After Dobby's death and realizing that I had messed everything up so badly that there was no way to fix it, I was alternately shaken by melancholy and nervous overexcitement. I think it was guilt. The fact that in canon Dobby would have died anyway in six years provided little comfort. Besides, when he stopped trying to kill Harry, he became a true friend to him. Yes, it sounds absurd... I tried to hide my condition from everyone with extra activity. Harry's life before Hogwarts hadn't been particularly rich in experiences, so now he was making up for it. The child was happy, and fortunately, he was too distracted to notice the subtleties of my mood. But his parents clearly saw that something was wrong with me. A few days later, Mr. Weasley arrived in his improved Ford to take us to the Burrow. We did get to see the performance: "You're Muggles! Well I never, real Muggles!" Dad, naive soul that he is, first tried to explain to Mr. Weasley how a television works, then how a power plant works... then realized that he either needed to start with physics for beginners or give up. Mom and I just watched wide-eyed as Mr. Weasley shamelessly stuck his nose into every corner: "and what's this thing you have here?"
The Burrow... An ambiguous place. If children were given such an extreme analog of a treehouse to play in, they would be happy. But then the children would finish playing and go home to their parents, where there's reliable flooring underfoot and you're not afraid to lean against the wall. I greeted Mrs. Weasley, handed her a pie from Mom, and then Ron dragged us off to fly on broomsticks. Actually, he was dragging Harry, and I tagged along. Finally! A proper flight. Even the guilt over Dobby's death dulled. In my previous life, I loved fast driving, when the wind hits your face, there's open space ahead, and your heart stops from the feeling of freedom. Well, on a broomstick all the sensations are ten times more intense! Because there's even more open space. And more speed, and wind. And degrees of freedom. In such moments it seems like everything will be fine.
Harry and Ron went to the latter's room, I stayed to help Mrs. Weasley and Ginny prepare lunch. I'd like to become friends with Ginny to have future access to the diary. So far she was behaving not quite adequately. She watched Harry from hiding, and when he noticed her, she turned crimson and ran away, which made him very nervous. I casually asked about her life, told her a bit about Hogwarts... Complained that my roommates had taught me a hair-combing spell, and I used it all year, but now I have to do it manually again. And other small talk to fill the air... Ginny gradually began to respond.
In the evening I went home to my parents on the Knight Bus. At least I'll have a proper dinner at home, because in the Weasley house paranoia took over and I had to eat like an anorexic at the table. Looking ahead, I'll say that Harry complained a few days later that the ring had reacted a couple of times, but he pretended not to notice and simply didn't eat. Molly or the twins - we'll never know.
I didn't come every day, I still wanted to spend time with my parents. At the Burrow I flew on broomsticks, played chess with Ron - and lost two times out of three, tried to befriend Ginny. I bought her a beautiful diary with a bright girlish cover and a set of colored pens as a gift: "You're going to Hogwarts, you'll be writing down spells or recipes..." Better she writes in this than in that suspicious black notebook.
If someone had told me in advance that I would one day be saving Peter Pettigrew, I wouldn't have believed it. The twins decided to use the rat as a rat. A laboratory rat. And their experiments, unlike those of pharmaceutical companies, clearly don't benefit humanity. Scabbers sat in a bucket squeaking frantically. Her skin was covered in bald patches with characteristic traces of chemical burns. Nevertheless, Peter stubbornly remained a rat. Is he a complete masochist or something? Probably it's already a matter of habit. I felt sorry for him. Taking the little rat away from the brothers and calling them animal torturers, I stomped off to Molly for burn ointment. Molly, seeing what had happened to Scabbers, nearly tore off one ear from each twin, almost deafened them with the second, and sent them to de-gnome the garden. Now they call me nothing but "our little tattletale." And I call them animal torturers. Such refined relations.
A little later I somewhat regretted my noble impulse. Peter developed warm feelings toward me and every time I came, he stayed nearby and kept trying to climb onto my lap. If this were an ordinary pet rat, I wouldn't object (except during meals, of course), but the realization that sitting on my lap right now was a fat, life-battered man who was a murderer of at least twelve people somehow depressed me.
When our Hogwarts letters arrived and we began preparing, an amazing thing was discovered. It turned out that Harry's key had previously been kept by Molly. And she assumed it was still with her, but it was missing. Harry immediately confessed everything and admitted that he had the key. True, he didn't want to give it back. Mrs. Weasley was indignant, shouting that this wasn't allowed, that he was still too young to handle money and would spend it all on sweets. And she demanded he give her the key. Harry resisted, but Mrs. Weasley pressed him with her monumental chest and wailed at increased decibels.
Oh, this is about to explode!
"Harry," I try to convey with my expression, like, agree now, we'll talk later, "you can quite well give the key to Mrs. Weasley so she won't worry. You said you had a little left for textbooks."
Come on, Harry, remember what the goblin said. The key is enchanted, no one else can use it. And you can always call it back. Seems he remembered, his face brightened, and he reached into his pocket to get the key.
Having received the key, Molly immediately calmed down. She fussed over the poor little orphan child whom no one but her would care for, shed a false tear over his fate, and drove everyone to pack. What a goat. But nevertheless, this still isn't reason to definitively put her in the enemy camp. There are such people, they always know what's best, and even if the victim resists, they try to force happiness upon them. You should stay away from them, but considering them evil is probably unfair... this assuming that it was the twins who slipped Harry the potions.
Today is Lockhart's presentation, and Mrs. Weasley is in full regalia: curled her hair, brightly painted her lips. From large posters hung all over Diagon Alley, a handsome man winks at me playfully. Seriously - an unambiguously beautiful man, not like in the movie. His face reads: lover of women and adventures. If only he didn't have the mannerisms of a caricature transvestite and the habit of erasing everyone's memory, he'd be priceless. In the Muggle world he could have become a model.
Mrs. Weasley isn't bothered by his mannerisms, she drags her brood into the bookstore with burning eyes. Harry and I walk last.
"What, Potter, consorting with Muggle-lovers again?" Malfoy is drawn to Potter like honey. Harry shook his head contemptuously and went into the store where all the Weasleys had already disappeared.
"Yeah, and with Mudbloods too," I add to his observations, "But what makes you think, Malfoy, that the Weasleys are Muggle-lovers?" I ask with interest.
"Besides the fact that they shout about it on every corner?" Malfoy looks at me condescendingly, as if to say, how can you not know such simple things?
"So what? I can shout that I'm the Queen of England. But I won't become queen from that. Recently I had the good fortune to observe how Mr. Weasley, choking with delight, yelled: 'Muggles! You're real Muggles! Well I never!' - as if he'd spotted rare animals in a cage. I don't see love here, maybe curiosity and shamelessness. Besides, Mr. Weasley works in a department connected with enchanting Muggle objects, and should encounter them in his line of duty. However, he knows absolutely nothing about them. It's just fashionable now, to profess love for Muggles. But how much real love there is - only Merlin knows."
Yes indeed, apparently that scene affected me much more than I thought.
"And the younger generation finds Muggles completely uninteresting, so they just believed their parents without thinking. Why wouldn't they believe their parents? Their parents said they love Muggles, so that's how it is."
A cold voice was heard behind me.
"Interesting point of view, Miss..."
"Granger," I turned and curtsied, "Good day, Lord Malfoy." "Oh God, what a man!" Very restrained, cold, aristocratic beauty. Okay, control yourself, don't stare.
"Granger... Are you related to the Dagworth-Grangers?" Hmm... apparently he approached after my comment about Mudbloods.
"Alas, no," I sang, "but I love potions too."
"That's for sure!" Malfoy Jr. perked up, "You should have seen, father, how she pestered Snape for extra lessons."
"Hey, that was only once! At least when you were there," I protested such betrayal.
"What House are you in, Miss Granger?" Malfoy seemed interested for some reason, his voice even became half a tone warmer.
"Hufflepuff."
"Hmm... you don't really seem like one... Did the Hat choose for you?"
"Actually, no, I asked myself."
"And what did you base that on, may I ask?"
"Well, first, the curriculum is the same everywhere. In this respect all Houses are equal," I begin unhurriedly, adjusting to his communication style, "Second, Slytherin and Gryffindor were immediately out, open confrontation seriously distracts from normal studies. Besides, being friends with individual people from the opposing House is quite difficult, since your classmates simply won't understand you. It turns out this immediately limits for any Gryffindor or Slytherin the circle of potential acquaintances. Ravenclaw would also work, but Ravenclaw is mostly loners, it's harder there than in Hufflepuff to acquire useful connections."
"Miss Granger, are you really twelve years old?" And Lucius has a beautiful smile too. Only his arrogant facial expression spoils it.
"My birthday is in autumn, so I'm almost a year older than many of my classmates," I noticed Harry frantically waving at me through the store window, "Excuse me, Lord Malfoy, but I'm being called."
I enter the store, and Harry has already gotten into trouble and stands next to Lockhart under camera flashes. I pay for a set of textbooks and see the Malfoys entering Flourish and Blotts...
And Lucius knows how to be truly nasty, he's so skillfully wiping his feet on Mr. Weasley. On the other hand, if someone had broken into my house with a search...
Here's the fight! And where is that brilliant arrogant lord? I don't believe it's for real. Mr. Weasley - he's the real deal, open and direct to the point of rudeness, all emotions on his face and tongue too. After the fight, Malfoy Sr., as if having completed the obligatory program, assumes his former arrogant appearance and leaves with Draco. Probably the diary is already with Ginny. I look at Mr. Weasley - yeah, these people hate each other fiercely. And to slip such a little diary to the enemy's daughter - that's definitely an act of war. And in war, playing the plebeian for victory is the least of sacrifices.
"I suggest we wash down this unpleasant scene with ice cream," I address Ginny, Harry and Ron, "my treat. Ginny, let's throw your textbooks into my bag so you don't have to carry such weight?" Okay, now the main thing is that the diary ends up among the books and not somewhere else.