Ron-Weasly book 2

Professor Sprout was a small, chubby witch with a mended— mended hat on disheveled hair; her dress was always in the ground, and she herself had dirty nails, it was immediately obvious that she was constantly messing with the ground. Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand, was as immaculate as ever, his turquoise cape billowing, golden curls shimmering under a perfectly fitting hat of the same color, trimmed with a gold border. Handsome, damn it.

"Hello everyone" He greeted the students from afar with a beaming smile. "I was showing Professor Sprout how to cure a Rattlesnake Willow! But please don't think that the professor knows less about herbology than I do! It's just that I've dealt with exotic plants during my travels...."

"Kids, greenhouse number three!" Professor Sprout ordered, clearly upset. There was no trace of her usual lively and friendly disposition today. Was she so upset about willow? Or is she already sick of this peacock?

The guys made quite a noise. Last year, we only worked in greenhouse number one. In greenhouse number three, the plants were much more interesting, even dangerous. The professor took a large key from her belt and unlocked the greenhouse door. From there, warmth, the smell of damp earth, fertilizers, and the heavy scent of giant umbrella-sized flowers hanging from the ceiling wafted over me. Harry started to step inside after Hermione and me, but Lockhart's hand stopped him.

"Harry! I need you for a few words. Do you mind if Harry is about three minutes late, Professor?"

Judging by the displeased face, Sprout objected.

"That's great," said Lockhart and slammed the door in the face of the professor of herbology.

While Harry was chatting with the professor, we went into the greenhouse and stood by the boxes of dew, waiting for him. Professor Sprout was standing by a wooden bench in the center of the greenhouse, on which were about twenty pairs of ear plugs. After waiting for Harry to take his place next to Hermione, the woman, unhappy with the delay, began the lesson.

"Today we will be transplanting mandrakes", She said. "Who wants to tell you about the properties of this plant?"

No one was surprised that Hermione raised her hand first. Behind her, Neville is uncertain.

"Mandragora, or mandragorum is a powerful remedy for restoring health," Hermione rattled off as if she knew the textbook by heart. With her memory, I wouldn't be surprised. "The mandrake is used to restore a person who has undergone a spell to his original appearance."

"Great. Ten points for Gryffindor," Said Professor Sprout. "Mandrake is the main component of most antidotes. But the mandrake itself is not safe. Who can say why?"

Hermione's hand shot up again. She almost brushed the glasses off Harry's nose. He barely managed to stagger back. Neville raised his hand uncertainly.

"Neville, don't be shy."

"The cry of the mandrake is deadly to anyone who hears it," Neville answered without hesitation. Apparently, the professor is used to him answering her lessons instead of Hermione.

"Absolutely right. Let's add another ten points. The mandrakes that are now in front of you are seedlings that are still very young."

The professor pointed to the deep drawers, and the whole class moved forward to get a better look. The boxes were filled with rows of purple-green leaves sticking out of the ground, each with about a hundred small mandrakes. I didn't notice anything special about them, although I had heard stories about the "crying of the mandrake".

"Take the headphones," Professor Sprout ordered. Pushing, we rushed to the bench, I didn't want to sit in pink faux furs for the whole lesson, and the others seemed to, too. I don't want to look like a girl. Sprout calmly took them for herself and lifted them over the table.

"When I say, "Put on your headphones," try to put them on so that you can't hear anything at all. When it's time to take off the headphones, I'll give you a thumbs up. Put on your headphones!"

I quickly put on a pair of headphones with red fur, and the silence was complete. Professor Sprout put on her own, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grabbed one of the plants tightly and pulled hard.

Harry said something, but I couldn't hear him. It's a good charm, but I'd also use a charm to talk to each other.

Instead of roots, a tiny, dirt-stained, ugly baby popped out of the ground. Leaves were growing right out of the top of his head, his skin was pale green, dotted with multicolored dots, and it was obvious that he was screaming his head off. Professor Sprout took a large flower pot from under the table and planted the mandrake in dark, moist compost, leaving only a bunch of leaves outside. Then she dusted off the compost on her hands, gave a thumbs up, and took off her headphones. I followed her example.

"Because our mandrakes are still very small," she explained, "Crying doesn't kill them." She spoke so calmly, as if she had watered a pot of begonia instead of performing a real miracle in front of all of us. "But their screams can deafen you for four hours. I'm sure none of you want to miss the first day of class, so make sure that your headphones cover your ears tightly. When the lesson ends, I'll give you a sign. You will work with four people with each box, the compost is here, in bags. And make sure that the burning antennica does not touch the tentacles, it burns."

As she spoke, the professor slapped a dark red thorny plant quite hard, which was surreptitiously pulling a long probe towards her shoulder, and the probe instantly withdrew. Our inseparable trio was joined by a curly-haired boy from the Halfpuff house. I didn't remember him, we never talked. If we had a constant feud with the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws didn't pay attention to anything except their research, then the Halpafs were constantly busy fighting with Professor Sprout. Future farmers, what to take from them. Neville should have gone to the Halfpuffs with his love of plants. He belongs there. But as Neville confessed to us, the hat persuaded him to go to Gryffindor.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," Halpafetz introduced himself affably, shaking Harry's hand. I know you, of course. You're the famous Harry Potter... You're Hermione Granger, first in all subjects. Justin shook her hand too. Hermione beamed. And you're Ron Weasley. You won the McGonagall chess game that year, didn't you?

"That's right, I really like playing with small golems."

"And Lockhart is strong!" Justin continued, beaming. "Brave as a lion. Have you read his books? I would have died of fright if I had been attacked in a phone booth by a vampire. And at least he's henna! I fought and won. Fantastic! My parents enrolled me in Eton, but I'm so happy that I'm studying here."

Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Your parents are upset, aren't they?"

"Of course, my mom was a little upset, but I gave her Lockhart books to read, and she realized how wonderful it is to have a wizard in the family, especially a well-educated one.... I've been reading them since last year. It's good that Lockhart is now our professor."

Wow, a boy, but he fell for this nonsense. How was Lockhart allowed to smuggle his books in as textbooks in the first place? Did McGonagall even read them? Or does she not know what literature she approves as textbooks?

Justin fell silent, and the conversation did not resume. The headphones were on, and we started transplanting mandrakes. Professor Sprout easily handled the first seedling, that's why she was a professor of herbology. The case, however, turned out to be not so simple. The mandrakes did not want to leave their home and move to a separate pot, they writhed, kicked, pounded with sharp, strong fists, gnashed their teeth. I stubbornly stuffed one thick mandrake into the pot. Then another one.

By the end of the lesson, I, like everyone else, was covered in sweat, stained with dirt, and my hands hurt from unaccustomed use. Although we have a garden, we hardly plant vegetables there — it's easier to buy from farmers. The same Halfpaffians grow very good vegetables and fruits. And what kind of strawberries do the Hartmans have... Dirty and tired, we dragged ourselves to the castle, where we took a shower, and the Gryffindors went to transfiguration class.

It was always difficult in Professor McGonagall's classes, but especially today. Everything I learned last year seemed to have completely slipped my mind over the summer. The task was to turn a dung beetle into a big button. I reached for last year's notes. So the bugs. Yeah, yeah, well, I see...

Before class, I took a piece of magic duct tape from an upperclassman and wrapped it around a magic wand. I hoped that it would work somehow. Hagrid does magic with his halves, doesn't he? But the wand seems to have completely deteriorated. It kept crackling and sparking, and when I tried to turn the beetle, it emitted thick smoke, smelly like a rotten egg. I couldn't see anything in the smoke, and I accidentally squashed a bug with my elbow, so I had to ask for a new one. Which, of course, upset Professor McGonagall.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the bell from class. My brain was squeezed out like a sponge. Everyone ran out of the classroom except Harry and me. I started banging my wand on the table, saying angrily:

"Stupid useless piece of wood!"

"Write home," Harry advised me in response to the shower of sparks that burst from the unfortunate wand. "Have them send you a new one."

"And I'll get another Speaker," I sighed heavily, stuffing my wand into my bag. "And they have nothing to send. I got almost a broken one anyway. And a new one requires at least four galleons, if you take it from Kendal. And you'll have to leave school to find the right one, and they won't let you leave until the holidays."

Let's go to the dining room for lunch. Hermione showed us a whole handful of excellent coat buttons that she got in transfiguration class, which made me feel even worse. Why does everyone have normal chopsticks, but I got such junk? All my brothers have new ones, but I've already got a used one. And all the father with his car. Dumn. Although it would be even more insulting if I broke a new wand.

"What do we have in the afternoon?" I asked gloomily, putting food on my plate.

"Defense against the Dark Arts," Hermione reported immediately. Why does she sound so dreamy? Looking over her shoulder at the piece of paper she was examining, I was surprised.

"Why do you have little hearts against all Lockhart's lessons?" I asked, grabbing Hermione's schedule from her hands. Maybe I'm just seeing things because I'm tired.

Hermione snatched the timetable sheet from me and blushed deeply.

That she really has a crush on this peacock?! It would have been better if Harry had chosen him, he's also a hero. Although she rather sees Harry as a younger brother.

After lunch, we went out into the courtyard, where the sky was overcast with gloomy clouds. Hermione sat down on the stone steps, tucking her bag under her ass and turned back to her "Meetings with vampires." Harry and I were standing next to each other, talking about Quidditch. There was a boy with gray hair standing not far from us, whom I noticed through the window in the Great Hall during the distribution ceremony. The boy stared at Harry, wide-eyed, as if mesmerized. He was clutching an ordinary-looking Muggle camera in his hand. The boy blushed. So another fan, wasn't there enough excitement for me at the beginning of my freshman year? That you'll have to fight off a friend from a crowd of fans again?

"Don't be angry, Harry. I'm Colin Creevey", He said it in one breath, hesitantly stepping forward when he noticed Harry looking at him. "I'm a Gryffindor too. How do you think... how would you look at... if I took a picture?" He raised the camera.

"A snapshot?" Harry asked, puzzled. Buddy, don't be dumb. He won't calm down until he gets you on camera. Future reporters are like that... Hmm, can I get in on the action with this kid? I don't stop him from taking pictures of Harry, and he gives me a share of the profits? The main thing is that a friend does not find out, otherwise he will be offended. So, he's in the same year as Jeanie. I need to give her a hint to get a guy involved. Maybe they'll even become friends, but since Luna got to Ravenclaw, they don't even communicate. Jeanie is still sitting in the living room and writing in her diary.

"Well, yes, a picture. To prove that we know each other." Colin continued, taking another step closer. "I know all about you. I've been told so much about you: how You-Know-Who wanted to kill you, how you miraculously escaped, and he disappeared forever, and all that.... That you have a lightning-like scar on your forehead (his gaze lingered on Harry's forehead). And one boy from our class said that if you develop the film in a special solution, your photos will move. That's right, the twins will be able to brew a potion for him. It's not particularly difficult, but I won't take it on. Colin sighed with a sob from the excess of his feelings and continued:

"How wonderful it is here! Strange things happened to me at home, and I didn't even know it was magic. But then I got a letter from Hogwarts and I understood everything. My dad is a milkman, and he still doesn't believe in magic. I want to send him lots and lots of pictures. It would be great if he got yours." He looked at Harry pleadingly. "Could your friend take a picture of me with you so that we stand side by side? Could you sign the photo?" The boy said plaintively, looking hopefully at Harry. Yeah. I don't envy the guy. Seamus's situation with his father is even worse, though.

"Sign a photo? Are you handing out autographed photos of yourself, Potter?" Well of course. And the main slug is here, much less without him. No, I understand he's Harry's relative and all that. But the way he periodically tries to straighten his brain is something. Not only is he walking around his mother, but he's also throwing mud at my family and Hermione's. For which he gets punched in the face when the teachers are not around.

Draco Malfoy's loud, mocking voice echoed through the courtyard. He stopped behind Colin, accompanied by two loyal friends Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like real thugs. Hurry up to take the queue! Malfoy shouted at the students who filled the courtyard.

"Harry Potter is signing autographs!"

"I'm not giving anything away," Harry said, clenching his fists. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"You're just jealous," Colin blurted out, his torso barely thicker than Crabbe's neck.

"For me? Envious?" Malfoy was clearly in shock. Draco wasn't shouting anymore, half the yard was already listening to him. "Why be envious? So that they cut half my skull? No thanks! I'm not that stupid." Crabbe and Goyle just giggled stupidly. So, someone hasn't received it for a long time.