Ron-Weasly book 1. V2

On the table between us is Hermione's mug of tea without sugar and with mint, a stack of parchments, a map that I tried to roll up, but it still tries to unfold. Somewhere in the corner, the older guys are quietly playing magic chess on a standard board. I actually noticed that very few people play on the extended board, but I convinced Hermione to play with me. The fire in the fireplace casts long shadows, and it seems that there is nothing outside this circle at all.

I took a sip of hot tea with lemon and, without looking, fumbled for oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips on the table.

Imagine, Fred said that if you whisper "lumos" into the keyhole, the door will open itself. I tried it. It didn't work out. But Mrs. Norris came around the corner and looked at me like I was trying to steal her dinner. She also covered her face with her paw and meowed indignantly. At least she didn't call Filch.

Harry snorted, pulling his robes closer around him. It was especially cold today, and at least the robes had a heating charm.

"I probably should have said it louder. Or add "please"."

Hermione looked up from her textbook, her pencil pausing in the margins.

"Or learn a normal unlocking spell. But I'm glad you weren't hurt."

She reached for the mug, and for a second the room was completely silent-just the crackle of wood and the patter of rain on glass.

I smiled, slipped my fingers into the sleeves of my sweater, and said, lower my voice:

"The main thing is that we are here. And it's warm here."

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Harry's POV

The December evening in the Gryffindor common room seemed to be deliberately trying to be cozy — to at least protect a little from what was outside. The rain was lashing at the stained glass windows, the wind was humming in the chimney, but inside it smelled of wax, old wood and hot chocolate. The fire cast red highlights on the worn upholstery of the chairs, on the stack of textbooks at Hermione's feet, on the edge of the school map that the seniors had given him on his first night at school.

Ron was sitting with his leg tucked up in his mother's sweater, which was a little too big, and there was a special reliability in it, as if the sweater hugged him by itself. He took a bite of a cranberry cookie and was about to say something, but suddenly froze. Tilly, the housekeeper from the kitchen, who is responsible for the living room of the faculty, went wild today.

Neville was sitting in the corner, almost hidden by the back of a large armchair and a red and gold plaid. He tried to be inconspicuous: his shoulders were pulled in, his fingers were gripping his knees tightly, and tears were quietly rolling down his cheeks. He didn't sob loudly, he didn't give himself that right-he just sat there and gulped the air as if it were prickly.

Hermione noticed it first. Her pencil hovered over the page of her textbook, her gaze slid from the lines to the dark corner where her shoulders were shaking. She carefully closed the notebook, put the pencil down smoothly, as always, and quietly, so as not to frighten, approached. She sat on the low ottoman next to him, not too close, but so that Neville would know he wasn't alone.

"You don't have to be brave every minute." She said it very calmly, almost in a whisper, so that only he could hear it through the crackling of the firewood and the voices of the older children. "If bravery today is just sitting here and not hiding your tears, then you're already the bravest."

Neville sniffed, tried to wipe his face with his sleeve, but the sleeve immediately became wet, and for some reason it completely broke his attempts to hold on. He sobbed softly and suddenly buried his forehead in his knees.

Harry, who had been listening to Ron in silence and absently twirling the mug in his hands, immediately understood everything. He didn't get up loudly, didn't attract the attention of the whole living room. He simply took off his robe-heavy, smelling of castle corridors and winter damp-and draped it over Neville's shoulders. The robe was just right, it had only slipped a little to one side, but something like a cocoon appeared in it, a wall behind which one could exhale.

"Malfoy blurted something out again," Neville muttered without looking up. "About... about my grandma. He said that she was "not all right." I wanted to answer. I wanted to say something cool, like Fred and George. But I was just slurring my words, and I just stood there.

Ron, without hesitation, shifted to make room and slapped the seat next to him.

"Sit down here," he said, a little louder than necessary, as if on purpose, so that there would be firmness in his voice, which Neville lacked right now. We sit here when we don't want anything cool at all. Here you can just be the one who stands and says nothing. And if you want, I'll go right now and tell Fred to come up with a spell for Malfoy to tie his tongue in a knot. Well, or at least for him to hiccup the whole lesson.

Neville smiled weakly through his tears, a shaky but real smile.

Hermione took a small clean handkerchief out of her pocket — neat, with a hemmed edge, obviously from home. She held it out without insisting, just put it on the armrest so Neville could take it when he was ready.

"If you want to tell me, we're here," she said softly. "If you don't want to, you can stay here too. We can talk about something else altogether. About jumping toadstools. Or about how to properly fold the parchment so that it does not unfold every two seconds.

The fire in the fireplace clicked, spitting out a tiny spark, and it scattered into golden dots before going out. It became a little quieter in this corner of the living room, as if the castle itself had held its breath for a second, giving Neville time to just sit, warm up and believe that he would not be judged either for crying or for the fact that his bravery today was not loud, but quiet.

The fire in the fireplace was turning lazily, pushing up long flames, and the living room was getting warmer and quieter, as if the castle itself had turned down the volume to allow Neville to exhale. Harry was still sitting next to him, his robes resting comfortably on Neville's shoulders like a heavy, reliable wing. Hermione was sitting nearby, holding a closed notebook on her lap — not to study, but to give Neville the feeling that everything was going as usual. Ron, unable to sit still, kept glancing at the entrance, as if waiting for reinforcements.

And it burst in.

With a loud bang, the door to the living room flew open, and Fred and George appeared in the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. They both wore the same scarves, but they were tied differently: Fred's was careless, almost loose, and George's was tight, as if he was trying to hold not only the scarf together, but the whole evening. George was holding a tin can with something suspiciously crunchy in it, and Fred was holding a bundle with a corner of parchment with bright red ink sticking out of it.

"We heard we need a plan here," Fred said, stepping forward and scanning the living room like a battlefield commander.

"Or at least some moral support," George added, setting the jar down on the table with a sound like it was a battle trophy.

Ron immediately brightened up, as if there was more light in the room. Neville...

"Malfoy said something about Grandma to him again. And Neville wanted to answer, but... well, you know."

Fred immediately sat down on the arm of the chair next to Neville, leaning forward slightly to be on a level with his gaze.

"Do you know what the funniest thing about Draco Malfoy is?" He asked very seriously, but there were sparkles dancing in his eyes, just like in a fireplace. "He thinks that if you say nasty things loudly enough, they become true. But in fact they just sound like a squeak."

George squatted down in front of Neville, resting his elbows on his knees.

"And do you know what we can do? We can come up with a joke so that he can outwit himself. For example, so that every time he says something offensive, a small firework will fly out of his nose. It doesn't hurt, it's just very embarrassing."

Neville smiled faintly, and that smile was as fragile as the first ice in a puddle-it was about to crack, but it was still holding on.

"I don't want him to get hurt," he said softly.

"And it won't be," George replied firmly. "We don't hurt. We make it funny for everyone... except him."

Harry, who had been silent until then, suddenly spoke up:

"Maybe it's better not to give him a reason at all. Let him think that his words just... don't get through. Like the wind through an open window."

Hermione nodded in agreement, but added with a slight smile:

"But if you really want him to feel how unpleasant it is, you can make his own words echo back to him. So that he can hear for himself how stupid it sounds."

Fred rubbed his hands together theatrically.

"Oh, echo is a good idea. We can figure something out. Not a spell, of course, we're not that cool yet. But, say, a sly note that will whisper his words back. Or..."

"Or we'll just be there," George finished calmly, looking directly at Neville. "If he says something again, you won't be alone. We will stand side by side. And Ron. And Harry. And Hermione. And even a Brat, if he gathers his courage."

Neville took a deep breath, and it wasn't as scratchy as it used to be. He adjusted Harry's robes a little on his shoulders, as if checking if they were holding up, and nodded.

"Thank you," he whispered. "It's just... Thank you for being here."

Ron immediately moved over to make room on the couch.

"Sit here," he said, slapping the pillow with his palm. We have a headquarters here. Here we decide who is joking with whom, and who is just drinking cocoa and not thinking about Malfoy."

Fred took a handful of fruit candies out of his pocket and poured them on the table.

"And these are strategic reserves. For courage. Or just to be sweet when it's cold outside."

At that moment, the fireplace clicked, throwing out another spark, and it fell whirling onto the carpet and went out. But the light in the living room was not from the fire, but from the fact that there were those who would not let go. The rain was still pounding on the windows, the wind was humming in the pipes, but here, in this corner, it was warm, noisy, a little ridiculous— and very Gryffindor.

End pov

Chapter 10.2 Christmas.

All the students were looking forward to the holidays and could no longer think about anything else. Maybe it was because it was terribly cold at school and everyone wanted to go to their warm, cozy homes. No, it was warm in the Gryffindor Common Room, the bedroom, and the Great Hall, because the flames roaring in the fireplaces didn't go out for a minute. But the draughty corridors were icy, and the windows in the frozen classrooms were shaking and ringing under the blows of the wind, threatening to fly out. They couldn't fix them with magic. After all, this is where the largest community of brownies lives. But no, we need everyone to freeze. Okay, the seniors are casting warming charms on themselves, but what should we do? Our family is saved by my mother's sweaters. She enchants them for warmth. What about Muggleborns and first-generation children? They're wearing Muggle clothes without enchantments. Harry is cold in his aunt's sweater and warm trousers. Harry is still in shock, Hagrid told him that the school is warm all year round. He said he would definitely buy magical warm clothes next summer. And a bandana, like I have for potions lessons. The hat is not too comfortable, it will eat into the eyes, it is hot from the boiler. And now the herbology lessons are the very thing. I was wearing a blue bandana with fire foxes, and Malfoy and Nott were wearing a green one with silver snakes.

The students had the worst time in Professor Snape's classes, which took place in the dungeon. Steam escaping from their mouths hung in the air like a white cloud, and the students, forgetting about burns and other dangers, tried to stay as close as possible to the bubbling cauldrons, almost clinging to them. Even the Slytherins in enchanted clothes were a little cold, but they, like me, tried not to get into the steam from the cauldron.

"I can't believe that someone will stay at school for the Christmas holidays because no one is waiting for them at home", Draco Malfoy said loudly in one of his potions classes. "Poor guys, I feel sorry for them..."

Malfoy was looking at Harry as he said these words. Crabbe and Goyle giggled loudly. After the memorable match in which Gryffindor won thanks to Harry, Malfoy became even more unbearable. Stung by his team's defeat, he tried to make everyone laugh with a joke he had come up with. The idea was that in the next game, instead of Harry, a tree frog would take the field, it had a wider mouth than Potter's, and therefore it would be an ideal seeker.

However, Malfoy quickly realized that his joke wasn't making anyone laugh. Harry may have caught the ball in a very peculiar way, but he caught it nonetheless. And, moreover, everyone was amazed that he managed to stay on the maddened broom. Malfoy, even more angry and burning with envy, returned to his proven tactics and continued to tease Harry, reminding him and others that he did not have a normal family. He also walked around my family a few times, but after I punched him in the face a couple of times, he calmed down. But Harry was embarrassed to hit the offender, apparently, and Malfoy did not let up. But at least Harry's mother was no longer called a mudblood, replacing this word with a bad Muggle-born. Especially after he got a detention from Snape, who heard a mudblood from him about Harry's mom.

A week ago, Professor McGonagall went through all the courses, making a list of students who would stay at school during the holidays, and I, like Harry, asked to be included in this list. My brothers were also going to stay at Hogwarts — our parents were going to Romania to visit their second son Charlie. Harry would have stayed for the summer, but it's forbidden, and he promised his aunt to help around the house in the summer. Should I invite him to join us? By the way, how did the Potters miss him, the heir after all. Although, according to rumors, they left the country during the civil war.

When we came out of the dungeon at the end of the lesson, we found that a huge fir tree had appeared in the corridor from nowhere. However, two giant feet poking out from behind the trunk and loud puffing told us that Hagrid had brought the fir here.

"Hey, Hagrid, do you need any help?" I asked, sticking my head between the branches.

"No, I'm fine, Ron... But thanks anyway," came a voice from behind the fir tree.