# Ron-Weasly book 1. V2 part 6-1

Аноним Горный-Цветок

An attempt to get into the forbidden corridor and the first lessons.

Chapter 6.1 The first lessons

Harry has become my friend, but it's exhausting. Every time we left the classroom, there was a huge crowd of students staring at him in the hallway. It felt like half the school was gathering. They stared, pointed, and wouldn't let him pass. Someone asked for an autograph, someone demanded to shake his hand, some just stared. There were constant whispers and we had to make our way through the crowd. I freaked out after the first three lessons and walked like an icebreaker (Dad told me about them like fairy tales about Muggles) and dragged a confused boy along with me. Well, at least he moves his legs fast, his escapes from his cousin have an effect.

According to the twins, there were one hundred and forty-two stairs at Hogwarts. Some of them were stone, wide and spacious, others wooden, narrow and shaky. There were stairs that took us to a completely different place on Friday than they did on Thursday. There were stairs where several steps suddenly disappeared at the very moment when I was going down or up them. So, going up these stairs, it was necessary to jump. At least there was a floor under the steps, albeit with something like a trap.

There were enough problems with the doors, too. Some of them did not open until they were politely requested. Others opened only if they were touched in a certain place. Still others turned out to be fake, but in fact there was a wall.

It was very difficult to remember the location of stairs, doors, classrooms, corridors and bedrooms. It seemed that everything at Hogwarts was constantly changing, and today everything was different from yesterday. The people depicted in the portraits went to visit each other. And I was convinced that the knight's armor standing in the corridors was capable of running, apparently these were battle golems in case of castle defense. I even approached Professor McGonagall and asked her to teach me how to control and design such powerful golems. To which she replied that in the seventh year of transfiguration there would be work with golems. It was good for us in the living room, the upperclassmen gave us a map showing the main routes to the classrooms where classes are held.

Ghosts also added to the hassle. There have never been any problems with the Nearly Headless Nick, the ghost of Gryffindor Tower and, therefore, our ally. On the contrary, he was always happy to show the freshmen how to get where they needed to go. The fat monk didn't give a damn about the younger student of which faculty was addressing him - he helped everyone. The Gray Lady only talked to Ravenclaw faculty members. But the bloody baron liked to scare students and helped only the senior Slytherin courses, and not always. Yes, the prefects could have asked him to restrain Peeves.

Peeves, on the other hand, was more dangerous than two closed doors and a staircase leading nowhere-especially if you met him when you were late for class. This poltergeist dropped paper baskets on the heads of freshmen, pulled carpets out from under them, threw pieces of chalk or threw water bombs at them, and it was necessary to grab the bomb before it exploded and send it back to Peeves. He was afraid to go to the senior courses, they can also charge with a spell in response, but the junior courses regularly suffered from it.

It seemed that nothing and no one could be worse than Peeves, but it turned out that this was not entirely true. Argus Filch, the school's caretaker, turned out to be a much more unpleasant person. On the very first morning, Harry and I caught his attention-unfortunately, in a bad way. Filch caught us trying to open one of the doors. We were walking along the map for Transfiguration and decided to take a shortcut, completely forgetting about Dumbledore's warning. Unfortunately, it turned out that it was behind this door that the corridor on the third floor, which Albus Dumbledore had mentioned at the banquet, began. And Filch was on duty next to the corridor, making sure that curious students did not climb there.

Filch refused to believe that we were just going to class. The caretaker was sure that we specifically wanted to enter the forbidden territory, and threatened to lock us in the dungeon. But at the most critical moment, Professor Quirrell, who was passing by, saved us. He took us to the transfiguration room, scolding us for being curious on the way. He didn't seem to believe that we were just trying to cut it off, either.

Here's the caretaker, the old fart. No, to take us to class, he also detained us. Our dean told us everything she thought of us and also took off a couple of points for being late.

Filch had a cat named Mrs. Norris, a skinny, dusty-gray creature with bulging, glowing eyes, almost the same as Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. As soon as she noticed that someone had violated the rules - had taken at least one step beyond the forbidden line - and she immediately disappeared. And two seconds later Filch would appear, snuffling heavily. Clearly the caretaker's familiar. And he's chasing her around like he used to when he was young. Is he even human? Filch knew all the secret passages better than anyone else at school - with the possible exception of my brothers-and appeared as suddenly as if he were a ghost. The students hated him, and for many it was the limit of their dreams to dare to kick Mrs. Norris.

But finding the right office was still half the battle, because classes were sometimes much more difficult than finding a particular room. Magic wasn't just about waving a wand and saying a few strange words. Every Wednesday at midnight, we looked at the telescopes, studied the night sky, wrote down the names of different stars and memorized how the planets move. The telescopes illuminated the desired planet or constellation when the students pronounced their name. The main thing was to find them in the sky, but Professor Sinistra was showing the approximate direction.

Three times a week we were taken to the greenhouses located behind the castle, where a short, plump lady, Professor Sprout, taught us herbology, the science of plants, and told us how to take care of all these strange plants and fungi and what they are used for. Neville arranged with the professor for his Trevor to hunt insects and worms in her greenhouses.

Harry and I were paying attention, just like we were at caring for magical creatures. Although it was conducted on a case-by-case basis. The professor was already old and sick. I guess I'll have to study animals from the pictures in Scamender's book.

The most tedious subject was the history of magic, which were the only lessons the ghost taught. Professor Binns was already very old when he fell asleep one day in the staff room right in front of the fireplace, and the next morning he came to class without a body. Beans was talking in a terrible monotone and without stopping. The students hurriedly wrote down names and dates for him and confused Emerick the Evil with Urik the Strange. Unfortunately, he delivered his lectures in such a monotonous voice that it took a terrible effort to stay awake. I'm going to study history from a textbook. He's only talking about goblin rebellions anyway. The book is much more interesting, I've read it. I liked the way Bathilda Bagshot writes.

Professor Flitwick, who taught spells, was so tiny that he stood on a stack of books to see the students from behind his desk. It is said that he is a half-goblin who has become a master of dueling in Europe. They say he was a member of the fighters' guild.

Should I ask him to join the dueling club? Oh, man, it's been shut down. At the very first lesson, he got acquainted with the course, took a student marks register and began to read out the names in order. When he reached Harry's last name in it, he squeaked excitedly and disappeared from sight, falling off his stand. Is he making fun of Muggleborns? Children from magical families all take him seriously. The Halfpuffs over there all take him seriously, apparently the older students have already warned the Muggleborn first-year students about the teachers.

But Professor McGonagall was completely different. Harry was right when he saw her and told me that it was better not to mess with her. Smart but strict, she gave a very harsh speech as soon as we came to her class for the first time and sat down. And first she told Harry and me what she thought of us because we were late for class. They say you were given a special card so that you wouldn't be late for lessons.

"Transfiguration is one of the most difficult and dangerous areas of magic that you will study at Hogwarts," she began. "Any violation of discipline in my lessons, and the offender will leave the classroom and will not return here. I've warned you."

After such a speech, everyone felt a little uneasy. Then Professor McGonagall moved on to practice and turned her desk into a boar in light armor, and then back into a table. Everyone was terribly amazed and began to ache with the desire to start practicing themselves as soon as possible, but soon realized that it would be a long time before we could learn how to turn furniture into animals.

Then Professor McGonagall dictated to us some very incomprehensible and confusing sentences that we had to memorize. What a nightmare. Okay, I also understood what she was saying, as did Hermione. But Harry was sitting with glassy eyes and blinking uncomprehendingly. I need to give him a hint about languages. Let him learn them in the summer. Hmm, but the school librarian must have an artifact for the most common languages that are often used in old charms and transfiguration.

Then McGonagall gave each of us a match and said that we should turn these matches into needles. I wish I knew what this needle looks like. I tried to remember what my mother used when she sewed clothes, but she enchanted the needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger's match had changed shape slightly - Professor McGonagall showed the whole course Hermione's match, which was sharpened at one end and covered with silver, and smiled at her. We were all shocked, our strict dean didn't smile at all and was the epitome of a prim English old witch.

We were all looking forward to Professor Quirrell's defense against the Dark Arts class, but Quirrell's classes were more like a humorous show than something serious. His office smelled like garlic, which Quirrell hoped would scare away the vampire he'd met in Romania. The professor was very afraid that Tepes was about to come to Hogwarts to deal with him.

The turban on Quirrell's head also didn't add to the seriousness of the classes he taught here.

The professor claimed that this turban was given to him by an African prince, whom he helped to get rid of a very dangerous zombie. But no one really believed this story. Unlike Quirrell's terrified stories about the supreme vampire who almost killed him. Firstly, because when Seamus Finnigan asked how Quirrell defeated the zombies, Quirrell blushed and started talking about the weather. And secondly, because the turban smelled strangely like garlic, and the twins assured everyone that it was not a gift from an African prince, but just a precautionary measure. According to them, Quirrell was covered with garlic cloves under his clothes, and garlic was also hidden in his turban, because the professor, fearing vampires, wanted to be completely protected. He even slept in what he wore to school, so that the vampire wouldn't take him by surprise. Considering the smell that came from the professor, I agreed with them. Except it smelled like carrion, not garlic. No, it smelled of garlic too, but not from the turban.

During the first few days of my studies, I became convinced that I was learning no worse than others, even despite the almost broken magic wand. A lot of students were born and raised in Muggle families or were half-bloods and had no idea who they were until they received a letter from Hogwarts. Besides, the freshmen had so much to learn that even I, who was born into a family of wizards and had five older brothers besides my parents, didn't have much advantage over the others.

Friday was a great day for us. We were finally able to go down to the Great Hall for breakfast, never once losing our way. I kept following the map given out by a pretty fifth-year student, but Harry kept trying to hide from the crowd and turn into a secluded corner.

"What's going on with our classes today?" Harry asked, adding honey to the oatmeal instead of the boring sugar. I helped myself to an omelet with mushrooms and cheese and reached into my bag for my schedule. Harry was drinking warm milk with magical honey, and I got myself a thick-walled glass of tea.

"Two potions classes - we'll study with the Slytherins", I replied, looking through the list of classes on Friday. "The classes are taught by Professor Snape, and he is their dean. They say that he is always on their side in everything, protecting them from the rest of the teachers and giving them the best marks. Although this is understandable, they were all taught at home in Slytherin to work with ingredients and brew simple potions, like my mother. So they don't piss him off."

"Yeah, I can't make potions at all." Harry was upset, and remembering his stories about his Aunt Petunia, I decided to cheer him up. Harry, you said yourself that you cooked soups at home and cut all kinds of vegetables and meat. It's almost the same as preparing for potions. You will cut the ingredients as it says in the book of Arsenic, and stir, and I will count the proportions of the ingredients and put them in the potion. Percy says that Snape barely clung to him during his junior years. He makes good potions here. He's even going to Snape's advanced potions course, even though he only takes students with an Excellent grade.

While we were having breakfast, the mail arrived. During breakfast, at least a hundred owls flew into the Great Hall with loud hoots. Half of them were from the school's owlery, but the rest were the familiars of either the students or one of their parents, like Draco's Eagle owl. The owls began circling the tables, looking for their owners and dropping letters and parcels into their laps.

This morning, Hedwig landed between a sugar bowl and a bowl of berry jam and dropped a sealed envelope into Harry's plate. Harry immediately opened it. Before that, she had never brought him a single letter and lived in the owlery, sometimes flying in to visit her eccentric master.

Harry borrowed a pen from me, scribbled on the back of the letter, "Yes, with pleasure, see you later, thank you," and handed the letter to Hedwig. After finishing Harry's porridge and washing down all the cocoa, and I finished my omelet and drank a couple of cups of herbal tea, we went to the dungeons to Snape's office.

It's so cool in here. I'm fine in warm trousers and a shirt. It's also scary in the potions room itself. Glass jars filled with pickled animals stood in cupboards along all the walls.

Professor Snape, like Flitwick, began classes by opening a Grade book and getting to know the students. And, like Flitwick, he stopped when he reached the last name Potter. But if Flitwick was happy, Snape looked like he'd chewed a lemon.

"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. Snape immediately glared at them and the giggling stopped immediately. But Draco was grinning: over the past few days, he had already realized that Harry hated being called a celebrity and a national hero. And he was constantly walking around about it at recess and when he found himself nearby in the great hall.

After completing 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," Snape began.

Snape was almost whispering, but I could hear every word clearly. 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, although potions attract me, I understand that, most likely, I am still an ordinary crooked sheep in the opinion of our teacher. And it's much easier to buy a ready-made emergency kit on a hike, and not bother with preparing them in field conditions when you catch a cold or break your arm or leg. Although I have to learn how to make rowan broth and other popular potions. By the way, Mom poured me a few vials of rowan broth and cold potions into my medicine cabinet so that I wouldn't have to run to the hospital wing for nothing.

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. As Percy told me, the professor considers everyone who doesn't pass the OWLs at least well to be fools. 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? The Weasleys sit in silence."

Harry glanced at me, but I was as puzzled by the question as he was. Even though I've been reading a textbook on potions, a lot has already disappeared from my mind. And I only read the chapters for the first year. And our mother didn't cook anything from asphodel roots. They say only professional potion makers work with him. But Hermione Granger clearly knew the answer, and her hand shot up into the air. Of course, she learned her textbook right up to the fifth year, I asked her on Tuesday.

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

A contemptuous expression appeared on Snape's face. Well, yes, my friend just admitted that he's a crooked sheep who doesn't read textbooks.

"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 medicine cabinet, of course. I couldn't quite remember where it was mined. And whether it's a stone at all, considering how it looks. A hairy stone, creepy. I carry a couple of them in my backpack all the time. Mom told me to put it in my mouth and try to swallow it. And then run to Madam Pomfrey or to Professor Snape, they say he is an expert on poisons.

Hermione continued to pull her hand, barely restraining herself from jumping up from her seat. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were shaking with silent laughter. And I myself only laughed at her behavior. 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?! Do you know Weasley?"

Snape continued to ignore Hermione's trembling hand.

"No, sir. All I know is that it's in every first-aid kit."

"Well, at least you know something, sit down, Weasley. Malfoy, tell us where the bezoar comes from and what it's used for."

"From the stomach of a goat, sir. It is a universal antidote." I imagined poisoning myself and sending Harry to get a goat that might not have bezoars in it, and I almost laughed in my office.

"Okay, 2 points for Slytherin. 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 know for sure that Neville knows a lot about plants, but no, Hermione is the first to pull her hand at herbology. And then Neville raises his hand, he's very shy. And of course Professor Sprout asks Hermione.

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

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. And wolfsbane and monk's hood are the same plant, also known as monkshood. Do you understand? So, everyone write down that bezoar is a universal antidote, so that everyone has a bezoar in a small medicine cabinet!"

I pulled my potions notebook out of my bag, a stack of parchment sheets neatly held together with a thin silver ribbon that shimmered slightly. Harry adjusted his set of parchment sheets stitched together and opened the "Potions: Basics" section, and the pages themselves opened to the desired entry. Dipping my pen into the ink, I prepared to write down Snape's words. I hurriedly grabbed my pens along with everyone else and rustled the parchment in my notebooks. But Snape's quiet voice cut through the uproar.

"For your insolent behavior, Miss Granger, I'm putting a penalty point on Gryffindor's account. No need to jump up, I can see you already, but I want to interview others. Mr. Potter, next time, read the textbook in the summer. If you mumble to me the same way after the next vacation, I'll take 2 points off you." The professor continued to interview the students on the initial chapters of the textbook on safety when working with boiling boilers.

If the Slytherins knew them and already brewed simple potions like me or helped their parents, then my fellow Gryffindors did not work with cauldrons at all, since they were from mixed families or Muggleborns in general.

"Come on, our people, remember!" I muttered from my seat. So that our faculty can hear me. The professor commented on my statement, saying that the students should not just read, but memorize the first three chapters. You were specially given so much time before your first potions lesson.

"By the way, Mr. Weasley and Longbot, where are your familiars, hopefully in the bedroom and not with you in the company?"

Snape looked at us urgently. Am I an idiot to drag him to such a dangerous place for a rat on my shoulder? And Neville was warned by Professor Sprout yesterday to leave the toad in her greenhouse for the duration of the lesson, where she would be comfortable.

"Of course, sir, but I left my rat walking on the lawn in front of the castle, and Neville left his Trevor at the greenhouses." I remember yesterday after herbology, I caught up with Hannah to ask her to bring fresh carrots for the Brat.