Ron-Weasly book 2

"Stop it!" Harry exclaimed.

I giggled, and the slugs fell into the garden. I wonder how Harry will react when he finds out that Colin has already taken a couple of dozen ordinary photos for her, in exchange for the twins' help in developing the photo? No, at first they tried to develop magical photos with Harry, but he just runs away from them. She's probably shy. It happens. But ordinary photos turn out to be normal.

"Be careful!" Hagrid growled and immediately dragged me away from the precious pumpkins.

It was almost lunchtime. We said goodbye to Hagrid and went to the castle. I hiccuped occasionally, but I seemed to have run out of slugs-I only regurgitated a couple of tiny ones the whole way.

As soon as we entered the lobby, we heard our last names.

"It's finally here, Potter, and the Weasleys." Professor McGonagall was approaching us. She looked very stern.

You will work out your punishments in the evening.

"What are we going to do, Professor?" I asked, stifling a burp.

"You, Weasley, will be cleaning the silver in the Hall of Honor under the supervision of Mr. Filch", Professor McGonagall replied. "And no magic, Weasley: you'll be working with your hands."

I took a deep breath. Argus Filch, the caretaker, was hated by every single Hogwarts student.

"And you, Potter, will be helping Professor Lockhart — his fans have flooded him with letters."

"Not again! Can I also clean the silver in the Hall of Honor?" Harry sounded desperate.

"Of course not." Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Professor Lockhart asked you to help him. At eight o'clock sharp, and don't be late!"

The mood was ruined. Harry and I entered the Great Hall, hunched over, Hermione following us, her face clearly saying, "You shouldn't have broken the school rules!" We discussed our punishments while sitting at the table and having lunch.

"Filch will keep me up all night," I lamented. "And no magic! There are three hundred cups in this room! And I don't know how to use my hands like Muggles at all!"

"I'd love to trade with you," Harry said miserably. I've been practicing with the Dursleys. Reply to letters from Lockhart fans... It's just a nightmare!"

Is it interesting to him that he has never received letters from fans? And the parcels? It's weird. My sister definitely wrote to him.

As it turned out, Harry had not received any letters at all before the first letter from Hogwarts. And even now he doesn't receive letters from fans. Maybe there really is protection at his aunt's house?

Saturday afternoon melted away quickly. Before I knew it, the clock was already pointing at five minutes to eight. Harry staggered down the second-floor hallway to Lockhart's office. I went to Filch.

What a nightmare. Not only did he make me rub goblets without magic, but I also had another bout of slug eruption. Filch was finally satisfied with how I cleaned a certain Riddle's cup. Damn, I threw up on him a few times, I wish I'd gone to the hospital wing anyway. At least I had some sandwiches on my way back to the living room. Damn, my arm is cramping.

I stumbled into the room, supporting my right arm with my left. I smelled strongly of silver cleaner. Harry was already in the bedroom and seemed to be waiting for me.

"My arm is cramped," I moaned, falling onto the bed. "He made me polish the Quidditch Cup fourteen times! And when I was cleaning the Cup "For special services to the school," the slugs came out of me again, and I spent ages scrubbing the slime off it.... What about you and Lockhart?"

Lowering his voice so as not to wake Neville, Dean, and Seamus, Harry sat up in bed and told me about the disembodied voice that wanted to kill.

"And Lockhart said he hadn't heard anything?" I asked. Then he frowned. "Do you think he lied? But I don't understand... even invisible people open doors! Maybe it was a ghost? They say the same bloody baron likes to walk around the school invisible."

"Yes, of course," Harry replied, sinking back onto the pillow. "I don't understand anything either."

Chapter 6 The death of Headless Nick.

October came, cold and dampness flooded the surroundings, made their way into the castle. Madam Pomfrey was constantly busy now— the whole school was coughing and sneezing. Her "Bouncy Pepper Potion" worked instantly, and everything would have been fine if it hadn't been for the side effect.: for those who took the tincture, smoke poured out of their ears for three hours. My sister looked sluggish and haggard. Percy even took her to the hospital ward and forced her to drink this drug. He probably suffers because the moon is on another house. Although after I set her up with Creevey, she seemed to have more fun.

Heavy raindrops pounded on the castle windows for a week without a break. The lake overflowed its banks, the flower beds turned into a muddy mess, and Hagrid's pumpkins swelled to the size of a carriage. But none of this dampened Oliver Wood's enthusiasm. The training continued. I was even glad I wasn't on the Quidditch team. Just playing is one thing, but playing Quidditch professionally is not. I don't need such happiness.

It was raining again today, and my friend had a workout. He came back kind of excited and rushed to change clothes as usual. After finally changing into clean, dry clothes, Harry joined us in the Common Room. After that, he told about the request of Headless Nick.

"A death anniversary party?" Hermione asked with interest. "I bet very few living people can boast that they were at such a reception. It's probably going to be amazing! And it would occur to you to celebrate the anniversary of your own death! I shook my head disapprovingly. It would have been better if we had gone to the great hall for the celebration. But since Harry promised, what can you do? I've been doing my potions homework, and it's always been depressing for me. Knowing which potion is made for what and how to use it is one thing, I need it. But I probably won't need to cook it, except for the most necessary potions like hematopoietic and pericarp. I will buy the same bonfire ready-made. I will buy the same bone growth ready-made. As well as a set of antidotes and strengthening potions.

In my opinion, it will be a mortal melancholy.... Outside, rain was lashing at the slate-black panes, but the room was bright and cozy. A bright fire was burning in the fireplace. The students, sitting in upholstered chairs, read, talked, and did their homework. Fred and George were setting up an experiment: what happens if you feed Dr. Firecracker's sparkler to a salamander? In the magical creature care room, Fred had "released" a bright orange lizard from its confinement, and now it was steaming on a table surrounded by a bunch of curious people.

The salamander suddenly soared up and spun wildly around the room, crackling loudly and scattering sparks. Orange stars fell from her mouth, there was a slight explosion, and the salamander, engulfed in flames, disappeared. Damn, it looks like she's dead. Having dispersed the people, Percy shouted hoarsely at the twins.

The whole school was looking forward to the Halloween banquet. The great hall was traditionally decorated with live bats and lanterns made from huge Hagrid pumpkins — each pumpkin could fit three people! Rumor had it that Dumbledore had invited a troupe of dancing skeletons to the party. They usually stay in their necropolis cities and don't go out into the Earthly world. They don't like the magical background.

"A promise is a promise," Hermione told Harry adamantly when he mentioned his unwillingness to attend the birthday party. "You promised Nick you'd go to his anniversary party.

Boys, let's take some food with us for dinner. I read that ghosts never have fresh food on their birthday.

At exactly seven o'clock in the evening, Harry, Hermione, and I walked past the Great Hall, where candles shone invitingly and golden dishes glittered on the tables. We overcame the temptation and headed for the stairs leading down to the basements.

I wanted to go to the great hall for food, but there was only a pumpkin. I wanted to go to the great hall for food, but there was only a pumpkin. The couple of sandwiches I made for lunch won't be enough for me. Well, maybe we'll be back in time for dessert. They entered a corridor that led to a large underground room, the one where Nick was hosting his reception. The hallway was lit by candles, which made it even darker. Long, thin, black candles burned with a bright blue flame, and in their ghostly light we ourselves looked like ghosts. The hallway was getting colder with every step. Suddenly, a deafening sound touched our ears, as if thousands of nails were scratching on a giant blackboard at the same time.

"Is that music?" I whispered in horror. That grating got to my bones.

We turned the corner and saw an almost Headless Nick wrapped in black velvet. Hmm, he changed his clothes, and I didn't know that ghosts could do that. Nick hovered at the entrance to the hall, greeting the approaching guests. Welcome, dear friends," Nick said in a mournful tone as we approached. Welcome! I am so glad that you have honored me with your visit. He took off his feathered hat and invited us inside with a low bow.

An incredible sight presented itself to our eyes. The underground hall was filled with hundreds of ghosts. Pearl-white transparent couples waltzed on the dance floor to the heart-rending sound of thirty musical saws. They were played by musicians in black velvet standing on the stage. Such imposing skeletons in black clothes and tools painted black. A giant candelabrum hung from the ceiling, and a thousand candles flooded the hall with midnight blue light. The room was as cold as a freezer, and thick steam was pouring out of our mouths. It's good that we thought to wear warm trousers and sweaters under our robes.

"Shall we take a walk around the hall?" Harry suggested.

"Be careful, you just don't have to go through any of the guests." I nervously remarked, and we, carefully looking around, rushed forward along the edge of the dance floor.

They walked past a group of gloomy nuns, past a ragged man in chains, past a Fat Monk, the cheerful ghost of a Halfpuff, past a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. I noticed that the ghosts were avoiding the Bloody Baron, the ghost of the Slytherin dungeon. He was a thin man with bulging eyes, wrapped in a robe, on which bloodstains shimmered silvery.

"You are welcome!" Hermione whispered, freezing in place. "Turn around, and quickly. I really don't want to talk to Myrtle the Crybaby right now...."

"With whom, with whom?" Harry asked as we turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

"It's a ghost from the girls' bathroom on the second floor," Hermione replied.

"A ghost from the bathroom?" Harry asked.

"Yes," said Hermione, nodding. "The toilet has not been working for a year now because Myrtle is constantly crying and flooding the room."

"Personally, I only go there if absolutely necessary. You go into the booth on your own, and there Myrtle sees you and starts crying...."

Oh, the grub! Maybe it's not that bad?

"Look, the banquet table!" I interrupted her.

There was indeed a long table against the opposite wall, also covered with black velvet. We, who had managed to get pretty hungry, swallowed our saliva and picked up our pace. A sickening smell touched our sense of smell, a minute, two — and we saw the treat itself and stopped dead. Large rotten fish stretched out on beautiful silver platters, black-burnt cupcakes were piled on trays, a tripe of mutton stuffed with giblets, teeming with fat white worms, rested on a large plate, next to a huge piece of cheese covered in fluffy green mold. In the center of the table is a giant birthday cake in the shape of a tombstone, on it is written in black sugar letters: "Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Delphington. He died on October 31, 1492."

An impressive-sized ghost approached the table, bent down and moved forward, passing through the table in such a way that for a moment a rotten salmon fell into his wide-open mouth.

"Do you feel the taste of food if you walk through it?" Harry asked him.

"Almost," the ghost replied sadly and sauntered away.

I think they deliberately let the food go rotten so that the smell and taste would be stronger. Hermione stated confidently, clutching her nose with her hands and bending down to examine the half-decomposed mutton tripe more closely. Damn, and she's not disgusted? It's impossible to breathe there. There are also worms. Brr.

"Let's get out of here, I'm sick," I said, turning pale.

Before we could turn away from the table, a small man suddenly flew out from under it and hovered in front of us in the air.

"Hello, Peeves," Harry said cautiously.

Unlike ghosts, the poltergeist was neither pale nor transparent. He was wearing a bright orange paper hat and a rotating bow tie around his neck. There was a wide grin on his ugly face.

"Peanuts?" He offered, handing us a bowl filled with rancid peanuts.

"No, thanks," Hermione shook her head.

"I heard you talking about poor Myrtle." The poltergeist's eyes danced with unfriendly lights. "You were very rude about poor Myrtle." He took a deep breath and bellowed: "Hey, Myrtle!"

"Don't, Peeves, don't tell her what I said about her, she'll be very upset", Hermione whispered desperately. "That's not what I wanted to say, I don't mind at all... uh, hello, Myrtle!"

A plump ghost of a teacher floated up to us. The girl's face was half hidden by long disheveled hair and thick glasses that shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow. I've never seen such a sad expression on his face in my life.

"Well?" she asked gloomily.

"How are you, Myrtle?" Hermione asked in a mock cheerful tone. "I'm really glad to see you off the toilet."

Myrtle sneezed.

"Miss Granger was just talking about you." Peeves whispered sarcastically in Myrtle's ear.

"I told... I told..." Hermione began uncertainly "How well you look today."

Hermione scowled at the poltergeist. Myrtle looked at Hermione in disbelief.

"You're making fun of me," she said. Silver tears glistened in her small transparent eyes.

"No, honestly!" Hermione retorted hotly, elbowing Harry painfully in the side, then me. "Didn't I tell you that Myrtle looks great today?"

"Y-yes..." said Harry.

"That's exactly what she said", I agreed, wincing at the elbow.

"Don't lie to me!"

Myrtle exhaled, bursting into tears, and Peeves clicked his tongue merrily over her shoulder.

"Do you think I do not know what they are saying about me behind my back? Fat Myrtle, that's what they say! Ugly Myrtle! Curly-haired crybaby Myrtle!"