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"What's going on here? Ar?" Argus Filch pushed through the crowd when he heard Malfoy, but at the sight of his cat, he backed away and clutched his head in horror. "What's wrong with my cat? What?" He screamed, his eyes bulging.
And then he noticed Harry.
"It's you! You killed my cat!" screamed Filch. "I'll kill you myself... oh, you..."
He rushed to his friend, pushing through the crowd.
"Calm down, Argus."
McGonagall put a reassuring hand on the caretaker's shoulder. Dumbledore appeared, accompanied by several professors. Strutting past the three of us, he carefully removed Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket. Come with me, Argus. You too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Granger. Lockhart, beaming, approached Dumbledore.
"My office is the closest, Mr. Director, right up the stairs. Come to my place..."
"Thank you, Gilderoy," the director replied.
"The crowd silently parted." Lockhart, proud and pleased, hurried after Dumbledore, followed by Professors McGonagall and Snape. Filch, looking at the cat in the director's arms, brought up the rear.
As soon as we entered the office, portraits of Lockhart ran off the walls, all with their hair in curlers. The lively Lockhart lit candles on his desk and moved away, giving way to Dumbledore, who put the cat on the table and began to study it carefully. Harry, Hermione, and I exchanged glances and sat down on chairs away from the light. Dumbledore was gently feeling Mrs. Norris, almost touching her fur with the tip of his hooked nose, on which half-glasses sat. Professor McGonagall was also leaning over the cat, squinting like Dumbledore. Snape retreated into the shadows, a faint smile curling his lips. Lockhart paced around the office, making guess after guess.
"The cat was definitely killed by a spell. Most likely, Transmogrifian torture. I've seen it work so many times! It's a pity that I wasn't around: I know the opposite spell. I would have saved the cat....
Filch was sitting in a chair next to the desk, helplessly pressing his hands to his face and sobbing after every word Lockhart said.; He didn't have the courage to look at Mrs. Norris. Dumbledore kept whispering, tapping Mrs. Norris with his wand, but in vain, the cat showed no signs of life, just like an artfully made scarecrow.
"To Ouagadougou," Lockhart continued as he walked, "There have been several similar cases in a row, they are described in detail in my biography. I remember handing out a few amulets, and the disaster stopped...."
The returned portraits of Lockhart on the walls nodded their heads in agreement, one of them forgot to remove the hairnet from his hair.
Finally Dumbledore straightened up and said thoughtfully:
"She's alive, Argus." — Well, thank Merlin. This bastard won't try to kill Harry. I'd like to convince him that we didn't do it. Lockhart paused in disappointment: who's going to listen to how many murders he's managed to prevent now?
"Is she alive?" Filch said faintly, spreading his fingers and looking at Mrs. Norris. "But... but she's stiff."
"Numb," Dumbledore corrected.
"It's as clear as day!" Lockhart interjected.
"From what, I don't know yet...."
"That's who knows!" Filch took his hands away from his tear-stained face and stared at Harry. What had his friend done to him?
"A second-year student can't do that," said Dumbledore, "We are dealing with the most sophisticated black magic...."
"It's him, it's him," Filch yelled, sputtering and blushing. "You saw what he wrote on the wall. He found it in my room...."
Filch paused shyly. Then I finally decided to say
"He knows I'm... I'm... he knows I'm a squib", Completely embarrassed, he said softly.
Yeah, well, yes. I've never seen him do magic. And why did they take him to a magic school? Even brownies don't obey him.
"I didn't lay a finger on Mrs. Norris," Harry said firmly. Everyone, even the Lockharts on the walls, looked at him reproachfully. "I've never even heard of squibs." I told him about my mom's cousin. Or did he not understand?
"Don't lie!" Filch got angry. "You've seen my Correspondence Course in Witchcraft for Beginners."
"Mr. Director, let me say," Snape's voice came from the shadows. "Potter and his friends, of course, could have accidentally turned up at the crime scene", He started and smiled, as if he didn't believe his own words. "But here's the strange thing: why did they come up into this corridor at all? And why did they leave the ghost festival?"
"All the ghosts saw us there...." The three of us defended ourselves with one voice.
"Yes, but why did you leave anyway?" Snape was asking, candlelight dancing in his black eyes. "Why did you have to go upstairs?"
Hermione and I looked at Harry. It would be better if he didn't talk about that voice. They'll also take you for a psycho.
"We... we..." he hesitated.
"We were very tired and wanted to sleep." I said quickly.
"What about dinner?" A malicious smile curved Snape's thin face. "There doesn't seem to be anything edible at ghost parties."
"We took sandwiches to the bedroom for lunch," I said to the plaintive accompaniment of my stomach. Snape grinned.
"In my opinion, Mr. Headmaster, Potter is clearly hiding something. Punish him and he will tell the truth. I would expel him from the Gryffindor team."
"Come on, Severus," Professor McGonagall intervened, "just expel it right away!"
"You didn't hit a cat on the head with a broomstick. And there's no evidence at all that Potter took her life."
Dumbledore was staring at Harry intently.
"He's innocent, Severus. The opposite has not yet been proven." Dumbledore reminded Professor Snape.
Snape trembled with barely suppressed indignation. Still angry that we weren't expelled. Filch's eyes bulged again.
"My cat is petrified! He must be punished!" he yelled.
"We'll disenchant your cat, Argus", the director reassured Filch. "Professor Sprout has mandrakes. When they grow up, we'll make a potion and revive Mrs. Norris."
"I'll make this medicine," Lockhart persisted. "I have a lot of experience! I can make living water from mandrakes with my eyes closed...."
"Allow me," Snape replied coldly, "but I think I'm a potions expert at school." There was an awkward silence. I was glad that Snape had sent Lockhart. I wouldn't want that peacock to poison anyone. Even Filch's cat.
"You are dismissed," Dumbledore dismissed us.
Harry, Hermione, and I almost ran out of Lockhart's office and went upstairs to lock ourselves in the classroom. We're depressed. Damn, but now everyone thinks that we bewitched the cat. Harry looked at us sideways.
Do you think I should have told you about the voice?
"Of course not," I replied. "If you see a voice, it's a bad sign, even in the magical world."
"But do you believe me?"
"Of course, it's just... you know... it's all weird...."
"I know it's weird," Harry replied. "And then there are these words on the wall. "THE SECRET ROOM IS OPEN AGAIN." What do they mean?"
"I think I've already heard from someone about the Secret Room at Hogwarts...." I drawled, "It's not from Bill, it's not..."
"And what is a squib?" Harry asked. I just giggled.
"Of course, it's not funny, but Filch... Squibs are those who were born into a family of wizards, but have been deprived of magical powers since birth. It's like the Muggles are the other way around. Squibs are very rare. More precisely, they are very carefully hidden because it is a disgrace for a pure-blooded family. And half-breeds remain living in the Muggle world with a Muggle parent. And if Filch is learning magic from the book Witchcraft for Beginners, then he's probably really a squib. Now it's clear why he hates the students so much.... I really feel sorry for him." And I smiled sympathetically. Mom's cousin is well settled in the Muggle world and doesn't even think about magic, but Filch constantly sees an example of what he himself is deprived of. Horror. Why didn't they put him in the Muggle world at all, because that's what all the old wizarding families do?
A clock struck somewhere.
"It's midnight," Harry hurried, "hurry up to the bedroom, otherwise Snape will come and cling to something again."
I took the sandwich I hadn't eaten before dinner out of my pocket and took half a bite at once. Damn, I'm hungry, so my stomach is grumbling.
"Here, take mine," Harry handed me his half-eaten ham and cheese sandwich.
"Thanks Harry, I don't feel like eating. Maybe persuade the twins to go to the kitchen to get food?"
* * *
For several days, there was nothing but talk about Mrs. Norris, and all because of Filch. He was hovering around the place where his cat had been bewitched, as if he was waiting for the culprit. I tried in vain to erase the writing on the wall with the help of "Mrs. Chistix's Universal Magic Stain Remover." He hid in the hallways, attacking schoolchildren, looking for a chance to punish them for "breathing too loudly" or "looking too happy." My sister wasn't herself after the accident with Filch's cat.
If it weren't for Percy the rat, who has been living with us for the eleventh year, we would have gotten a cat a long time ago.
"But you didn't know Mrs. Norris at all", I reassured her, "it's even better without her. Well, don't worry." Ginny's lips trembled at those words. She loves cats very much," I explained to my friends. But we already have a Skabbers living with us, so Mom won't let her have one of her own. This has never happened here. They'll catch this psycho and get him out of here, you can be sure of that. It would just be nice if he could put a Daze on Filch first.
Ginny suddenly turned pale.
"A joke! I hastened to add." Damn, he meant well, but it looks like he scared her even more.
Hermione was also unsettled. She had always loved to read, and now she was completely immersed in books. No matter how hard Harry and I tried to find out what was going on with her, it was all in vain. Her behavior only became clearer on Wednesday. After potions class, Snape left Harry to scrape test tube worms off the tables. In general, he likes to exploit Harry during work sessions or just detaining him after class, while simultaneously lecturing him on how to make potions or walking around his bully father. We went to the library, where we waited for him.
I was sitting at the far end of the library, measuring my magic history homework: Professor Beans had given me a meter-long essay on "The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards." It's strange, he usually talks about goblins. Have you decided to give something about wizards? So, we need to add something else.
"It's just a problem," I said, putting the tape measure away. The scroll immediately rolled up. "It's missing as much as twenty centimeters... And Hermione scribbled, and even in small handwriting, as much as one and a half meters."
"And where is she?" Harry asked, picked up the tape measure and unfolded his essay.
"There." I waved my hand at the long rows of bookshelves. "He's looking for a book. She probably decided to set a record by reading the entire library by Christmas."
Harry told me how Justin Finch-Fletchley shied away from him. I was trying to finish my essay at the time.
"So what!" I replied, writing the last few centimeters with a flourish. "Justin is a famous jerk. He even worships Lockhart...."
Hermione popped out from behind the shelves, clearly upset.
"The whole "Hogwarts Story" has been given out," she said indignantly and, sitting down with us, added: ""Sign up and wait two weeks"! I managed to leave her at home! And all because of the Lockhart books: I just couldn't fit in my suitcase...."
Hmm, is she disappointed with them? Well, if so.
"Why do you need the Hogwarts Story?" Harry asked curiously.
"Because that's why everyone needs it. Read the legend of the Chamber of Secrets."
"What kind of Room is this?"
Harry asked. I had already stopped thinking about her, all my attention was occupied by the damn essay.
"There is this legend in the "History"", Hermione bit her lip, "but not in the other books. I don't remember her at all...."
He can promote a friend to her job, there are only 5 centimeters left. But there is no time to search for information anymore.
"Hermione, and Hermione," I looked at my watch in despair, "let me read your essay."
"And don't ask!" Hermione asked angrily. "What have you been doing for ten days?"
"I have only five centimeters left. What do you feel sorry for?"
The bell rang, and we ran to wizarding history; Hermione and I argued the whole way. It's a pity to let her write off 5 centimeters. I did the rest myself. Damn, Binns will lower the score.
It was the most depressing thing I've ever seen. The lectures were given by Professor Binns, the only ghost teacher in the whole school. It was boring, but it was fun-Mr. Beans came to class right from the blackboard. It was said that this ancient morel did not even notice how he died: he went to class one day, and the body remained sitting by the fireplace in the staff room.
Today, as always, Professor Beans opened his notes and let's creak like an unpainted cart; The class soon fell into a doze, and occasionally someone would wake up, write down a name or date, and go back to sleep. I didn't even try to record after him. Anyway, the Bagshot textbook is much more interesting, and the main thing is not only about goblin wars. No, I understand that you need to know the enemy, but you don't have to talk about them all the time. He had been creaking like this for half an hour, and suddenly something out of the ordinary happened: Hermione raised her hand.
Professor Beans looked up from his notebook in surprise, he had just reached the middle of a mournful lecture on the International Convention of Wizards of 1289.
"Yes, Miss... uh..."
"Granger, the professor. I wanted to ask you about the Chamber of Secrets", Hermione spoke clearly.
Dean Thomas, who was staring blankly out the window, came to his senses; Lavender Brown, who was lying on her desk with her arms crossed and her head resting on them, started up; Neville took his hands off the desk altogether.
Professor Beans blinked.
"My subject is the history of magic," He rasped hoarsely on one note. "I, Miss Granger, deal with facts, not myths and legends." Beans cleared his throat dryly, as if he had broken a stick of chalk, and continued: "In September of this year, the subcommittee of Magicians of Sardinia..."
He stumbled again as Hermione raised her hand again.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
"But, sir, every legend is based on facts, right?"
Professor Binns was so stunned that it seemed to me that no one had ever asked him anything, either during his lifetime or after his death. Professor Binns was so stunned that it seemed to me that no one had ever asked him anything, either during his lifetime or after his death.
"Well," Beans drawled, looking at Hermione as if he'd never seen her before. "Perhaps you're right. However, the legend you asked about is pure nonsense, fiction, I would even say...."
But there was nowhere to go, the whole class pricked up their ears. Beans looked around the students absently: dozens of eyes stared at him questioningly.
"Well, that's good." Beans was even taken aback. "Let me remember..."
The Chamber of Secrets... um, um... the Room of Secrets... you all know that Hogwarts School was founded more than a thousand years ago — the exact date is unknown — by four of the greatest magicians and sorceresses of their time. Our faculties bear their names. Godric Gryffindor, Penelope Halfpuff, Rowena Ravenclaw and Salazar Slytherin. They built this castle together, away from the eyes of meticulous Muggles: at that time, ordinary people were afraid of magic, so wizards and witches had to hide." He looked unseeingly at the students and continued: "For quite a long time they lived in friendship and harmony, they looked for capable young people and taught them how they could at this very school. Well, then Slytherin and the others had a big fight. Slytherin required very strict selection. He believed that the secrets of magic should be kept in the families of pure-blooded wizards. He didn't trust Muggles, because they turned over pureblood magicians to the Inquisition, and they often burned at the stake. Eventually, Slytherin and Gryffindor fell out completely, and Slytherin left the school." Professor Binns pursed his lips, making his face look like the face of an old wrinkled turtle. "That's all the chronicles tell us. But over time, the legend of the Chamber of Secrets overshadowed the facts. They started saying that Slytherin had made a secret room in the castle. That's how the myth originated. According to him, before leaving school, Slytherin put a spell seal on the Room. Since then, no one can enter it, only the heir of Slytherin will remove the spell, release the Horror trapped in the Room and expel those who are unworthy to study magical arts from school with his help.
Beans finished speaking, and a tense silence fell over the class. The students stared at the ghost, waiting for him to continue, but Beans was tired of this nonsense.
"All this, of course, is a myth. They were looking for a room, and more than once; The most knowledgeable witches and magicians were looking for it. The room does not exist. It's just a scary tale for fools.
Hermione raised her hand again.
"Sir, what is this, "horror trapped in a Room"?"
"Legend has it that this is a monster that will obey only the heir of Slytherin," Professor Beans explained in a dry, rustling voice "something snakelike, because all Slytherins were snake-eaters."
The students looked at each other in fright.
"Don't be afraid, there is no Room." Professor Binns shuffled his papers. "No room, no monster."
"But, sir," said Seamus Finnigan, "you're saying that only the real heir to Slytherin can open the room. Doesn't that mean that no one will find her until he shows up?"
"Nonsense, O'Flaherty," Professor Binns said angrily. "This Room is not there. If not a single headmaster has found it...."
I wonder if Binns can't remember the names, or if Seamus looks so much like his ancestor that the prof is confused?
"Sorry, Professor," squeaked Parvati Patil, "maybe we just need black magic here, but we don't have black magicians."
"Just because a wizard doesn't use black magic, Miss Pennyfeather, doesn't mean he doesn't have it", Beans raised his voice. "I repeat: if Dumbledore's predecessors... The same director is Nigelus Black..."
"But maybe you need to be related to Slytherin, but the director..." Dean Thomas started, but Professor Beans lost his temper.
"That's enough of this!" He snapped. "It's all a myth, a fairy tale, a legend. Bear in mind: There is no room. As there is not the slightest evidence that Slytherin even set up a secret closet in the castle. I'm sorry I told you this stupid story. And let's get back to the true story, to solid, reliable, verified facts."
Less than five minutes later, the class was sleepy again.
"Salazar Slytherin was clearly nuts" I declared after the lesson. Harry, Hermione, and I made our way through the crowd to our tower, hurried to leave our backpacks there and go to dinner. "So that's who, it turns out, started this mess with blood purity. I wouldn't go to his house for anything. If the Hat had assigned me to him, I wouldn't have hesitated to go home to another simpler school. Well, or transferred to Beauxbatons."
Hermione nodded understandingly, but Harry remained silent.
We bumped into Colin Creevey in the crowd.
"Hello, Harry."
"Hello, Colin," Harry replied.
"Harry, a boy in my class said that you..."
But the crowd picked him up and carried him further into the Great Hall. Tiny, light Colin still managed to shout from afar: "Bye, Harry!" and disappeared from sight.
"What did the boy in his class say?" Hermione asked.
"I'm probably the heir to Slytherin." Harry said gloomily.
"What they won't make up!" I grimaced. Damn, there are already rumors. The end of last year wasn't enough for us, I thought gloomily.
There were fewer people on the spiral staircase in the tower.
"Do you really think there's a Secret Room?" I asked Hermione.
"Who knows?" Hermione frowned. "Dumbledore couldn't revive Mrs. Norris, and I think it wasn't a human who put her under a spell. — Beyond the next turn of the stairs was the hallway where Mrs. Norris had been found. Everything was as before, except there was no cat on the torch bracket, and there was a chair against the wall where the words "THE SECRET ROOM IS OPEN AGAIN" were emblazoned.
"Filch set it up. He's on duty here," I explained.
The hallway was empty now. The three of us exchanged glances. Let's look for it! Maybe there are some footprints here," Harry suggested, dropping his backpack and getting down on all fours. "Here's a charred spot! And so..."
"Come and take a look," Hermione laughed.
Harry got up and walked over to the window closest to the writing on the wall. Hermione was pointing at the top glass: a line of spiders was hurrying along it towards a barely noticeable crack. Behind her, a long silvery spider web waved like a wisp of smoke. The spiders were clearly in a hurry to get out.
Pancake. The spiders. The spiders! Alive! I backed away. And then he turned away altogether so as not to see them.
"What's the matter with them? I've never seen anything like it," said Hermione.
"Me too," Harry added, "and you, Ron? Eh, Ron?"
Harry turned to me.
"What are you?" Harry asked.
"I'm... afraid of spiders," I managed to say, staring at the inscription on the wall. Really? Hermione was surprised. "But you've made potions out of them a thousand times."...
"Dried spiders are still nothing. But the living ones..."
I was afraid to even turn my head in their direction. Hermione giggled.
"It's not funny," I snapped. — When I was three years old, I broke the shaft of Fred's toy broom, and he got angry and turned my teddy bear into a huge shaggy spider. He also bit me. I would have looked at you like that then..." I said, and I shuddered with disgust.
Hermione could barely contain her laughter. Harry, distracting me from the spiders, asked:
"Do you remember when there was water on the floor here? Where did it come from? Someone wiped it off afterwards."
"Remember. The water was at this door." I went to the door, held out my hand, and immediately pulled it back when I noticed the sign on the door.
"What are you?" Harry was surprised.
"You can't go there. This is a girls' bathroom."
"So what: it doesn't work." Hermione went to the door. "Myrtle the Crybaby lives here. Let's go take a look."
And, ignoring the sign saying "Toilet is not working," Hermione opened the door.
What a dreary and shabby toilet it was! A row of cracked stone washbasins stretched under a long, stained and stained mirror. The dimly burning candle ends were reflected in the wet floor; the paint on the doors of the booths was peeling and in some places hung in flakes, one door was dangling on a single hinge. Couldn't they have done the repairs here? Or does the ghost not let brownies in?
Hermione put her finger to her lips and walked to the last booth. Hello, Myrtle, how are you? Harry and I moved closer. Myrtle hovered over the tank, picking at a pimple on her chin. This is the girls' bathroom," Myrtle said, eyeing Harry and me suspiciously. And they're not girls. Well, yes," Hermione agreed. "I just wanted to show them how... nice it is here."
And she waved her hand at either the dim mirror or the wet floor. Ask her if she saw anything. Harry asked in a whisper.
"What are you whispering about?" Myrtle looked at Harry suspiciously.
"We're not whispering," Harry replied, "I just wanted to ask"...
"And why is everyone whispering behind my back?" Myrtle whimpered. "If I'm dead, can't I be offended?"
"No one meant to offend you, Myrtle," Hermione tried to reassure her, "Harry just..."
"Of course, no one meant to offend! I've suffered so much in my life. And here you are — it all started all over again."
"We just wanted to ask if you've seen anything unusual in the last few days." Hermione didn't wait to ask. "During the holiday, someone attacked a cat right in front of the door to your toilet."
"Maybe someone was here?" Harry added.
"I didn't see anyone," Myrtle replied ruefully. "I was so offended at the party that when I came back here, I wanted to strangle myself, but then I remembered that I... that I was..."
"She died," I helped.
Well, it looks like I shouldn't have said that. Myrtle sobbed miserably, flew over the open tank and dived straight into the toilet, spraying us from head to toe. Her muffled moans came from the tank. Harry and I gaped, and Hermione shrugged her shoulders in disappointment:
"By the way, this can be considered fun for Myrtle. Okay, let's get out of here." Before I could close the bathroom door behind me, from where I could hear gurgling sobs, someone from upstairs shouted loudly,
"Ron!" so we jumped: Percy was standing on the landing. What the fuck would he think of me?
"This is a girls' bathroom," he said through gritted teeth. "What were you doing there?"
"It's nothing special," I shrugged. "We were looking for evidence."
Percy put on a menacing look, just like our mother.
"Get out of here quickly..." He came down to us and, waving his arms, began to crowd us towards the stairs. "What does it look like!? Everyone's having dinner, and they're here again!"
"So what?" I stopped and held Percy's gaze. "We didn't even touch the cat!"
"I told Ginny the same thing. But she's still afraid that you'll be kicked out of school, and her eyes are wet all day. At least you thought about her!"
"What did you tell me about Ginny? You don't give a damn about her." My ears were on fire. "You're just afraid that they won't make you a school prefect because of it."
"Minus five points for Gryffindor." Percy, green with anger, fingered the prefect's badge. "This is a good lesson for you. And no more investigations! Otherwise I'll write to our mom."
Has he written yet? That asshole. It looks like I'm going to have to write, and it's worth writing about Bill's clothes. I think it's in our attic.
Percy turned and walked away, his neck as red as my ears.
In the Common Room, Harry, Hermione, and I sat down away from Percy. I put a few blotches on magic formulas in my homework, took a magic wand with a gloomy look — I wanted to bring them out and accidentally set fire to the scroll with the essay. The scroll burst into flames, and I went berserk too. Damn, now we have to rewrite everything. With a wave of my hand, I slammed the spell book shut. Hermione followed my example. Then she pulled my scroll towards her and waved her wand. The scroll was smoothed out, the traces of fire and blotches disappeared.
"Thank you Hermione. I sighed." I'd be sick of rewriting everything.
"Who attacked the cat anyway?" She asked softly, as if continuing an interrupted conversation. "Who needs a school without squibs and Muggleborns?"
Malfoy immediately comes to mind. And the other Slytherins are no better. But the problem is that the children of former Death Eaters study in the second and first years.
"Really, who could hate Muggleborns so much?" I answered the question with feigned perplexity.
"Are you talking about Malfoy?" Hermione looked at me questioningly.
"About whom else? You heard what he said, didn't you?: "You're next, mudbloods," remember? Look at his ratty face, I bet you a couple of galleons it's him...."
"Is Malfoy the heir to Slytherin? I can't believe it", Hermione interrupted me.
"And his family?" Now Harry has put down his books too. "They all went to Slytherin, and Malfoy talks about it all the time. Maybe they're all Slytherin relatives? Malfoy's father is definitely an evil wizard."
"The Malfoys could have kept the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries", I added, "and pass from father to son." They couldn't come to power with the Dark Lord, so now they've decided to mess with Muggleborns at school.
"Yes, it could be," said Hermione, not very confidently.
"But even if that's the case, you can't prove it," Harry frowned.
"There's one way," Hermione whispered, and cast a wary glance in Percy's direction. "However, he is very difficult and threatens a lot of trouble. This method is a violation of all school rules."
And how long is she going to delay this method? By the way, is it better for me and Harry not to break the rules at all, or has she forgotten about it?
"In three or four weeks, when you're ready, tell us your way," I quipped. "Just keep in mind that if Harry and I get caught, we'll be kicked out of school."
"It's already ripe," Hermione replied calmly. "We need to get into the Slytherin Common Room and find out the secret from Malfoy himself, but, of course, so that he doesn't understand that it's us."
So that the Slytherins can kill us quietly? They won't even call the dean.
"And how to do it?" Harry asked in disbelief to my loud hysterical laughter.
"It's very simple, boys. You just need to brew a Polyjuice potion."
"What kind of potion?" Harry and I exclaimed in unison.
"Snape talked about him in one of the lessons...."
"You have nothing to do but listen to Snape," I muttered.
He only tells us nasty things. Especially Harry and Neville. Neville understands that his hands are growing out of his ass, but he doesn't understand why he's clinging to his friend at all. Harry makes potions pretty well according to the textbook. And it cuts the ingredients perfectly. When I told him the basics of potion making, everything went well for him, he just started imagining that he was making a particularly difficult soup. Harry said that his aunt has been teaching cooking since the age of six. She herself worked as a chef in a restaurant before his cousin was born. And they wanted to send him to culinary college to study after school.
Although yes, when he's not swearing, he's talking to the point. The problem is that he swears around Harry all the time. It would be nice if a friend's hands grew out of his ass, but no. Although maybe it pisses him off that a friend can't calculate the proportions of the added ingredients? As I noticed, I started counting myself. Although I'm trying to improve him, my friend has serious problems with math. He even asked Hermione to send him a textbook from her school. She collects books in general. Well, as it got better with calculations, so Snape began to cling less. Although every lesson is sarcastically passed over it anyway. Especially the hair sticking out in all directions. Just like Hermione's hair. I'm making potions in a bandana.
"It's a drug that turns one person into another." Hermione ignored the barb. "We can turn into one of the Slytherins, and no one will recognize us. You see, Malfoy will blurt out something: he likes to brag."
"I don't like your idea," I said, frowning. "What if we stay Slytherins forever?"
"Nonsense," Hermione waved her hand impatiently, "The effect of the potion is wearing off soon. But how do I get the recipe? Snape said it was in the book Powerful Potions. And it's probably kept in a Special section of the school library."
In the Special Section, books were given out only with the written permission of the teacher.
"So how do we get permission?" I asked dejectedly. "Who would believe that we need a book for nothing? Any fool would understand that we want to cook something like that."
"We can say that we are very interested in the theory of composing potions...."
"Well, yes! You'll fool our professors, of course!" I objected. "Unless there's a complete idiot."
Stop.. An idiot? Yes, we have an idiot here who leads the way. It remains to get him an autograph. But he's not exactly a moron, is he?
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