"God, pumpkin juice again!" I was indignant, looking dejectedly into the cup "I will soon develop dysbacteriosis."
"What?" Ron asked, looking down at his goblet of the aforementioned juice warily.
"Nothing. I just want some tea" I mumbled sadly.
We were sitting at lunch. McGonagall wasn't really at the teacher's desk. Just like Dumbledore, though. Do the oldies really have a date?! I looked at the Slytherin table.
Pat and his friend Deirdre apparently just sat down, and my friend with a nasty grin said something to the seventh-year student sitting across from him with a broken nose.
He also chuckled and shot a scathing glance at Malfoy, who was somewhere at the other end of the table, looking nervous and annoyed.
"Have you noticed that the Slytherins have been acting strangely lately?" Ron said, also staring at the table on the far right.
"That's an understatement," Ginny agreed, sitting nearby "Harper, that creepy rat — faced prick, called Colin before potions today… Well, you know how, and mclalen told him to shut up!"
"Hey, Weasley! I've been looking for you everywhere" a gruff voice said from behind me. I turned around and saw a tall guy with coarse hair. I knew him, he was Cormac McLaggen, a seventh-year student and a complete idiot. And then they tell me that all jerks go to Slytherin… Ginny glared at him.
"Listen, when will the team be selected? Otherwise, the season will start soon."
He said it like he was the captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, not Ginny.
"The selection is this Saturday," she said calmly."
"I see," McLaggen said, "I hope there's a selection process… Competent."
With a scornful look at Ron, he backed off.
Ron, whose ears had turned red and almost lit up, muttered after him,
"What a freak!"
He paused, then turned to me:
"And Harry, which quidditch team do you support?"
"I've told you a hundred times, Ron, that he didn't know anything about our world, so how can he support any team?" Ginny suddenly blurted out before I could open my mouth. Then she blushed and asked me cautiously:
"Isn't that right?"
I didn't have time to answer her (they won't let me put a word in here!) when a great white polar owl landed right in front of me.
She looked at me with round yellow eyes, hooted happily, and held out a paw with a letter with some kind of box.
"It must be strange for you," Hermione muttered, "letters usually arrive at breakfast."
But as I unfolded the letter, I had a vague idea who the polar owl might come from and bring it to dinner. And I wasn't wrong.
Lou, our sweet friend. Did you think Pat and I had forgotten about her? We remember her every day. It's kind of boring without her. It's not fun. Pat Vaughn has been severely depressed for two weeks (it's all about his dad, potions, Slytherin, and wizardry in general, of course, but Lou's absence is also taking its toll). I was about to read the letter when an owl pecked my finger in displeasure.
"What do you want?" — I was indignant, - "do you want to eat?" I offered her a piece of bacon, and she happily grabbed it. I sighed and absently realized that half the table was watching the action. Such an interesting sight! Die, don't get up! Just the front page — "Famous Harry Potter fed a piece of bacon to a polar owl". The owl devoured the bacon and looked down at my cup of pumpkin juice with obvious relish. I didn't want to drink it anyway…
"Hey, Harry and Pat!" - swirled large, not very legible letters, — "I want to tell you right away — you're both terrible assholes! You left — and neither letters nor postcards. I waited, I waited. I thought the trolls had devoured you there."
If they hadn't eaten it, they would have choked on it. I felt a twinge of guilt. After all, what idiots we are — we remembered Lou, remembered, and forgot to write… "In short, I couldn't wait, and decided to write it myself.
I went to Diagon Alley and bought an owl.
How is she? Do you like it? Her name is Hedwig. I was the one who bought A History of Magic (don't read it, by the way, I couldn't sleep half the night afterwards) and chose a name for the bird using the scientific poke method." I wonder why Lou needs a history of magic. "By the way, I met that blond dude there. Well, you'll remember him for yourself, Sirius said his name, I just forgot. And there was a guy with him, a creepy guy with a crocheted nose, unwashed hair, all in black.
He looks like Pat (I'm sorry, Pat, but that's the terrible truth). A suspicious couple, by the way"
Snape and Malfoy on Diagon Alley? Suspiciously… Maybe not. Maybe two buddies met up, got drunk at the Leaky Cauldron, and got drunk. And there was no doubt that it was Snape. Lou may be clueless, but she's a good observer. Yes, and according to the description…
Then there was a long argument that she was bored without us, had no one to go out with, and that all she had left to do was go to tea with Aunt Meg, who had already told her a lot of stories about Pat's childhood (I smiled unkindly at the thought of how outraged my friend would be). The letter ended with the conclusion that it would be better if we didn't go anywhere at all. And at the end:
«P.S. This is a present for you from me.
And I don't know who's going to get the letter, so I said to Hedwig, give it to me. Bye, I kiss you both, even though you're ungrateful assholes."
That's how bad we are. And ... you won't believe it, she sent us a fountain pen each! And there were some freaks who called Lou stupid!
"Hey, Dark Patrick! What did the Terrible and Omnipresent One want from you?" We met at the same spot where we'd spent the afternoon. All of a sudden, the sky was overcast. It looked like it was going to rain in the evening. So much for warm, sunny weather!
"Malfoy had flycatchers stuffed into his bed.
They bit him so hard that they couldn't put him down for an hour. He was sure it was my doing" Pat said, smiling serenely.
"What about yours?" I asked. Draco Malfoy was a rare jerk (first impressions were correct here) with skinhead tendencies. I don't know if it was me or Pat who was fighting him the most. Probably Pat — he has more options. He's sharing a room with him, poor guy. "If I'd been so petty," my friend said, "I'd have stuffed the tarantulas right away. That's what Snape said, by the way. It's just one of the kids, and they all hate this young Nazi. Did you lose something?"
"I'm looking for Sami people." My viper lived on the street (and it's a good thing, because I didn't see tame snakes from anyone). She was just so snake-eyed about Hogwarts. She crawled wherever she wanted, even though she always came when I called. But not this time.
"Strange," I muttered.
Pat looked at me thoughtfully.
"Did you know that Voldemort also talked to snakes?"
"really?"
Pat nodded his head.
"How do you know that?" I stared at him.
"in general, Slytherins know a lot of things."
We wandered along the lake. There was no one around, as if everyone had died out. Did the worsening weather scare everyone off?
"Who's the guy with the broken nose?"
I asked.
"Jacob McNair. By the way, the nephew of a former Death Eater. Well, from those who like repented, realized, re-educated, And, you know, Lucius Malfoy... "
"also from the same company" I interrupted "not the only one who's so smart, they told me that too. Basically, it's not hard to guess."
"By the way, Jay is a half-breed. He'd been kicked out of the quidditch team to put Malfoy in there. So Jay has a personal grudge against him."
"You're a treasure trove of information!" I whistled.
Pat rolled his eyes. "Oh, if you only knew how many secrets the Slytherin dungeons hold! Broken destinies, unfulfilled hopes, broken hearts…"
"Yeah. One ghost is worth something!" I chuckled.
"You shouldn't be laughing," Pat said gravely, " at the story of the Bloody Baron. Love, jealousy, betrayal… pure Shakespeare.
"I see that you are also getting into the lyrics today. By the way…"
I took the letter out of my pocket and handed it to Pat. He smiled and began to read it.
"Lou in his repertoire... Malfoy and Snape? Am I really the same freak?!.. What had she told her?"
Pat's voice grew indignant.
"Probably from blowing bubbles and torturing kittens."
"I didn't blow bubbles, and I certainly never tortured kittens!" Pat was even more indignant. "and what kind of present?"
I took out my pen and gave it to Pat. He looked at her carefully, then sighed, and an unaccustomed expression of nostalgia crossed his face.
"Do you remember when we were stuck on the Ferris wheel for forty-five minutes?" my friend said dreamily.
"how can you forget that?"
Pat then whistled "God save the Queen" loudly to us (and even encouraged us to sing the anthem in unison), I ran out of jokes and stories about my relatives, and Lou was picked on by the guys in the booth above. They filmed us using the fire escape.
We somehow wandered over to Hagrid's cabin by ourselves. I just know it's Hagrid's cabin, but I've never been here before. Pumpkins, the size of a good tractor's tire, scarecrow… Something funny probably scares the crows away, making them hiccup with laughter. Who's grazing here?" Oh-oh-oh, I think it's a hippogriff…
"Wow," Pat whispered, gawking at this bizarre creature of nature, "I've read it, of course… But in real life ... you know, mutations like that even when exposed to radiation…"
"Hey! Come on, stand back!" A voice growled from behind us. We jumped and spun around. And here is the owner himself. Lots of hair and impressive size. Just something vaguely familiar…
"Oh, Harry!" Hagrid suddenly brightened at the sight of me. I've long forgotten to be surprised that everyone knows me.
"Hello," Pat and I said in unison, and my friend added, "Professor."
Hagrid continued, regardless of our official tone:
"Well, really! a copy of dad" I saw Pat flinch.
He must have thought it was about him — "but his eyes were like his mother's. And I remember you so well!" Hagrid held up an indeterminable amount with his hands — "I was the one who took you to your aunt's. Yes..."
-motorcycl
"On a flying motorcycle?" It dawned on me. Pat looked at me sideways, and seemed about to twirl a finger at his temple.
"Well, yes!" Hagrid was even more delighted and invited us to visit him. Hagrid let us pet a hippogriff named Buckbeak and gave us tea and rock buns.
I honestly tried to chew on one, but when something snapped in my mouth (or a cockroach caught in a loaf, or a tooth), I decided not to experiment any more. Hagrid, despite his giant size, turned out to be a good-natured man with a pronounced love of wildlife. Especially to the nature that bit, scratched, butted and spat fire. Oh, the "green peace" don't know about it. With such a like-minded person, they would have achieved great success.
"Why do you need a hippogriff in your garden?" Pat asked.
"He's sick of something," said Hagrid. "I think he should live a little apart from his own." Hmm. And I thought he was digging his garden beds. Or it scares crows away. Or eating. Raven, I mean.
Hagrid knew my parents well (and for God's sake, who didn't?). He remembered Pat's mother, too, probably because of her love of salamanders and other fire-living creatures.
However, at first he did not recognize Pat as a representative of the "snake" Hause. It wasn't on the distribution board.
"Are you also gryffindor?" Hagrid asked him, apparently not seeing his Slytherin tie, "or like your mother, Ravenclaw?"
"No, slytherin," Pat said, looking grim, and mouthed, "like Dad."
Hagrid looked confused.
"Well, yes… Slytherin ... well, it happens…"
Pat gave me a meaningful look.
"Hagrid, do you really think Slytherin is all freaks, too?" I said indignantly.
He was even more embarrassed.
"No, of course not, but... no offense, but everyone who went down the wrong path is from there…"
"Pettigrew was from Gryffindor, by the way."
Hagrid hesitated, and when he couldn't think of a suitable answer, he poured us some more tea.
"It's a vicious circle, you know," Pat said thoughtfully.
"What do you mean?"
"Look at this," my friend said enthusiastically, " the kid is going to Hogwarts and let's say he doesn't know about all this nonsense. The child longs for knowledge and recognition in the magical world. And ends up in Slytherin. And what's going on here? Some brainwashed idiot like Malfoy says this is a house for the elite, that is, for purebloods. Half-bloods and mudbloods suck at wizarding society, and they don't belong here. And try to say something against it. Because that's what Salazar Slytherin always said, it's tradition and all that nonsense. If only you knew how many half-bloods there are in Slytherin! But that's not all!" Pat shouted, jumping to his feet, "Everyone's starting to look at you like you're a leper! The snake! The snake, by the way, is a symbol of wisdom! And to you: you're a Slytherin! So you automatically become a Muggle-hater and a lover of dark magic. And, in the end, the unfortunate child himself begins to believe in it and becomes what others want him to see!"
"That's right," I agreed, "most Gryffindors are convinced that every Slytherin is a potential Voldemort."
Hagrid flinched at the sound of the name.
"This school is full of stereotypes!" I said.
"And it's time to break them!" Pat said sharply, " I'm sick of calling my department the same tone as announcing an incurable diagnosis."
"It's time to change the traditions!"
"Pat, you look like Oliver Cromwell!" I whistled admiringly, "or not, like St. Patrick. Only he enlightened Ireland, and you-Hogwarts!"
"Well, buddy, can we teach them how to make revolutions?" Pat asked me enthusiastically.