Ron-Weasly book 1

It was cold here-much colder than in the castle itself-and quite scary. All along the walls there were glass jars in which alcohol-soaked animals swam.

Snape, like Flitwick, began classes by opening a magazine and getting to know the students. And, like Flitwick, he stopped when he reached the last name Potter.

"Oh, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle giggled mockingly, covering their faces with their hands. Having finished his introduction to the class, Snape looked around the audience with an attentive gaze. His eyes were black. They were cold and empty, and for some reason they looked like dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the science of making magic potions. A very precise and subtle science," he began.

Snape spoke almost in a whisper, but the students clearly heard every word. Like Professor McGonagall, Snape had a gift for effortlessly controlling the classroom. As in Professor McGonagall's classes, no one dared to whisper or engage in outside activities.

"Silly waving of a magic wand has nothing to do with this science, and therefore many of you will find it hard to believe that my subject is an important component of magical science," Snape continued. I don't think you can appreciate the beauty of a slow-boiling cauldron exuding the most subtle odors, or the gentle power of liquids that creep through a person's veins, bewitching his mind, enslaving his senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, how to brew triumph, how to plug death. But all this is only on condition that you are at least somewhat different from the herd of blockheads that usually comes to my lessons.

Unfortunately, potions don't attract me from the word at all. It is much easier to buy a ready-made emergency kit, and not bother with their preparation in field conditions.

After this short speech, the silence in the course became absolute. Harry looked at me blankly. I didn't object to the fact that, in Snape's opinion, I was probably a crooked sheep. Hermione Granger shifted impatiently in her chair, looking as if she couldn't wait to prove that she was definitely not one of the herd of blockheads.

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What happens if I mix crushed asphodel root with wormwood tincture?"

He glanced at me, but I was equally taken aback by the question. Even though I've been reading a textbook on potions, a lot has already disappeared from my mind. But Hermione Granger clearly knew the answer, and her hand shot up into the air.

"I do not know, sir," Harry replied.

A contemptuous expression appeared on Snape's face.

"Well, well... Obviously, fame is not everything. But let's try it again, Potter. Snape stubbornly refused to notice Hermione's raised hand. "If I ask you to bring me a bezoar stone, where will you look for it?"

In the medical bag, of course. I couldn't quite remember where it was mined.

Hermione continued to pull on her hand, barely able to keep from jumping up from her seat. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were shaking with silent laughter. And I myself could only laugh at her antics. I could barely contain myself. Damn, don't laugh, Harry will be offended.

"I do not know, sir," Harry confessed.

"It doesn't seem to have occurred to you to read your textbooks before coming to school, does it, Potter?!"

Snape continued to ignore Hermione's trembling hand.

"Okay, Potter, what's the difference between wolfsbane and monk's hood?"

Hermione, unable to sit still any longer, stood up, stretching her arm towards the ceiling.

Will this know-it-all ever calm down? She doesn't let anyone else answer in class at all.

"I do not know," Harry said softly. "But I think Hermione knows that for sure, why don't you ask her?"

Laughter was heard. Harry looked around nervously. So did he think they were laughing at him? I'll have to calm him down. In the meantime, it's better to sit quietly and keep quiet.

"Sit down!" Snape snapped, turning to Hermione for a moment. "And you, Potter, remember: from the root of asphodel and wormwood, a soporific potion is prepared, so strong that it is called the drink of living death. A bezoar is a stone that is extracted from the stomach of a goat and is an antidote to most poisons. And wolfsbane and monk's hood are the same plant, also known as Aconite. Do you understand? So, everyone write down what I said!

Everyone hurriedly grabbed their quills and rustled the parchment. But Snape's quiet voice cut through the uproar.

"And for your insolent answer, Potter, I'm putting a penalty point on Gryffindor's account."

It seems that for the first-year students of the Gryffindor faculty, Snape's lessons promised to be not the most pleasant. After Snape sat Harry down, something else completely bleak happened. Snape divided the students into pairs and gave them the task of preparing a simple potion to cure boils. He circled the classroom, rustling his long black robe, and watched as we weighed dried nettle leaves and ground snake teeth in mortars. Snape criticized everyone except Malfoy, whom he obviously liked. At the moment when Snape called everyone to admire how Malfoy cooks horned slugs, the dungeon was suddenly filled with poisonous green smoke and loud hissing. Neville somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron, and it turned into a huge shapeless blob, and the potion they were preparing in the cauldron flowed onto the stone floor, burning holes in the shoes of nearby students. A moment later, everyone climbed onto their chairs with their feet, and Neville, who was doused by the potion splashed out of the cauldron, groaned in pain as red blisters appeared on his arms and legs.

"Idiot!" Snape growled, sweeping the spilled potion into a corner with a flick of his palm. "As I understand it, before removing the cauldron from the fire, you added porcupine quills to the potion?"

Neville, instead of answering, grimaced and began to cry — now his nose was covered with red blisters.

"Take him to the hospital wing," Snape said to Seamus with a grimace. And then he turned to us, who were working at the next table. "Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add porcupine quills to the potion? Or did you think that if he made a mistake, you would look better than him? I'm putting another penalty point on Gryffindor's account because of you."

Harry blushed at the injustice. He was about to object when I kicked him under the table.

"Don't push yourself," I whispered. "I've heard that Snape can do a lot of damage if he gets angry."

An hour later, we left the dungeon and went up the stairs. Harry was really upset.

"Cheer up," I encouraged him. "Fred and George are also having bad luck in Snape's lessons. Do you know how many fines they got from him? Hey, can I come with you to Hagrid's?"

Since he is a forester, he knows everything about the plants in the forbidden forest and the animals that inhabit it.

At five minutes to three we left the castle and walked through the school grounds to Hagrid's hut. He lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A hunting bow and a pair of galoshes hung over the front door.

When Harry knocked on the door, we heard someone frantically scratching at it from the other side and barking deafeningly. A moment later, Hagrid's booming voice reached us:

"Get back, Fang, get back!"

The door opened a crack, and a huge face overgrown with hair appeared behind it.

"Come on in," Hagrid invited. "Get back, Fang!"

Hagrid opened the door wider, barely holding the huge black dog by the collar. Hagrid did not know the name of this breed, although he explained that wild boars were hunted with such dogs.

There was only one room in the house. Hams and gutted pheasants hung from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling over an open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed covered with a patchwork quilt.

"You... er-er make yourself at home... Get settled," said Hagrid, releasing Fang, who rushed over to me and started licking my ears. It was obvious that Fang, like his master, looked much more dangerous than he really was. He should have salivated less.

"This is Ron," Harry introduced me.

Meanwhile, Hagrid was making tea and putting cupcakes on a plate. The cupcakes made contact with the plate with such a sound that there was no doubt about their freshness — they had withered and turned to stone a long time ago. So, it would be necessary to somehow carefully abandon them. My teeth are precious to me.

"Another Weasley, eh?" asked Hagrid, looking at my freckled face and red hair. "I've spent half my life hunting your brothers. They're always... well... They're trying to get into the Forbidden Forest, but I have to catch them, yes!"

And why am I not surprised? It was easy to break our teeth on the stone cupcakes, but Harry and I pretended that we really liked them and told Hagrid how our first days at school had been. Fang was sitting next to Harry, resting his head on his lap and drooling profusely over his school uniform. I took the cupcake in my hand and tried to soak it in a cup. Hmm, but nothing like that. But anyway, I would have eaten something more substantial.

Harry and I were terribly amused when we heard Hagrid call Filch an old bastard.

"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 on my heels, watching everything 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 interrupt.

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.

"But I think he hates me."

"It's nothing!" Hagrid objected. "Why would he?"

However, Hagrid slightly looked away as he said these words. Another problem. Snape definitely reacts to his friend in some way too aggressively. Even my brothers don't piss him 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.

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?

Chapter 8

During the first week at school, Malfoy and we barely bumped into each other — the only classes we had together were Professor Snape's. However, 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.

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. 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. He 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 soccer 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.

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. I totally agreed with her — Neville managed to get into the most incredible stories, even standing on two legs. He was very clumsy, so giving him a broom was simply scary.

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.

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 eared 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. Harry's no better, though. His barn owl was the only polar owl in school, but at least they gave it to him and he values it very much. He always goes to the owlery to check on her.