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HARRY POTTER

AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS

by

J. K. Rowling

(this is BOOK 2 in the Harry Potter series)

Original Scanned/OCR: Friday, April 07, 2000

v1.0

(edit where needed, change version number by 0.1)

C H A P T E O N E

THE WORST BIRTHDAY

Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at

number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in

the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his

nephew Harry's room.

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't

control that owl, it'll have to go!"

Harry tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's bored," he said. "She's used to flying around outside. If I could

just let her out at night -"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling

from his bushy mustache. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let

out."

He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.

Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long,

loud belch from the Dursleys' son, Dudley.

1

"I want more bacon."

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia,

turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must build you up while

we've got the chance .... I don't like the sound of that school food

......

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings,"

said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the

kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably.

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was

incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that

shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and

clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet,

veins throbbing in his temples.

"I meant `please'!" said Harry quickly. "I didn't mean -"

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit

over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE `M' WORD IN OUR

HOUSE?"

"But I -"

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle

Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"I just -"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF

YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was

trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

2

"All right," said Harry, "all right. . . "

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and

watching Harry closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes.

Ever since Harry had come home for the summer holidays, Uncle

Vernon had been treating him like a bomb that might go off at any

moment, because Harry Potter wasn't a normal boy. As a matter of

fact, he was as not normal as it is possible to be.

Harry Potter was a wizard - a wizard fresh from his first year at

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And if the Dursleys

were unhappy to have him back for the holidays, it was nothing to how

Harry felt.

He missed Hogwarts so much it was like having a constant

stomachache. He missed the castle, with its secret passageways and

ghosts, his classes (though perhaps not Snape, the Potions master), the

mail arriving by owl, eating banquets in the Great Hall, sleeping in his

four-poster bed in the tower dormitory, visiting the gamekeeper,

Hagrid, in his cabin next to the Forbidden Forest in the grounds, and,

especially, Quidditch, the most popular sport in the wizarding world

(six tall goal posts, four flying balls, and fourteen players on

broomsticks).

All Harry's spellbooks, his wand, robes, cauldron, and top-of-the-line

Nimbus Two Thousand broomstick had been locked in a cupboard

under the stairs by Uncle Vernon the instant Harry had come home.

What did the Dursleys care if Harry lost his place on the House

Quidditch team because he hadn't practiced all summer? What was it

to the Dursleys if Harry went back to school without any of his

homework done? The Dursleys were what wizards called Muggles

(not a drop of magical blood in their veins),

and as far as they were concerned, having a wizard in the family was

a matter of deepest shame. Uncle Vernon had even padlocked

Harry's owl, Hedwig, inside her cage, to stop her from carrying

messages to anyone in the wizarding world.

Harry looked nothing like the rest of the family. Uncle Vernon was

large and neckless, with an enormous black mustache; Aunt Petunia

3

was horse-faced and bony; Dudley was blond, pink, and porky. Harry,

on the other hand, was small and skinny, with brilliant green eyes and

jet-black hair that was always untidy. He wore round glasses, and on

his forehead was a thin, lightning-shaped scar.

It was this scar that made Harry so particularly unusual, even for a

wizard. This scar was the only hint of Harry's very mysterious past, of

the reason he had been left on the Dursleys' doorstep eleven years

before.

At the age of one year old, Harry had somehow survived a curse from

the greatest Dark sorcerer of all time, Lord Voldemort, whose name

most witches and wizards still feared to speak. Harry's parents had

died in Voldemort's attack, but Harry had escaped with his lightning

scar, and somehow - nobody understood why Voldemort's powers had

been destroyed the instant he had failed to kill Harry.

So Harry had been brought up by his dead mother's sister and her

husband. He had spent ten years with the Dursleys, never

understanding why he kept making odd things happen without meaning

to, believing the Dursleys' story that he had got his scar in the car

crash that had killed his parents.

And then, exactly a year ago, Hogwarts had written to Harry,

and the whole story had come out. Harry had taken up his place at

wizard school, where he and his scar were famous ... but now the

school year was over, and he was back with the Dursleys for the

summer, back to being treated like a dog that had rolled in something

smelly.

The Dursleys hadn't even remembered that today happened to be

Harry's twelfth birthday. Of course, his hopes hadn't been high; they'd

never given him a real present, let alone a cake - but to ignore it

completely ...

At that moment, Uncle Vernon cleared his throat importantly and said,

"Now, as we all know, today is a very important day."

Harry looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

"This could well be the day I make the biggest deal of my career, "

4

said Uncle Vernon.

Harry went back to his toast. Of course, he thought bitterly, Un

cle Vernon was talking about the stupid dinner party. He'd been talk

ing of nothing else for two weeks. Some rich builder and his wife

were coming to dinner and Uncle Vernon was hoping to get a huge

order from him (Uncle Vernon's company made drills).

"I think we should run through the schedule one more time," said

Uncle Vernon. "We should all be in position at eight o'clock. Petunia,

you will be -?"

"In the lounge," said Aunt Petunia promptly, "waiting to welcome them

graciously to our home."

"Good, good. And Dudley?"

"I'll be waiting to open the door." Dudley put on a foul, simpering

smile. "May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?"

"They'll love him!" cried Aunt Petunia rapturously.

"Excellent, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon. Then he rounded on Harry.

"And you?"

"I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I'm not

there," said Harry tonelessly.

"Exactly," said Uncle Vernon nastily. "I will lead them into the

lounge, introduce you, Petunia, and pour them -drinks. At eight-

fifteen -"

"I'll announce dinner," said Aunt Petunia.

"And, Dudley, you'll say -"

"May I take you through to the dining room, Mrs. Mason?" said

Dudley, offering his fat arm to an invisible woman.

"My perfect little gentleman!" sniffed Aunt Petunia.

"And you?" said Uncle Vernon viciously to Harry.

5

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there,"

said Harry dully.

"Precisely. Now, we should aim to get in a few good compliments at

dinner. Petunia, any ideas?"

"Vernon tells me you're a wonderful golfer, Mr. Mason.... Do tell me

where you bought your dress, Mrs. Mason ......

"Perfect. . . Dudley?"

"How about -'We had to write an essay about our hero at school,

Mr. Mason, and I wrote about you."'

This was too much for both Aunt Petunia and Harry. Aunt Petunia

burst into tears and hugged her son, while Harry ducked under the

table so they wouldn't see him laughing.

"And you, boy?"

Harry fought to keep his face straight as he emerged.

"I'll be in my room, making no noise and pretending I'm not there,"

he said.

"Too right, you will," said Uncle Vernon forcefully. "The Ma

sons don't know anything about you and it's going to stay that way.

When dinner's over, you take Mrs. Mason back to the lounge for

coffee, Petunia, and I'll bring the subject around to drills. With any

luck, I'll have the deal signed and sealed before the news at ten.

be shopping for a vacation home in Majorca this time to

morrow.

Harry couldn't feel too excited about this. He didn't think the

Dursleys would like him any better in Majorca than they did on

Privet Drive.

"Right - I'm off into town to pick up the dinner jackets for

Dudley and me. And you," he snarled at Harry. "You stay out of

your aunt's way while she's cleaning."

Harry left through the back door. It was a brilliant, sunny day.

He crossed the lawn, slumped down on the garden bench, and sang

under his breath:

6

"Happy birthday to me ... happy birthday to me. . .

No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening

pretending not to exist. He gazed miserably into the hedge. He had

never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more

even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron

Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn't seem to be

missing him at all. Neither of them had written to him all summer,

even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come and

stay.

Countless times, Harry had been on the point of unlocking

Hedwig's cage by magic and sending her to Ron and Hermione

with a letter, but it wasn't worth the risk. Underage wizards weren't

allowed to use magic outside of school. Harry hadn't told the

Dursleys this; he knew it was only their terror that he might turn them

all into dung beetles that stopped them from locking him in the

cupboard under the stairs with his wand and broomstick. For the first

couple of weeks back, Harry had enjoyed muttering nonsense words

under his breath and watching Dudley tearing out of the room as fast

as his fat legs would carry him. But the long silence from Ron and

Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that

even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal - and now Ron and Hermione

had forgotten his birthday.

What wouldn't he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any

witch or wizard? He'd almost be glad of a sight of his archenemy,

Draco Malfoy, just to be sure it hadn't all been a dream ....

Not that his whole year at Hogwarts had been fun. At the very end of

last term, Harry had come face-to-face with none other than Lord

Voldemort himself. Voldemort might be a ruin of his former self, but

he was still terrifying, still cunning, still determined to regain power.

Harry had slipped through Voldemort's clutches for a second time, but

it had been a narrow escape, and even now, weeks later, Harry kept

waking in the night, drenched in cold sweat, wondering where

Voldemort was now, remembering his livid face, his wide, mad eyes

Harry suddenly sat bolt upright on the garden bench. He had been

staring absent-mindedly into the hedge - and the hedge was staring back.

Two enormous green eyes had appeared among the leaves.

Harry jumped to his feet just as a jeering voice floated across the

7

lawn.

"I know what day it is," sang Dudley, waddling toward him.

The huge eyes blinked and vanished.

"What?" said Harry, not taking his eyes off the spot where they had

been.

"I know what day it is," Dudley repeated, coming right up to him.

"Well done," said Harry. "So you've finally learned the days of the

week."

"Today's your birthday," sneered Dudley. "How come you haven't got

any cards? Haven't you even got friends at that freak place?"

"Better not let your mum hear you talking about my school," said

Harry coolly.

Dudley hitched up his trousers, which were slipping down his fat

bottom.

"Why're you staring at the hedge?" he said suspiciously.

" I , m trying to decide what would be the best spell to set it on

fire," said Harry.

Dudley stumbled backward at once, a look of panic on his fat face.

"You c-can't - Dad told you you're not to do m-magic - he said he'll

chuck you out of the house - and you haven't got anywhere else to go