, she is, among other things, very attractive..."

"JORDAN!" Professor McGonagall raised her voice, having deliberately sat down next to the match commentator. She knew perfectly well that Jordan often gets carried away, so she decided to control him.

"I'm sorry, Professor," he corrected himself. "So, Angelina makes a great maneuver, bypasses her rivals, Alicia Spinnet's accurate pass is Oliver Wood's find, last year she was just a backup, again a pass to Johnson and... No, the ball was intercepted by the Slytherin team. Marcus Flint, the captain of the national team, is making a leap forward. Flint soars into the sky like an eagle, now he's going to throw the ball... No, in a fantastic jump, Goalkeeper Wood intercepts the ball, and Gryffindor launches a counterattack. Katie Bell is a hunter with the ball, she superbly circles Flint from the right, soars over the field and.. Oh, what bad luck... It must hurt a lot to get hit in the back of the head with a bludger. The Slytherin team has the ball, Adrian Pusey flies to the opponent's goal, but he is stopped by the second bludger... It seems that Fred Weasley sent the ball to Pusey, although it might have been George, because they are so difficult to distinguish... In any case, the Gryffindor beaters did their best. Johnson has the ball in her hands, there is no one in front of her, and she rushes forward... What a flight!.. She dodges the speeding bludger... She's right in front of the gate... Come on, Angelina!.. Goalkeeper Bletchley makes a shot, misses... A GOAL! Gryffindor opens the account!"

The applause of the Gryffindor national team fans and the moans and howls of Slytherin fans filled the cold air, raising its temperature with their emotions.

"Hey, you guys up there, move over!" It reached me and Hermione.

"Hagrid!"

Wow, I thought he wasn't coming. Hermione and I made room for our classmates, and Hagrid struggled into the vacant seat.

"I was watching the game from my hut at first," he said, patting the huge binoculars hanging around his neck. "But everything is completely different here at the stadium, yes! The crowd is all around again, everyone is sick. The Snitch hasn't appeared yet, has it?"

"No," I shook my head. "Harry hasn't had a job yet."

"At least I'm not in trouble yet, that's not bad." Hagrid raised the binoculars to his eyes, staring at the tiny dot in the sky that was Harry Potter.

When Angelina opened the account, Harry described several circles over the field. A few seconds later, he dodged a black ball that resembled a ball, and at the same time, Fred Weasley rushed after him. Fred sent the bludger in the direction of Marcus Flint with a powerful blow.

"The Slytherin team has the ball," Lee Jordan commented on what was happening in the air. Hunter Pusey dodges a bludger, another one, bypasses the Weasley twins and Katie Bell and rushes to. Wait, isn't that a Snitch?"

A loud whisper ran through the crowd of spectators, Adrian Pusey dropped the quaffle that had ceased to interest him and, looking back, began to scan the sky in search of a golden ball that suddenly whistled past his left ear.