Ron Weasley and the Chamber of Secrets.

But I didn't feel like smiling the next day. Everything didn't go well in the morning. The magical ceiling in the Great Hall was covered with boring gray clouds. The four dining tables are properly lined with bowls of oatmeal porridge, plates of smoked trout, toasts, dishes of scrambled eggs and fried bacon. Harry and I sat down at our table next to Hermione, who was poring over her favorite book, Encounters with Vampires. And what does she find in this writing? Mom likes it too, though. Hermione was still angry with us about the illegal flight, judging by how dryly she greeted us. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, smiled when he saw us. Neville was a chubby kid who kept getting into trouble. Besides, he was always forgetting everything. “The mail is about to arrive," he said. “Grandma has to send some things, I didn't bring everything.” And indeed, I had no time to start fishing when the wings of owls flew in overhead, there were at least a hundred of them. They circled the hall, shouting long-drawn out, drowning out the voices of boys and girls, and dropping letters and parcels here and there. One heavy bag slammed right on Neville's head, and immediately something big and shaggy fell into Hermione's jug, splashing everyone with milk and showering them with feathers. This is… “Arrow!” I exclaimed, pulling the wet, dirty owl out of the jug by its paws. The owl lay motionless on the table, paws up, a wet red envelope in its beak. "How awful!” A piece of fish fell out of my hands. I wiped my fingers with a napkin and reached with trembling fingers for the terrifying envelope. Arrow is fine – it will lie down for half an hour and come to life. Not for the first time already. It's the norm for her after long flights. The owl Spirit likes us, that's why he's been living with our family for so long. “It's okay, she's breathing," said Hermione, stroking the owl with the tip of her finger. “That's not what I'm talking about. That's what I mean!” I carefully pulled the red envelope out of my beak. What a shame, they sent me a Loudspeaker! And you can't run away with the envelope, it's already starting to smoke. “What's the matter?” Harry asked. “She... she sent me a Thundercracker," I whispered. “Open it quickly," Neville said just as quietly. “Otherwise it will be worse. My grandmother also sent such a letter once. I had completely forgotten about him. So that was it!” “And what is a Public Speaker?” Harry looked from our terrified faces to the red envelope. I stared at the letter, which was already beginning to smoke from the corners. Maybe I'll still have time to run out into the hall? “Open up!” Neville pushed me. "It's going to burst into flames!" He's right, it's better to open it yourself, otherwise it will explode. I tore open the envelope and threw it on the table and reached under the counter. “Cover your ears!” Neville put his fingers in his ears. I would have shut up too, but my hands were busy. The huge hall was filled with a roar, from which dust fell from the ceiling. But soon I discerned the words in the roar: "...steal a car," the letter thundered. “I wouldn't be surprised if you get expelled from school. Wait, I'll get to you. I think you understand what we went through when we couldn't find the car in place..." Mom screamed a hundred times louder than usual; spoons and plates bounced on the tables from her voice, which was further amplified by the echo reflected by the stone walls. Those sitting at the tables turned on their chairs, looking for the unfortunate person who had received this message. I almost slid off my chair in shame, so that only my crimson forehead was visible. And the letter continued: "... in the evening ... a letter from Dumbledore. I thought my father would die of grief. We raised you in a completely different way. You and Harry could both have died!" "...absolutely monstrous. Your father is going to have a trial at work, and you're to blame for that. If you commit another such offense, we will immediately remove you from school." That was the end of the letter, and a ringing silence reigned in the hall. A red envelope, thrown on the countertop, burst into flames, and a handful of ashes remained from it. Damn, Mom doesn't know about the wand yet. We'll have to wait until the mother cools down. Besides, they don't have any money right now anyway. Harry and I sat with our eyes wide open and panting, as if we had just been doused by a wave of surf. Many people were laughing, but soon the casual chatter resumed at the tables. Hermione slammed the book shut and stared at me. “I don't know what you expected, Ron. But you…” “Don't tell me I deserve this," I blurted out. But there was no time to delve into these sad thoughts. Professor McGonagall was walking along the table, giving everyone a timetable. I read in my leaflet that our class has two first lessons - herbology along with Halfpaths. Harry and Hermione and I left the castle, passed through the vegetable gardens and hurried to the greenhouses where magical flowers and herbs grew. The broadcast letter did at least one good thing: Hermione felt that we were more than punished, and she became sweet and friendly again, as always. As we approached the greenhouse, we saw our entire class at the door, waiting for Professor Sprout. At the same moment, the professor herself appeared; together with Gilderoy Lockhart, they were walking across the lawn from Rattlesnake Willow. Professor Sprout had bandages and plaster casts in her hands. I turned my gaze to the willow tree, several of its branches decorated with plaster trays. And I felt remorse again for the beaten Ford. I didn't feel sorry for the harmful tree at all. Professor Sprout was a small, chubby witch with a mended- mended hat on disheveled hair; her dress was always in the ground, and she herself had dirty nails, it was immediately obvious that she was constantly messing with the ground. Gilderoy Lockhart, on the other hand, was as immaculate as ever, his turquoise cape billowing, golden curls shimmering under a perfectly fitting hat of the same color, trimmed with a gold border. Handsome, damn it. “Hello everyone” He greeted the students from afar with a beaming smile. “I was showing Professor Sprout how to cure a Rattlesnake Willow! But please don't think that the professor knows less about herbology than I do! It's just that I've dealt with exotic plants during my travels.…” “Kids, greenhouse number three!” Professor Sprout ordered, clearly upset. There was no trace of her usual lively and friendly disposition today. Was she so upset about willow? Or is she already sick of this peacock? The guys made quite a noise. Last year, we only worked in greenhouse number one. In greenhouse number three, the plants were much more interesting, even dangerous. The professor took a large key from her belt and unlocked the greenhouse door. From there, warmth, the smell of damp earth, fertilizers, and the heavy scent of giant umbrella-sized flowers hanging from the ceiling wafted over me. Harry started to step inside after Hermione and me, but Lockhart's hand stopped him. “Harry! I need you for a few words. Do you mind if Harry is about three minutes late, Professor?” Judging by the displeased face, Sprout objected. “That's great," said Lockhart and slammed the door in the face of the professor of herbology. While Harry was chatting with the professor, we went into the greenhouse and stood by the boxes of dew, waiting for him. Professor Sprout was standing by a wooden bench in the center of the greenhouse, on which were about twenty pairs of ear plugs. After waiting for Harry to take his place next to Hermione, the woman, unhappy with the delay, began the lesson. “Today we will be transplanting mandrakes”, She said. “Who wants to tell you about the properties of this plant?” No one was surprised that Hermione raised her hand first. Behind her, Neville is uncertain. “Mandragora, or mandragorum is a powerful remedy for restoring health,” Hermione rattled off as if she knew the textbook by heart. With her memory, I wouldn't be surprised. “The mandrake is used to restore a person who has undergone a spell to his original appearance.” “Great. Ten points for Gryffindor,” Said Professor Sprout. “Mandrake is the main component of most antidotes. But the mandrake itself is not safe. Who can say why?” Hermione's hand shot up again. She almost brushed the glasses off Harry's nose. He barely managed to stagger back. Neville raised his hand uncertainly. “Neville, don't be shy.” “The cry of the mandrake is deadly to anyone who hears it,” Neville answered without hesitation. Apparently, the professor is used to him answering her lessons instead of Hermione. “Absolutely right. Let's add another ten points. The mandrakes that are now in front of you are seedlings that are still very young.” The professor pointed to the deep drawers, and the whole class moved forward to get a better look. The boxes were filled with rows of purple-green leaves sticking out of the ground, each with about a hundred small mandrakes. I didn't notice anything special about them, although I had heard stories about the "crying of the mandrake". “Take the headphones," Professor Sprout ordered. Pushing, we rushed to the bench, I didn't want to sit in pink faux furs for the whole lesson, and the others seemed to, too. I don't want to look like a girl. Sprout calmly took them for herself and lifted them over the table. “When I say, "Put on your headphones," try to put them on so that you can't hear anything at all. When it's time to take off the headphones, I'll give you a thumbs up. Put on your headphones!” I quickly put on a pair of headphones with red fur, and the silence was complete. Professor Sprout put on her own, rolled up the sleeves of her robes, grabbed one of the plants tightly and pulled hard. Harry said something, but I couldn't hear him. It's a good charm, but I'd also use a charm to talk to each other. Instead of roots, a tiny, dirt-stained, ugly baby popped out of the ground. Leaves were growing right out of the top of his head, his skin was pale green, dotted with multicolored dots, and it was obvious that he was screaming his head off. Professor Sprout took a large flower pot from under the table and planted the mandrake in dark, moist compost, leaving only a bunch of leaves outside. Then she dusted off the compost on her hands, gave a thumbs up, and took off her headphones. I followed her example. “Because our mandrakes are still very small," she explained, “Crying doesn't kill them.” She spoke so calmly, as if she had watered a pot of begonia instead of performing a real miracle in front of all of us. “But their screams can deafen you for four hours. I'm sure none of you want to miss the first day of class, so make sure that your headphones cover your ears tightly. When the lesson ends, I'll give you a sign. You will work with four people with each box, the compost is here, in bags. And make sure that the burning antennica does not touch the tentacles, it burns.” As she spoke, the professor slapped a dark red thorny plant quite hard, which was surreptitiously pulling a long probe towards her shoulder, and the probe instantly withdrew. Our inseparable trio was joined by a curly-haired boy from the Halfpuff house. I didn't remember him, we never talked. If we had a constant feud with the Slytherins, the Ravenclaws didn't pay attention to anything except their research, then the Halpafs were constantly busy fighting with Professor Sprout. Future farmers, what to take from them. Neville should have gone to the Halfpuffs with his love of plants. He belongs there. But as Neville confessed to us, the hat persuaded him to go to Gryffindor. “Justin Finch-Fletchley," Halpafetz introduced himself affably, shaking Harry's hand. I know you, of course. You're the famous Harry Potter… You're Hermione Granger, first in all subjects. Justin shook her hand too. Hermione beamed. And you're Ron Weasley. You won the McGonagall chess game that year, didn't you? “That's right, I really like playing with small golems.” “And Lockhart is strong!” Justin continued, beaming. "Brave as a lion. Have you read his books? I would have died of fright if I had been attacked in a phone booth by a vampire. And at least he's henna! I fought and won. Fantastic! My parents enrolled me in Eton, but I'm so happy that I'm studying here.” Harry's mouth dropped open in surprise. “Your parents are upset, aren't they?” “Of course, my mom was a little upset, but I gave her Lockhart books to read, and she realized how wonderful it is to have a wizard in the family, especially a well-educated one.… I've been reading them since last year. It's good that Lockhart is now our professor.” Wow, a boy, but he fell for this nonsense. How was Lockhart allowed to smuggle his books in as textbooks in the first place? Did McGonagall even read them? Or does she not know what literature she approves as textbooks? Justin fell silent, and the conversation did not resume. The headphones were on, and we started transplanting mandrakes. Professor Sprout easily handled the first seedling, that's why she was a professor of herbology. The case, however, turned out to be not so simple. The mandrakes did not want to leave their home and move to a separate pot, they writhed, kicked, pounded with sharp, strong fists, gnashed their teeth. I stubbornly stuffed one thick mandrake into the pot. Then another one. By the end of the lesson, I, like everyone else, was covered in sweat, stained with dirt, and my hands hurt from unaccustomed use. Although we have a garden, we hardly plant vegetables there - it's easier to buy from farmers. The same Halfpaffians grow very good vegetables and fruits. And what kind of strawberries do the Hartmans have… Dirty and tired, we dragged ourselves to the castle, where we took a shower, and the Gryffindors went to transfiguration class. It was always difficult in Professor McGonagall's classes, but especially today. Everything I learned last year seemed to have completely slipped my mind over the summer. The task was to turn a dung beetle into a big button. I reached for last year's notes. So the bugs. Yeah, yeah, well, I see… Before class, I took a piece of magic duct tape from an upperclassman and wrapped it around a magic wand. I hoped that it would work somehow. Hagrid does magic with his halves, doesn't he? But the wand seems to have completely deteriorated. It kept crackling and sparking, and when I tried to turn the beetle, it emitted thick smoke, smelly like a rotten egg. I couldn't see anything in the smoke, and I accidentally squashed a bug with my elbow, so I had to ask for a new one. Which, of course, upset Professor McGonagall. I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the bell from class. My brain was squeezed out like a sponge. Everyone ran out of the classroom except Harry and me. I started banging my wand on the table, saying angrily: “Stupid useless piece of wood!” “Write home," Harry advised me in response to the shower of sparks that burst from the unfortunate wand. “Have them send you a new one.” “And I'll get another Speaker,” I sighed heavily, stuffing my wand into my bag. “And they have nothing to send. I got almost a broken one anyway. And a new one requires at least four galleons, if you take it from Kendal. And you'll have to leave school to find the right one, and they won't let you leave until the holidays.” Let's go to the dining room for lunch. Hermione showed us a whole handful of excellent coat buttons that she got in transfiguration class, which made me feel even worse. Why does everyone have normal chopsticks, but I got such junk? All my brothers have new ones, but I've already got a used one. And all the father with his car. Dumn. Although it would be even more insulting if I broke a new wand. “What do we have in the afternoon?” I asked gloomily, putting food on my plate. “Defense against the Dark Arts,” Hermione reported immediately. Why does she sound so dreamy? Looking over her shoulder at the piece of paper she was examining, I was surprised. “Why do you have little hearts against all Lockhart's lessons?” I asked, grabbing Hermione's schedule from her hands. Maybe I'm just seeing things because I'm tired. Hermione snatched the timetable sheet from me and blushed deeply. That she really has a crush on this peacock?! It would have been better if Harry had chosen him, he's also a hero. Although she rather sees Harry as a younger brother. After lunch, we went out into the courtyard, where the sky was overcast with gloomy clouds. Hermione sat down on the stone steps, tucking her bag under her ass and turned back to her "Meetings with vampires." Harry and I were standing next to each other, talking about Quidditch. There was a boy with gray hair standing not far from us, whom I noticed through the window in the Great Hall during the distribution ceremony. The boy stared at Harry, wide-eyed, as if mesmerized. He was clutching an ordinary-looking Muggle camera in his hand. The boy blushed. So another fan, wasn't there enough excitement for me at the beginning of my freshman year? That you'll have to fight off a friend from a crowd of fans again? “Don't be angry, Harry. I'm Colin Creevey”, He said it in one breath, hesitantly stepping forward when he noticed Harry looking at him. “I'm a Gryffindor too. How do you think... how would you look at... if I took a picture?” He raised the camera. “A snapshot?” Harry asked, puzzled. Buddy, don't be dumb. He won't calm down until he gets you on camera. Future reporters are like that… Hmm, can I get in on the action with this kid? I don't stop him from taking pictures of Harry, and he gives me a share of the profits? The main thing is that a friend does not find out, otherwise he will be offended. So, he's in the same year as Jeanie. I need to give her a hint to get a guy involved. Maybe they'll even become friends, but since Luna got to Ravenclaw, they don't even communicate. Jeanie is still sitting in the living room and writing in her diary. “Well, yes, a picture. To prove that we know each other.” Colin continued, taking another step closer. “I know all about you. I've been told so much about you: how You-Know-Who wanted to kill you, how you miraculously escaped, and he disappeared forever, and all that.… That you have a lightning-like scar on your forehead (his gaze lingered on Harry's forehead). And one boy from our class said that if you develop the film in a special solution, your photos will move. That's right, the twins will be able to brew a potion for him. It's not particularly difficult, but I won't take it on. Colin sighed with a sob from the excess of his feelings and continued: “How wonderful it is here! Strange things happened to me at home, and I didn't even know it was magic. But then I got a letter from Hogwarts and I understood everything. My dad is a milkman, and he still doesn't believe in magic. I want to send him lots and lots of pictures. It would be great if he got yours.” He looked at Harry pleadingly. “Could your friend take a picture of me with you so that we stand side by side? Could you sign the photo?” The boy said plaintively, looking hopefully at Harry. Yeah. I don't envy the guy. Seamus's situation with his father is even worse, though. “Sign a photo? Are you handing out autographed photos of yourself, Potter?” Well of course. And the main slug is here, much less without him. No, I understand he's Harry's relative and all that. But the way he periodically tries to straighten his brain is something. Not only is he walking around his mother, but he's also throwing mud at my family and Hermione's. For which he gets punched in the face when the teachers are not around. Draco Malfoy's loud, mocking voice echoed through the courtyard. He stopped behind Colin, accompanied by two loyal friends Crabbe and Goyle, who looked like real thugs. Hurry up to take the queue! Malfoy shouted at the students who filled the courtyard. “Harry Potter is signing autographs!” “I'm not giving anything away," Harry said, clenching his fists. "Shut up, Malfoy.” “You're just jealous," Colin blurted out, his torso barely thicker than Crabbe's neck. “For me? Envious?” Malfoy was clearly in shock. Draco wasn't shouting anymore, half the yard was already listening to him. “Why be envious? So that they cut half my skull? No thanks! I'm not that stupid.” Crabbe and Goyle just giggled stupidly. So, someone hasn't received it for a long time. “Choke on the slugs, Malfoy!” I exploded, pointing my wand at him. Crabbe stopped giggling and began threateningly rubbing his knuckles the size of chestnuts. Well, yes, well, yes. First, we'll have to knock out his friends as usual.Fortunately, they are dumb as a cork. Especially Creb. “Easier on the corners, Weasley," Malfoy warned mockingly. “I wouldn't pick a fight if I were you. Did you forget that your mom promised to pick you up from school?” And, mimicking, he squeaked: "If you commit even one offense..." The fifth-year Slytherin students laughed out loud. “Weasley wants your autographed picture too, Potter,” Malfoy curled his lip contemptuously. “This treasure would be worth more than his entire house.” I waved my taped wand, but Hermione snapped the book shut and whispered to me: I put the wand away and started flexing my arm muscles. Now someone's going to grab it. Knock out Creb first, then Goyle. And then I'm going to punch that blond bastard in the face. “Stop it!” She glanced at Gilderoy Lockhart, who was approaching. “What, what's going on here?” Gilderoy flew like a blue bird, his turquoise robe fluttering behind him like laundry drying in the wind. “Who's handing out autographed photos here?” Lockhart put his arm around Harry's shoulders and, smiling from the breadth of his white-toothed mouth, sang: “You don't have to ask! We've crossed paths with you again, Harry! Go ahead, Mr. Creevey. We are ready!” He gave Colin a beaming smile. Colin made a face of displeasure. Apparently, he didn't fall for this peacock's writings and was only a fan of a friend. “A double portrait, Mr. Creevey. It couldn't be better. And we'll both sign it!” Lockhart ordered. I went up to him and spoke softly so that Harry and Lockhart wouldn't hear. “The girls will tear off this photo with their hands. When you've developed the Lockhart film, you can sell it for a couple of galleons.” Colin fiddled with his camera for a bit, took a picture, and just then the bell rang for class. He also shifted the camera so that Harry got a good angle. “Go to classes! Faster!” commanded Lockhart and rushed to the entrance himself. “He was still holding Harry's shoulders, a Solomonic decision.” Lockhart spoke from the height of his greatness, entering the castle with Harry through the side doors. Hermione and I trailed behind them “in that scene with young Creevey, I was your shield. Since he took pictures of the two of us, your enemies won't blame you: look how he puts himself above others.…” I'm really going to send my sister to Colin, who will help him develop and sell the photo. She makes excellent potions, as Mom says. Not listening to Harry's mumbling excuses, Lockhart dragged him further down the corridor under the eyes of students rushing to their lessons. “Let me tell you frankly: handing out autographed photos at this stage of your career is the height of imprudence. The time will come when you, like me now, will need to have a pack of such photos ready, but,” He laughed cheerfully, "I think it's a little early today." They entered the defense against the Dark Arts room, and Harry finally found his freedom.  Lockhart rushed off to show off at the blackboard. Harry pulled down his robes and settled himself in the last row. After that, he sat down at the table and placed a stack of all seven books by Gilderoy Lockhart in front of him – he seemed to hide behind them from the author. Immediately, the rest of the students entered the office, talking loudly. Hermione and I finally squeezed through the doorway and hurried over to Harry, sitting next to him - me on the left, Hermione on the right. Well, it's red. “I could fry eggs on your face!” I whispered. “Pray to God that Colin and Ginny don't get to know each other, or maybe they'll create a Harry Potter fan club.” Oh, by the way. I need to tell Jeanie not to make a fuss, or Harry will lose his temper and I'll have to cover for their club of fans of photoraphies. It's a pity about the kid's camera, but if I break it so badly, they won't fix it. Bill taught me how to break the spell. And damn, he's got a regular Muggle camera. Well, I'll break it too. “Be quiet!” Harry nudged me with his elbow. “I don't want Lockhart to hear.” That yes. I don't want this peacock to ruin all our raspberries. He's a hero, but only housewives and Muggleborns are into him. When everyone was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly, and the classroom became quiet. He reached out, picked up Neville's copy of The Troll Trail, and held it up, revealing his own winking portrait on the cover. “It's me," he said, and winked back. “Gilderoy Lockhart, Knight of the Order of Merlin, third Class, honorary member of the League of Defense against the Dark Forces and five-time winner of the Magic Weekly prize for the most charming smile. But let's not talk about it now. Believe me, it wasn't with a smile that I got rid of the Irish death-heralding ghost!” Gilderoy paused, expecting laughter. Several of the students smiled rather sourly. I see you've all bought a complete set of my books. But we didn't have to buy, did we? That's a freak. And there weren't any in the junk shop, so I had to spend money on Flourishes and Blots. And the books there are expensive. It's a good thing the twins took one set for two. “How wonderful it is! Let's start the lesson with a test paper. Don't be scared! I just want to check how carefully you've read them and what you've learned from them.…” Gilderoy handed each of them the question sheets and returned to the table. “I'll give you half an hour," he said. "Go ahead." On the first page I read: "1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color? 2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart's secret ambition? 3. Inyour opinion, what is Gilderoy Lockhart's greatest achievement to date?" And so on and so forth. The last, fifty-fourth question sounded like this: 54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart's birthday and what do you think is the perfect gift for him?” He's completely out of his mind. I tried to remember at least something from his books, but then I gave up and started writing fantasizing about the first impression of his "exploits". No, of course he's a hero, but 50 percent of his books are self-praises, another 20 are descriptions of the area and it was interesting, and the rest are spells, and he didn't give formulas, but described only the effects. Yes, my crazy squib comics were more interesting. I am generally silent about books about traveling into the depths of the magical world. Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and quickly looked through them. “Ay-ay-ay!” He shook his head reproachfully. “Almost none of you remember that my favorite color is lilac. I write about this in the book "Yorkshire Yetis". And some people would do well to read "Encounters with Vampires" more carefully. In chapter twelve, I write in black and white that the perfect birthday gift for me is goodwill between all people, magicians and non-magicians. But, of course, I wouldn't mind a bottle of Ogden's good fiery whiskey! And Lockhart winked impishly once more. I stared at Lockhart with a puzzled look. And this is the teacher? What can he teach you? Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were shaking with barely suppressed laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was all ears. The only thing that brought her back to reality was her name being spoken to the whole class. “But Miss Hermione Granger knows my ambition. Yes, I want to rid the world of evil and flood the market with hair preservation products of my own invention.” Hmm, but his hair is really awesome. Does he make his own concoctions, like my mom? Awesome. Why the hell didn't he start selling them instead of becoming a teacher? Mom sells her products in Diagon Alley. Lockhart, meanwhile, continued to read her answers. “Good girl!” He flipped through Hermione's work again. “She deserves the highest praise. Where is Miss Hermione Granger?” My girlfriend raised a trembling hand. With her memory, haha. She remembers everything she reads, and without any artifacts. But something needs to be done about her attachment to this peacock. And it's not a love spell, she looked at it like that in the bookstore. And I didn't buy his books. Damn, did she buy them earlier for easy reading, as she puts it? “Excellent!” Lockhart exuded delight. “Excellent with a plus! Ten points for Gryffindor. And now let's get down to business.…” With that, he bent down at his desk and picked up a large cloth-covered cage from the floor. “Today I will teach you how to curb the most vile creatures that exist in the world of magicians and wizards. I'm warning you: you're going to see something really terrible in this room. But don't be afraid, as long as I'm around, nothing bad will happen to you. All I ask is that you stay calm.” Harry peered curiously out from behind his barricade. I was staring intently at the cage. There's clearly someone alive there. This is the first time we've seen a living creature. Lockhart put his hand on the cloth covering the cage. Dean and Seamus stopped shaking with laughter. Neville was clearly cowering, sitting at a table in the front row. “Keep your voice down," Lockhart said, wagging a finger. “They can get overexcited.” The whole class held their breath, Lockhart pulled off the cloth. What?! Damn, even a child can handle them. It is enough to take a book in your hand, or something else with which you can visit them. I remember helping Aunt Muriel on her estate to bring out their colony. They fly slowly and all the danger lies in their poisonous teeth. It's good that we have a low magic background for them at home. These household pests usually settle in old manors. And a thick cloth helps against bites, and the doxy detoxifier is a great thing, but then you need to wear a respirator. So that you don't get too much of it yourself. “Yes, that's them," he said dramatically. “Newly captured Cornish pixies.” Seamus Finnigan couldn't help but giggle so visibly that even Lockhart didn't mistake his chuckle for a scream of horror. “What is it?” He broke into a smile. “But... but they're not dangerous at all”, Seamus said through laughter. I guess I used to drive them around with a book when I was a kid, too. “Don't tell me.” Lockhart shook his head. “Their fun can be very unpleasant.” The pixies were bright blue, about twenty centimeters tall, with pointed muzzles. When they came out into the light after dark, they screamed shrilly, as if a regiment of trumpeters had burst into the classroom, rushed around the cage, began to drum on poles and make faces, half teasing the audience, half amused. “Now let's see," Gilderoy Lockhart raised his voice, "how you deal with them!" And he opened the cage. Fuck! I quickly threw my things into a bag and shoved it under the table. “Harry, Hermione, hide your things!” They won't get under the table. I really don't want to collect scraps of my belongings all over the classroom after the mayhem they caused. What started here! The end of the world! Pixies jumped out of the cage like little rockets and flew in all directions. Two pranksters grabbed Neville by the ears and flew up to the ceiling with him. Well, wizards are generally tougher than ordinary people, so Neville's ears barely suffered. Five or six of them, having smashed the window and showered the last row with glass fragments, flew out of the classroom. The others began to smash everything that fell into their nimble hands, with the fury of an enraged rhinoceros. They broke ink bubbles and flooded the entire classroom, scattered the trash can, tore books and notebooks to shreds, tore paintings from the walls, and threw bags and textbooks through the broken window. In less than five minutes, the whole class was sitting under the tables. Only poor Neville was hanging from the ceiling, holding on to the chandelier. “What are you afraid of? Go ahead! Chase them back to the cage! It's just a pixie," shouted Lockhart. He rolled up his sleeves, waved his wand, and spoke quickly: “Pixie olc faigh an fuck as seo!” (Nasty pixie get the fuck out of here!) I stared at him in amazement. Did he decide to banish pixies with an Irish obscenity? His words, however, did not tame the raging evil spirits. One even grabbed Lockhart's wand and threw it out the window. Lockhart gasped and ducked under his own desk. It was just in time - the chandelier couldn't stand it and Neville fell right onto the spot where the professor had been standing a second ago. Just then the bell rang, and the whole class rushed to the door. It became quieter in the office, Lockhart got out from under the table, saw us ready to rush out the door, and ordered: “Please, friends, put the remaining pixies back in the cage. Fifteen Gryffindor balls in advance.” The professor briskly rushed past us and slammed the door in our faces. “And you'll believe him after that!” I exclaimed angrily, getting a good slap in the face from one of the raging pixies. “He just wanted to put us in a real life setting”, Said Hermione. Without hesitation, she cast a Freezing spell on the two pixies and effortlessly sent them into the cage. “In your opinion, is this a real life situation?” Harry said, struggling with the pixy who was dancing in front of him, sticking his tongue out. “Lockhart just didn't know what to do with them!” “Nonsense," said Hermione calmly. “You've read his books. Remember all the amazing feats that he has accomplished.” “He's just writing about what he's done," I clarified. “I checked that these feats were indeed accomplished.” We spent half an hour freezing the blue scoundrels. Moreover, Harry and Hermione were immobilizing them with spells, so I just took a textbook in my hand and hit these blue creatures with it. Interestingly, they stopped bothering me almost immediately. After collecting their carcasses from the floor into a cage and covering it with a blanket again, we caught our breath and went to the history of magic. Harry and I wanted to skip this useless lesson, but Hermione balked. Damn, that's what she's writing down there, he's reading from a textbook, and in such a way that it's impossible to listen.