HARRY POTTER

AND THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS

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.

"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.

"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

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, "

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 eightfifteen

"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.

"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:

"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

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 -

you haven't got any friends to take you -"

"Jiggery pokery!" said Harry in a fierce voice. "Hocus pocus squiggly

wiggly -"

"MUUUUUUM!" howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed

back toward the house. "MUUUUM! He's doing you know what!"

Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor

the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn't really

done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his

head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with

the promise he wouldn't eat again until he'd finished.

While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry

cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the

flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden

bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck. Harry

knew he shouldn't have risen to Dudley's bait, but Dudley had said

the very thing Harry had been thinking himself... maybe he didn't have

any friends at Hogwarts ....

Wish they could see famous Harry Potter now, he thought savagely as he

spread manure on the flower beds, his back aching, sweat running

down his face.

It was half past seven ,in the evening when at last, exhausted, he

heard Aunt Petunia calling him.

"Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!"

Harry moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of

the fridge stood tonight's pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream

and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

"Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!" snapped Aunt Petunia,

pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen

table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

Harry washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper. The

moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate.

"Upstairs! Hurry!"

As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a

glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jack

ets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the door

bell rang and Uncle Vernon's furious face appeared at the foot of

the stairs.

"Remember, boy - one sound -"

Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe slipped inside, closed

the door, and turned to collapse on his bed.

The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.

C H-H A P T E RR T W o

DOBBY'S WARNING

arry managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The little

creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the

size of tennis balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been

watching him out of the garden hedge that morning.

As they stared at each other, Harry heard Dudley's voice from the hall.

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

The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its

long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing

what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

"Er - hello," said Harry nervously.

"Harry Potter!" said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was

sure would carry down the stairs. "So long has Dobby wanted to meet

you, sir ... Such an honor it is . . . ."

"Th-thank you," said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his

desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage. He

wanted to ask, "What are you?" but thought it would sound too rude,

so instead he said, "Who are you?"

"Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf," said the creature.

"Oh - really?" said Harry. "Er - I don't want to be rude or anything,

but - this isn't a great time for me to have a house-elf in my

bedroom."

Aunt Petunias high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf

hung his head.

"Not that I'm not pleased to meet you," said Harry quickly, "but, er,

is there any particular reason you're here?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said Dobby earnestly. "Dobby has come to tell you,

sir ... it is difficult, sir ... Dobby wonders where to begin . . . ."

"Sit down," said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

To his horror, the elf burst into tears - very noisy tears.

"S-sit down!" he wailed. "Never ... never ever. . . "

Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I didn't mean to offend you or anything -"

"Offend Dobby!" choked the elf. "Dobby has never been asked to sit

down by a wizard - like an equal-"

Harry, trying to say "Shh!" and look comforting at the same time,

ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking

like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control himself,

and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery

adoration.

"You can't have met many decent wizards," said Harry, trying to

cheer him up.

Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and

started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, "Bad

Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Don't - what are you doing?" Harry hissed, springing up and pulling

Dobby back onto the bed - Hedwig had woken up with a

particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against the

bars of her cage.

"Dobby had to punish himself, sir," said the elf, who had gone slightly

cross-eyed. "Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir . . . ."

"Your family?"

"The wizard family Dobby serves, sir... DOBBY'S is a houseelf -

bound to serve one house and one family forever . .....

"Do they know you're here?" asked Harry curiously.

Dobby shuddered.

"Oh, no, sir, no ... Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously

for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the

oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir _"

"But won't they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?"

"Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for

something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they

reminds me to do extra punishments ......

"But why don't you leave? Escape?"

"A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set

Dobby free ... Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir . . . ."

Harry stared.

"And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four weeks,"

he said. "This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can't anyone

help you? Can't I?"

Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn't spoken. Dobby dissolved again

into wails of gratitude.

"Please," Harry whispered frantically, "please be quiet. If the Dursleys

hear anything, if they know you're here -"

"Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby ... Dobby has heard of your

greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew . .....

Harry, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, "Whatever

you've heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I'm not even top

of my year at Hogwarts; that's Hermione, she -"

But he stopped quickly, because thinking about Hermione was painful.

"I-Tarry Potter is humble and modest," said Dobby reverently, his orblike

eyes aglow. "Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-

Must-Not-Be-Named -"

"Voldemort?" said Harry.

Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, "Ah, speak not

the name, sir! Speak not the name!"

"Sorry" said Harry quickly. "I know lots of people don't like it. My

friend Ron -"

He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.

Dobby leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.

'Dobby heard tell," he said hoarsely, "that Harry Potter met the Dark

Lord for a second time just weeks ago ... that Harry Potter escaped

Yet again. "

Harry nodded and Dobby's eyes suddenly shone with tears.

,Ah, sir," he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby

pillowcase he was wearing. "Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has

braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect

Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in

the oven door later... Harry Potter must notgo back to Hogwarts."

There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks

from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon's voice.

"W-what?" Harry stammered. "But I've got to go back - term starts

on September first. It's all that's keeping me going. You don't know

what it's like here. I don't belong here. I belong in your world - at

Hogwarts."

"No, no, no," squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears

flapped. "Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great,

too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be

in mortal danger."

"Why?" said Harry in surprise.

"There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things

happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year,"

whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. "Dobby has known it

for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too

important, sir!"

"What terrible things?" said Harry at once. "Who's plotting them?"

Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head

frantically against the wall.

"All right!" cried Harry, grabbing the elf's arm to stop him. "You can't

tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?" A sudden,

unpleasant thought struck him. "Hang on - this hasn't got anything to

do with Vol- - sorry - with You-Know-Who, has it?

You could just shake or nod," he added hastily as Dobby's head

tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

"Not -not He- Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir ='

But Dobby's eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give

Harry a hint. Harry, however, was completely lost.

"He hasn't got a brother, has he?"

Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

"Well then, I can't think who else would have a chance of making

horrible things happen at Hogwarts," said Harry. "I mean, there's

Dumbledore, for one thing - you know who Dumbledore is, don't

you?"

Dobby bowed his head.

"Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever

had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers

rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his

strength. But, sir" - Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper -

"there are powers Dumbledore doesn't ... powers no decent wizard.

. ."

And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed,

seized Harry's desk lamp, and started beating himself around the

head with earsplitting yelps.

A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart

thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling,

"Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!"

"Quick! In the closet!" hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the

door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned.

"What - the - devil - are - you - doing?" said Uncle Vernon through

gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry's. "You've just ruined the

punch line of my Japanese golfer joke .... One more sound and you'll

wish you'd never been born, boy!"

He stomped flat-footed from the room.

Shaking, Harry let Dobby out of the closet.

"See what it's like here?" he said. "See why I've got to go back to

Hogwarts? It's the only place I've got -well, I think I've got friends. "

"Friends who don't even write to Harry Potter?" said Dobby slyly.

"I expect they've just been - wait a minute," said Harry, frowning.

"How do you know my friends haven't been writing to me?"

Dobby shuffled his feet.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best -

"Have you been stopping my letters?"

"Dobby has them here, sir," said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry's

reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the

pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione's neat

writing, Ron's untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though

it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.

"Harry Potter mustn't be angry... Dobby hoped ... if Harry Potter

thought his friends had forgotten him ... Harry Potter might not want to

go back to school, sir . .....

Harry wasn't listening. He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby

jumped out of reach.

"Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word

that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must

not face! Say you won't go back, sir!"

"No," said Harry angrily. "Give me my friends' letters!"

"Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice," said the elf sadly.

Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door,

pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to

make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the

hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room he

heard Uncle Vernon saying, ". . . tell Petunia that very funny story

about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She's been dying to

hear. . . "

Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach disappear.

Aunt Petunia's masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and

sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a

cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

"No," croaked Harry. "Please ... they'll kill me ......

"Harry Potter must say he's not going back to school -"

"Dobby ... please ...

"Say it, sir -"

"I can't -"

Dobby gave him a tragic look.

"Then Dobby must do it, sir, for Harry Potter's own good."

The pudding fell to the floor with a heart-stopping crash. Cream

splattered the windows and walls as the dish shattered. With a crack

like a whip, Dobby vanished.

There were screams from the dining room and Uncle Vernon

burst into the kitchen to find Harry, rigid with shock, covered from head

to foot in Aunt Petunias pudding.

At first, it looked as though Uncle Vernon would manage to gloss the

whole thing over. ("Just our nephew - very disturbed meeting strangers

upsets him, so we kept him upstairs) He shooed the shocked Masons

back into the dining room, promised Harry he would flay him to within

an inch of his life when the Masons had left, and handed him a mop.

Aunt Petunia dug some ice cream out of the freezer and Harry, still

shaking, started scrubbing the kitchen clean.

Uncle Vernon might still have been able to make his deal - if it hadn't

been for the owl.

Aunt Petunia was just passing around a box of after-dinner mints when

a huge barn owl swooped through the dining room window, dropped a

letter on Mrs. Mason's head, and swooped out again. Mrs. Mason

screamed like a banshee and ran from the house shouting about

lunatics. Mr. Mason stayed just long enough to tell the Dursleys that his

wife was mortally afraid of birds of all shapes and sizes, and to ask

whether this was their idea of a joke.

Harry stood in the kitchen, clutching the mop for support, as Uncle

Vernon advanced on him, a demonic glint in his tiny eyes.

"Read it!" he hissed evilly, brandishing the letter the owl had delivered.

"Go on - read it!"

Harry took it. It did not contain birthday greetings.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your

place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells

outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to

expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of

Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that

risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is

a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation

of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays! Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic

Harry looked up from the letter and gulped.

"You didn't tell us you weren't allowed to use magic outside school,"

said Uncle Vernon, a mad gleam dancing in his eyes. "For got to

mention it .... Slipped your mind, I daresay .....

He was bearing down on Harry like a great bulldog, all his teeth

bared. "Well, I've got news for you, boy . ... I'm locking you up ....

You're never going back to that school ... never ... and if you try and

magic yourself out - they'll expel you!"

And laughing like a maniac, he dragged Harry back upstairs.

Uncle Vernon was as bad as his word. The following morning,

he paid a man to fit bars on Harry's window. He himself fitted a catflap

in the bedroom door, so that small amounts of food could be

pushed inside three times a day. They let Harry out to use the

bathroom morning and evening. Otherwise, he was locked in his room

around the clock.

Three days later, the Dursleys were showing no sign of relenting, and

Harry couldn't see any way out of his situation. He lay on his bed

watching the sun sinking behind the bars on the window and wondered

miserably what was going to happen to him.

What was the good of magicking himself out of his room if Hogwarts

would expel him for doing it? Yet life at Privet Drive had reached an

all-time low. Now that the Dursleys knew they weren't going to wake

up as fruit bats, he had lost his only weapon. Dobby might have saved

Harry from horrible happenings at Hogwarts, but the way things were

going, he'd probably starve to death anyway.

The cat-flap rattled and Aunt Petunias hand appeared, pushing a bowl

of canned soup into the room. Harry, whose insides were aching with

hunger, jumped off his bed and seized it. The soup was stone-cold, but

he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he crossed the room to Hedwig's

cage and tipped the soggy vegetables at the bottom of the bowl into

her empty food tray. She ruffled her feathers and gave him a look of

deep disgust.

"It's no good turning your beak up at it - that's all we've got," said

Harry grimly.

He put the empty bowl back on the floor next to the cat-flap and lay

back down on the bed, somehow even hungrier than he had been

before the soup.

Supposing he was still alive in another four weeks, what would happen

if he didn't turn up at Hogwarts? Would someone be sent to see why

he hadn't come back? Would they be able to make the Dursleys let

him go?

The room was growing dark. Exhausted, stomach rumbling, mind

spinning over the same unanswerable questions, Harry fell into an

uneasy sleep.

He dreamed that he was on show in a zoo, with a card reading

UNDERAGE WIZARD attached to his cage. People goggled through the bars

at him as he lay, starving and weak, on a bed of straw. He saw

Dobby's face in the crowd and shouted out, asking for help, but Dobby

called, "Harry Potter is safe there, sir!" and vanished. Then the

Dursleys appeared and Dudley rattled the bars of the cage, laughing at

him.

"Stop it," Harry muttered as the rattling pounded in his sore head.

"Leave me alone ... cut it out ... I'm trying to sleep . . . ."

He opened his eyes. Moonlight was shining through the bars on the

window. And someone was goggling through the bars at him: a frecklefaced,

red-haired, long-nosed someone.

Ron Weasley was outside Harry's window.

H-H A P T E RR T 11-H RR E E

THE BURROW

Ron.l" breathed Harry, creeping to the window and pushing it up so

they could talk through the bars. "Ron, how did you - What the -?"

Harry's mouth fell open as the full impact of what he was seeing hit

him. Ron was leaning out of the back window of an old turquoise car,

which was parked in midair Grinning at Harry from the front seats

were Fred and George, Ron's elder twin brothers.

"All right, Harry?" asked George.

"What's been going on?" said Ron. "Why haven't you been answering

my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad

came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in

front of Muggles -"

"It wasn't me - and how did he know?"

"He works for the Ministry," said Ron. "You know we're not supposed

to do spells outside school -"

"You should talk," said Harry, staring at the floating car.

"Oh, this doesn't count," said Ron. "We're only borrowing this. It's

Dad's, we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of those Muggles

you live with -"

"I told you, I didn't - but it'll take too long to explain now look, can you

tell them at Hogwarts that the Dursleys have locked me up and won't

let me come back, and obviously I can't magic myself out, because the

Ministry'Il think that's the second spell I've done in three days, so -"

"Stop gibbering," said Ron. "We've come to take you home with us."

"But you can't magic me out either -"

"We don't need to," said Ron, jerking his head toward the front seat

and grinning. "You forget who I've got with me."

"Tie that around the bars," said Fred, throwing the end of a rope to

Harry.

"If the Dursleys wake up, I'm dead," said Harry as he tied the rope

tightly around a bar and Fred revved up the car.

"Don't worry," said Fred, "and stand back."

Harry moved back into the shadows next to Hedwig, who seemed to

have realized how important this was and kept still and silent. The car

revved louder and louder and suddenly, with a crunching noise, the

bars were pulled clean out of the window as Fred drove straight up in

the air. Harry ran back to the window to see the bars dangling a few

feet above the ground. Panting, Ron hoisted them up into the car.

Harry listened anxiously, but there was no sound from the Dursleys'

bedroom.

When the bars were safely in the back seat with Ron, Fred reversed

as close as possible to Harry's window.

"Get in," Ron said.

"But all my Hogwarts stuff - my wand - my broomstick -"

"Where is it?"

"Locked in the cupboard under the stairs, and I can't get out of this

room -"

"No problem," said George from the front passenger seat. "Out of

the way, Harry."

Fred and George climbed catlike through the window into Harry's

room. You had to hand it to them, thought Harry, as George took an

ordinary hairpin from his pocket and started to pick the lock.

"A lot of wizards think it's a waste of time, knowing this sort of

Muggle trick," said Fred, "but we feel they're skills worth learning,

even if they are a bit slow."

There was a small click and the door swung open.

"So - we'll get your trunk - you grab anything you need from your

room and hand it out to Ron," whispered George.

"Watch out for the bottom stair - it creaks," Harry whispered back

as the twins disappeared onto the dark landing.

Harry dashed around his room, collecting his things and passing them

out of the window to Ron. Then he went to help Fred and George

heave his trunk up the stairs. Harry heard Uncle Vernon cough.

At last, panting, they reached the landing, then carried the trunk

through Harry's room to the open window. Fred climbed back into

the car to pull with Ron, and Harry and George pushed from the

bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window.

Uncle Vernon coughed again.

"A bit more," panted Fred, who was pulling from inside the car.

"One good push -"

Harry and George threw their shoulders against the trunk and it slid

out of the window into the back seat of the car.

"Okay, let's go," George whispered.

But as Harry climbed onto the windowsill there came a sudden loud

screech from behind him, followed immediately by the thunder of

Uncle Vernon's voice.

"THAT RUDDY OWL!"

"I've forgotten Hedwig!"

Harry tore back across the room as the landing light clicked on - he

snatched up Hedwig's cage, dashed to the window, and passed it

out to Ron. He was scrambling back onto the chest of drawers when

Uncle Vernon hammered on the unlocked door and it crashed open.

For a split second, Uncle Vernon stood framed in the doorway; then

he let out a bellow like an angry bull and dived at Harry, grabbing

him by the ankle.

Ron, Fred, and George seized Harry's arms and pulled as hard as

they could.

"Petunia!" roared Uncle Vernon. "He's getting away! HE'S

GETTING AWAY!"

But the Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of

Uncle Vernon's grasp - Harry was in the car - he'd slammed the

door shut

"Put your foot down, Fred!" yelled Ron, and the car shot suddenly

toward the moon.

Harry couldn't believe it - he was free. He rolled down the

window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the

shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and

Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window.

"See you next summer!" Harry yelled.

The Weasleys roared with laughter and Harry settled back in his seat,

grinning from ear to ear.

"Let Hedwig out," he told Ron. "She can fly behind us. She hasn't had

a chance to stretch her wings for ages."

George handed the hairpin to Ron and, a moment later, Hedwig soared

joyfully out of the window to glide alongside them like a ghost.

"So - what's the story, Harry?" said Ron impatiently. "What's been

happening?"

Harry told them all about Dobby, the warning he'd given Harry and

the fiasco of the violet pudding. There was a long, shocked silence

when he had finished.

"Very fishy," said Fred finally.

"Definitely dodgy" agreed George. "So he wouldn't even tell you who's

supposed to be plotting all this stuff?"

"I don't think he could," said Harry. "I told you, every time he got close

to letting something slip, he started banging his head against the wall."

He saw Fred and George look at each other.

"What, you think he was lying to me?" said Harry.

"Well," said Fred, "put it this way - house-elves have got powerful

magic of their own, but they can't usually use it without their master's

permission. I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you com

ing back to Hogwarts. Someone's idea of a joke. Can you think of

anyone at school with a grudge against you?"

"Yes," said Harry and Ron together, instantly.

"Draco Malfoy," Harry explained. "He hates me."

"Draco Malfoy?" said George, turning around. "Not Lucius Malfoy's

son?"

"Must be, it's not a very common name, is it?" said Harry.

"I've heard Dad talking about him," said George. "He was a big

supporter of You-Know-Who."

"And when You-Know-Who disappeared," said Fred, craning

around to look at Harry, "Lucius Malfoy came back saying he'd never

meant any of it. Load of dung - Dad reckons he was right in You-

Know-Who's inner circle."

Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy's family before, and they

didn't surprise him at all. Malfoy made Dudley Dursley look

like a kind, thoughtful, and sensitive boy.

"I don't know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf said

Harry.

"Well, whoever owns him will be an old wizarding family, and they'll

be rich," said Fred.

"Yeah, Mum's always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,"

said George. "But all we've got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and

gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors

and castles and places like that; you wouldn't catch one in our house .

. . ."

Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had

the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he

could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending

the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also

sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry

been stupid to take Dobby seriously?

"I'm glad we came to get you, anyway," said Ron. "I was getting

really worried when you didn't answer any of my letters. I thought it

was Errol's fault at first

"Who's Errol?"

"Our owl. He's ancient. It wouldn't be the first time he'd collapsed

on a delivery. So then I tried to borrow Hermes -"

"Who?"

"The owl Mum and Dad bought Percy when he was made prefect,"

said Fred from the front.

"But Percy wouldn't lend him to me," said Ron. "Said he needed

him."

"Percy's been acting very oddly this summer," said George,

frowning. "And he has been sending a lot of letters and spending a

load of time shut up in his room .... I mean, there's only so many

times you can polish a prefect badge .... You're driving too far west,

Fred," he added, pointing at a compass on the dashboard. Fred

twiddled the steering wheel.

"So, does your dad know you've got the car?" said Harry, guessing

the answer.

"Er, no," said Ron, "he had to work tonight. Hopefully we'll be able

to get it back in the garage without Mum noticing we flew it."

"What does your dad do at the Ministry of Magic, anyway?"

"He works in the most boring department," said Ron. "The Misuse

of Muggle Artifacts Office."

"The what?"

"It's all to do with bewitching things that are Muggle-made, you

know, in case they end up back in a Muggle shop or house. Like,

last year, some old witch died and her tea set was sold to an antiques

shop. This Muggle woman bought it, took it home, and tried to serve

her friends tea in it. It was a nightmare - Dad was working overtime

for weeks."

"What happened?"

"The teapot went berserk and squirted boiling tea all over the place

and one man ended up in the hospital with the sugar tongs clamped

to his nose. Dad was going frantic - it's only him and an old warlock

called Perkins in the office -and they had to do Memory Charms and

all sorts of stuff to cover it up -"

"But your dad - this car -"

Fred laughed. "Yeah, Dad's crazy about everything to do with

Muggles; our shed's full of Muggle stuff. He takes it apart, puts spells

on it, and puts it back together again. If he raided our house he'd

have to put himself under arrest. It drives Mum mad."

"That's the main road," said George, peering down through the

windshield. "We'll be there in ten minutes .... Just as well, it's getting

light . . . ."

A faint pinkish glow was visible along the horizon to the east.

Fred brought the car lower, and Harry saw a dark patchwork of

fields and clumps of trees.

"We're a little way outside the village," said George. "Ottery St.

Catchpole."

Lower and lower went the flying car. The edge of a brilliant red sun

was now gleaming through the trees.

"Touchdown!" said Fred as, with a slight bump, they hit the ground.

They had landed next to a tumbledown garage in a small yard, and

Harry looked out for the first time at Ron's house.

It looked as though it had once been a large stone pigpen, but extra

rooms had been added here and there until it was several stories high

and so crooked it looked as though it were held up by magic (which,

Harry reminded himself, it probably was). Four or five chimneys were

perched on top of the red roof. A lopsided sign stuck in the ground

near the entrance read, THE BuRRow. Around the front door lay a jumble

of rubber boots and a very rusty cauldron. Several fat brown chickens

were pecking their way around the yard.

"It's not much," said Ron.

"It's wonderful," said Harry happily, thinking of Privet Drive.

They got out of the car.

"Now, we'll go upstairs really quietly," said Fred, "and wait for Mum to

call us for breakfast Then, Ron, you come bounding downstairs going,

`Mum, look who turned up in the night!' and she'll be all pleased to see

Harry and no one need ever know we flew the car."

"Right," said Ron. "Come on, Harry, I sleep at the - at the top

Ron had gone a nasty greenish color, his eyes fixed on the house. The

other three wheeled around.

Mrs. Weasley was marching across the yard, scattering chickens, and

for a short, plump, kind-faced woman, it was remarkable how much

she looked like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Ah, "said Fred.

"Oh, dear," said George.

Mrs. Weasley came to a halt in front of them, her hands on her hips,

staring from one guilty face to the next. She was wearing a flowered

apron with a wand sticking out of the pocket.

"So, "she said.

"Morning, Mum," said George, in what he clearly thought was a jaunty,

winning voice.

"Have you any idea how worried I've been?" said Mrs. Weasley in a

deadly whisper.

"Sorry, Mum, but see, we had to -"

All three of Mrs. Weasley's sons were taller than she was, but they

cowered as her rage broke over them.

"Beds empty! No note! Cargone - could have crashed - out of my

mind with worry - did you care? - never, as long as I've lived -

you wait until your father gets home, we never had trouble like this

from Bill or Charlie or Percy -"

"Perfect Percy," muttered Fred.

"YOU COULD DO WITH TAKING A LEAF OUT OF PERCY'S

BOOK!" yelled Mrs. Weasley, prodding a finger in Fred's chest. "You

could have died, you could have been seen, you could have lost your

father his job -"

It seemed to go on for hours. Mrs. Weasley had shouted herself

hoarse before she turned on Harry, who backed away.

"I'm very pleased to see you, Harry, dear," she said. "Come in and

have some breakfast."

She turned and walked back into the house and Harry, after a nervous

glance at Ron, who nodded encouragingly, followed her.

The kitchen was small and rather cramped. There was a

scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle, and Harry sat down

on the edge of his seat, looking around. He had never been in a wizard

house before.

The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers

at all. Written around the edge were things like Time to make tea, Time

to feed the chickens, and You're late. Books were stacked three deep on

the mantelpiece, books with titles like Charm Your Own Cheese,

Enchantment in Baking, and One Minute Feasts - It's Magic! And unless

Harry's ears were deceiving him, the old radio next to the sink had just

announced that coming up was "Witching Hour, with the popular

singing sorceress, Celestina Warbeck."

Mrs. Weasley was clattering around, cooking breakfast a little

haphazardly, throwing dirty looks at her sons as she threw sausages

into the frying pan. Every now and then she muttered things like "don't

know what you were thinking of," and "never would have believed it."

"I don't blame you, dear," she assured Harry, tipping eight or nine

sausages onto his plate. "Arthur and I have been worried about you,

too. Just last night we were saying we'd come and get you ourselves if

you hadn't written back to Ron by Friday. But really," (she was now

adding three fried eggs to his plate) "flying an illegal car halfway

across the country - anyone could have seen you -"

She flicked her wand casually at the dishes in the sink, which began to

clean themselves, clinking gently in the background.

"It was cloudy, Mum!" said Fred.

"You keep your mouth closed while you're eating!" Mrs. Weasley

snapped.

"They were starving him, Mum!" said George.

"And you!" said Mrs. Weasley, but it was with a slightly softened

expression that she started cutting Harry bread and buttering it for

him.

At that moment there was a diversion in the form of a small,

redheaded figure in a long nightdress, who appeared in the kitchen,

gave a small squeal, and ran out again.

"Ginny," said Ron in an undertone to Harry. "My sister. She's been

talking about you all summer."

"Yeah, she'll be wanting your autograph, Harry," Fred said with a grin,

but he caught his mother's eye and bent his face over his plate without

another word. Nothing more was said until all four plates were clean,

which took a surprisingly short time.

"Blimey, I'm tired," yawned Fred, setting down his knife and fork at last.

"I think I'll go to bed and -"

"You will not," snapped Mrs. Weasley. "It's your own fault you've

been up all night. You're going to de-gnome the garden for me; they're

getting completely out of hand again -"

"Oh, Mum -"

"And you two," she said, glaring at Ron and Fred. "You can go up to

bed, dear," she added to Harry. "You didn't ask them to fly that

wretched car -"

But Harry, who felt wide awake, said quickly, "I'll help Ron. I've

never seen a de-gnoming -"

"That's very sweet of you, dear, but it's dull work," said Mrs. Weasley.

"Now, let's see what Lockhart's got to say on the subject -"

And she pulled a heavy book from the stack on the mantelpiece.

George groaned.

"Mum, we know how to de-gnome a garden -"

Harry looked at the cover of Mrs. Weasley's book. Written across it

in fancy gold letters were the words Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to

Household Pests. There was a big photograph on the front of a very good-

IOI)king wizard with wavy blond hair and bright blue eyes. As always

in the wizarding world, the photograph was moving; the wizard, who

Harry supposed was Gilderoy Lockhart, kept winking cheekily up at

them all. Mrs. Weasley beamed down at him.

"Oh, he is marvelous," she said. "He knows his household pests, all

right, it's a wonderful book . . . ."

"Mum fancies him," said Fred, in a very audible whisper.

"Don't be so ridiculous, Fred," said Mrs. Weasley, her cheeks rather

pink. "All right, if you think you know better than Lockhart, you can go

and get on with it, and woe betide you if there's a single gnome in that

garden when I come out to inspect it."

Yawning and grumbling, the Weasleys slouched outside with Harry

behind them. The garden was large, and in Harry's eyes, exactlY

what a garden should be. The Dursleys wouldn't have liked it - there

were plenty of weeds, and the grass needed cutting but there were

gnarled trees all around the walls, plants Harry had never seen spilling

from every flower bed, and a big green pond full of frogs.

"Muggles have garden gnomes, too, you know," Harry told Ron

they crossed the lawn.

"Yeah, I've seen those things they think are gnomes," said Ron, bent

double with his head in a peony bush, "like fat little Santa Clauses with

fishing rods . . . ."

There was a violent scuffling noise, the peony bush shuddered, and

Ron straightened up. "This is a gnome," he said grimly.

"Gerroff me! Gerroff me!" squealed the gnome.

It was certainly nothing like Santa Claus. It was small and leathery

looking, with a large, knobby, bald head exactly like a potato. Ron held

it at arm's length as it kicked out at him with its horny little feet; he

grasped it around the ankles and turned it upside down.

"This is what you have to do," he said. He raised the gnome above his

head ("Gerroff me!") and started to swing it in great circles like a

lasso. Seeing the shocked look on Harry's face, Ron added, "It doesn't

hurt them - you've just got to make them really dizzy so they can't find

their way back to the gnomeholes."

He let go of the gnome's ankles: It flew twenty feet into the air and

landed with a thud in the field over the hedge.

"Pitiful," said Fred. "I bet I can get mine beyond that stump."

Harry learned quickly not to feel too sorry for the gnomes. He decided

just to drop the first one he caught over the hedge, but the gnome,

sensing weakness, sank its razor-sharp teeth into Harry's finger and he

had a hard job shaking it off - until

"Wow, Harry - that must've been fifty feet ......

The air was soon thick with flying gnomes.

"See, they're not too bright," said George, seizing five or six gnomes at

once. "The moment they know the de-gnoming's going on they storm

up to have a look. You'd think they'd have learned by now just to stay

put."

Soon, the crowd of gnomes in the field started walking away in a

straggling line, their little shoulders hunched.

"They'll be back," said Ron as they watched the gnomes disappear into

the hedge on the other side of the field. "They love it here .... Dad's

too soft with them; he thinks they're funny . . . ."

Just then, the front door slammed.

"He's back!" said George. "Dad's home!"

They hurried through the garden and back into the house.

Mr. Weasley was slumped in a kitchen chair with his glasses off and

his eyes closed. He was a thin man, going bald, but the little hair he

had was as red as any of his children's. He was wearing long green

robes, which were dusty and travel-worn.

"What a night," he mumbled, groping for the teapot as they all sat

down around him. "Nine raids. Nine! And old Mundungus Fletcher

tried to put a hex on me when I had my back turned ......

Mr. Weasley took a long gulp of tea and sighed.

"Find anything, Dad?" said Fred eagerly.

"All I got were a few shrinking door keys and a biting kettle," yawned

Mr. Weasley. "There was some pretty nasty stuff that wasn't my

department, though. Mortlake was taken away for questioning about

some extremely odd ferrets, but that's the Committee on Experimental

Charms, thank goodness ......

"Why would anyone bother making door keys shrink?" said George.

"Just Muggle-baiting," sighed Mr. Weasley. "Sell them a key that

keeps shrinking to nothing so they can never find it when they need it

.... Of course, it's very hard to convict anyone because no Muggle

would admit their key keeps shrinking - they'll insist they just keep

losing it. Bless them, they'll go to any lengths to ignore magic, even if

it's staring them in the face .... But the things our lot have taken to

enchanting, you wouldn't believe -"

"LIKE CARS, FOR INSTANCE?"

Mrs. Weasley had appeared, holding a long poker like a sword. Mr.

Weasley's eyes jerked open. He stared guiltily at his wife.

"C-cars, Molly, dear?"

"Yes, Arthur, cars," said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes flashing. "Imagine a

wizard buying a rusty old car and telling his wife all he wanted to do

with it was take it apart to see how it worked, while really he was

enchanting it to make it fly."

Mr. Weasley blinked.

"Well, dear, I think you'll find that he would be quite within the law to

do that, even if - er - he maybe would have done better to, um, tell his

wife the truth .... There's a loophole in the law, you'll find .... As long

as he wasn't intending to fly the car, the fact that the car could fly

wouldn't -"

"Arthur Weasley, you made sure there was a loophole when you

wrote that law!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. "Just so you could carry on

tinkering with all that Muggle rubbish in your shed! And for your

information, Harry arrived this morning in the car you weren't

intending to fly!"

"Harry?" said Mr. Weasley blankly. "Harry who?"

He looked around, saw Harry, and jumped.

"Good lord, is it Harry Potter? Very pleased to meet you, Ron's told us

so much about -"

"Your sons flew that car to Harry's house and back last night."

shouted Mrs. Weasley. "What have you got to say about that, eh?"

"Did you really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Did it go all right? I - I

mean," he faltered as sparks flew from Mrs. Weasley's eyes, "that -

that was very wrong, boys - very wrong indeed ......

"Let's leave them to it," Ron muttered to Harry as Mrs. Weasley

swelled like a bullfrog. "Come on, I'll show you my bedroom."

They slipped out of the kitchen and down a narrow passageway to an

uneven staircase, which wound its way, zigzagging up

through the house. On the third landing, a door stood ajar. Harry just

caught sight of a pair of bright brown eyes staring at him before it

closed with a snap.

"Ginny," said Ron. "You don't know how weird it is for her to be this

shy. She never shuts up normally -"

They climbed two more flights until they reached a door with peeling

paint and a small plaque on it, saying RONALD'S ROOM.

Harry stepped in, his head almost touching the sloping ceiling, and

blinked. It was like walking into a furnace: Nearly everything in Ron's

room seemed to be a violent shade of orange: the bedspread, the

walls, even the ceiling. Then Harry realized that Ron had covered

nearly every inch of the shabby wallpaper with posters of the same

seven witches and wizards, all wearing bright orange robes, carrying

broomsticks, and waving energetically.

"Your Quidditch team?" said Harry.

"The Chudley Cannons," said Ron, pointing at the orange bedspread,

which was emblazoned with two giant black C's and a speeding

cannonball. "Ninth in the league."

Ron's school spellbooks were stacked untidily in a corner, next to a

pile of comics that all seemed to feature The Adventures of Martin

Miggs, the Mad Muggle. Ron's magic wand was lying on top of a fish

tank full of frog spawn on the windowsill, next to his fat gray rat,

Scabbers, who was snoozing in a patch of sun.

Harry stepped over a pack of Self-Shuffling playing cards on the floor

and looked out of the tiny window. In the field far below he could see

a gang of gnomes sneaking one by one back through the Weasleys'

hedge. Then he turned to look at Ron, who was watching him almost

nervously, as though waiting for his opinion.

"It's a bit small," said Ron quickly. "Not like that room you had

with the Muggles. And I'm right underneath the ghoul in the attic;

he's always banging on the pipes and groaning ......

But Harry, grinning widely, said, "This is the best house I've ever

been in."

Ron's ears went pink. .

C H4 A P T E R V O U R

AT F L 0 V RR 11 $ H

AND BLOTTS

ife at the Burrow was as different as possible from life on Privet

Drive. The Dursleys liked everything neat and ordered; the Weasleys'

house burst with the strange and unexpected. Harry got a shock the

first time he looked in the mirror over the kitchen mantelpiece and it

shouted, "Tuck your shirt in, scruffy!" The ghoul in the attic howled

and dropped pipes whenever he felt things were getting too quiet, and

small explosions from Fred and George's bedroom were considered

perfectly normal. What Harry found most unusual about life at Ron's,

however, wasn't the talking mirror or the clanking ghoul: It was the

fact that everybody there seemed to like him.

Mrs. Weasley fussed over the state of his socks and tried to force him

to eat fourth helpings at every meal. Mr. Weasley liked Harry to sit

next to him at the dinner table so that he could bombard him with

questions about life with Muggles, asking him to explain how things

like plugs and the postal service worked.

"Fascinating." he would say as Harry talked him through using a

telephone. "Ingenious, really, how many ways Muggles have found of

getting along without magic."

Harry heard from Hogwarts one sunny morning about a week after he

had arrived at the Burrow. He and Ron went down to breakfast to find

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny already sitting at the kitchen table.

The moment she saw Harry, Ginny accidentally knocked her porridge

bowl to the floor with a loud clatter. Ginny seemed very prone to

knocking things over whenever Harry entered a room. She dived under

the table to retrieve the bowl and emerged with her face glowing like

the setting sun. Pretending he hadn't noticed this, Harry sat down and

took the toast Mrs. Weasley offered him.

"Letters from school," said Mr. Weasley, passing Harry and Ron

identical envelopes of yellowish parchment, addressed in green ink.

"Dumbledore already knows you're here, Harry - doesn't miss a trick,

that man. You two've got them, too," he added, as Fred and George

ambled in, still in their pajamas.

For a few minutes there was silence as they all read their letters.

Harry's told him to catch the Hogwarts Express as usual from King's

Cross station on September first. There was also a list of the new

books he'd need for the coming year.

SECOND-YEAR STUDENTS WILL REQUIRE:

The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2

by Miranda Goshawk

Break with a Banshee by Gilderoy Lockhart

Gadding with Ghouls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Holidays with Hags by Gilderoy Lockhart

4 ",3

Travels with Trolls by Gilderoy Lockhart

Voyages with Vampires by Gilderoy Lockhart

Wanderings with Werewolves by Gilderoy Lockhart

Year with the Yeti by Gilderoy Lockhart

Fred, who had finished his own list, peered over at Harry's.

"You've been told to get all Lockhart's books, too!" he said. "The new

Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher must be a fan - bet it's a

witch."

At this point, Fred caught his mother's eye and quickly busied himself

with the marmalade.

"That lot won't come cheap," said George, with a quick look at his

parents. "Lockhart's books are really expensive ......

"Well, we'll manage," said Mrs. Weasley, but she looked worried. "I

expect we'll be able to pick up a lot of Ginny's things secondhand."

"Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked Ginny.

She nodded, blushing to the roots of her flaming hair, and put her

elbow in the butter dish. Fortunately no one saw this except Harry,

because just then Ron's elder brother Percy walked in. He was

already dressed, his Hogwarts prefect badge pinned to his sweater

vest.

"Morning, all," said Percy briskly. "Lovely day."

He sat down in the only remaining chair but leapt up again almost

immediately, pulling from underneath him a moulting, gray feather

duster - at least, that was what Harry thought it was, until he saw that

it was breathing.

* 44

"Errol!" said Ron, taking the limp owl from Percy and extracting a

letter from under its wing. "Finally - he's got Hermione's answer. I

wrote to her saying we were going to try and rescue you from the

Dursleys."

He carried Errol to a perch just inside the back door and tried to

stand him on it, but Errol flopped straight off again so Ron lay him on

the draining board instead, muttering, "Pathetic." Then he ripped

open Hermione's letter and read it out loud:

"`Dear Ron, and Harry if you're there,

"`I hope everything went all right and that Harry is okay and that

you didn't do anything illegal to get him out, Ron, because that would

get Harry into trouble, too. I've been really worried and if Harry is all

right, will you please let me know at once, but perhaps it would be bet

ter if you used a different owl because I think another delivery might

finish your one off.

"'I'm very busy with schoolwork, of course'- How can she be?" said Ron

in horror. "We're on vacation! - 'and we're going to London next

Wednesday to buy my new books. Why don't we meet in Diago n Alley?

"`Let me know what's happening as soon as you can. Love from Hermione.

"Well, that fits in nicely, we can go and get all your things then, too,"

said Mrs. Weasley, starting to clear the table. "What're you all up to

today?"

Harry, Ron, Fred, and George were planning to go up the hill to a

small paddock the Weasleys owned. It was surrounded by trees that

blocked it from view of the village below, meaning that they could

practice Quidditch there, as long as they didn't fly too high.

* 4$

They couldn't use real Quidditch balls, which would have been hard to

explain if they had escaped and flown away over the village; instead

they threw apples for one another to catch. They took turns riding

Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom;

Ron's old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.

Five minutes later they were marching up the hill, broomsticks over

their shoulders. They had asked Percy if he wanted to join them, but

he had said he was busy. Harry had only seen Percy at mealtimes so

far; he stayed shut in his room the rest of the time.

"Wish I knew what he was up to," said Fred, frowning. "He's not

himself. His exam results came the day before you did; twelve

O.WL.s and he hardly gloated at all."

"Ordinary Wizarding Levels," George explained, seeing Harry's

puzzled look. "Bill got twelve, too. If we're not careful, we'll have

another Head Boy in the family. I don't think I could stand the shame."

Bill was the oldest Weasley brother. He and the next brother, Charlie,

had already left Hogwarts. Harry had never met either of them, but

knew that Charlie was in Romania studying dragons and Bill in Egypt

working for the wizard's bank, Gringotts.

"Dunno how Mum and Dad are going to afford all our school stuff this

year," said George after a while. "Five sets of Lockhart books! And

Ginny needs robes and a wand and everything ......

Harry said nothing. He felt a bit awkward. Stored in an underground

vault at Gringotts in London was a small fortune that his parents had

left him. Of course, it was only in the wizarding world that he had

money; you couldn't use Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts

in Muggle shops. He had never mentioned his Gringotts bank account

to the Dursleys; he didn't think their horror of anything connected with

magic would stretch to a large pile of gold.

Mrs. Weasley woke them all early the following Wednesday. After a

quick half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats

and Mrs. Weasley took a flowerpot off the kitchen mantelpiece and

peered inside.

"We're running low, Arthur," she sighed. "We'll have to buy some

more today... Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!"

And she offered him the flowerpot.

Harry stared at them all watching him.

"W-what am I supposed to do?" he stammered.

"He's never traveled by Floo powder," said Ron suddenly. "Sorry,

Harry, I forgot."

"Never?" said Mr. Weasley. "But how did you get to Diagon Alley to

buy your school things last year?"

"I went on the Underground -"

"Really?" said Mr. Weasley eagerly. "Were there escapators? How

exactly -"

"Not now, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Floo powder's a lot quicker,

dear, but goodness me, if you've never used it before -"

"He'll be all right, Mum," said Fred. "Harry, watch us first."

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up

to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames.

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred,

who stepped right into it, shouted, "Diagon Alley!" and vanished.

* 41

"You must speak clearly, dear," Mrs. Weasley told Harry as George

dipped his hand into the flowerpot. "And be sure to get out at the right

grate ......

"The right what?" said Harry nervously as the fire roared and whipped

George out of sight, too.

"Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know,

but as long as you've spoken clearly -"

"He'll be fine, Molly, don't fuss," said Mr. Weasley, helping himself to

Floo powder, too.

"But, dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and

uncle?"

"They wouldn't mind," Harry reassured her. "Dudley would think it

was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don't worry about that -"

"Well ... all right ... you go after Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley. "Now,

when you get into the fire, say where you're going

"And keep your elbows tucked in," Ron advised.

"And your eyes shut," said Mrs. Weasley. "The soot -"

"Don't fidget," said Ron. "Or you might well fall out of the wrong

fireplace -"

"But don't panic and get out too early; wait until you see Fred and

George."

Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder

and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered

the powder into the flames, and stepped forward; the fire felt like a

warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot

of hot ash.

"D-Dia-gon Alley," he coughed.

It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant drain. He seemed

to be spinning very fast - the roaring in his ears was deafening -he

tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him

feel sick - something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in

tightly, still spinning and spinning - now it felt as though cold hands

were slapping his face - squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred

stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond - his

bacon sandwiches were churning inside him - he closed his eyes again

wishing it would stop, and then

He fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt the bridge of his glasses

snap.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding

his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was -,cite alone, but where he

was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the

stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard's shop - but

nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.

A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a bloodstained

pack of cards, and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks stared down

from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter,

and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the

dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window

was definitely not Diagon Alley.

The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it

had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the

door, but before he'd got halfway toward it, two people appeared on

the other side of the glass - and one of them was the

very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in

soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his

left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack

to peer through. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into

the shop.

The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same

pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes. Mr. Malfoy crossed

the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the

counter before turning to his son and saying, "Touch nothing, Draco."

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, "I thought you were

going to buy me a present."

"I said I would buy you a racing broom," said his father, drumming his

fingers on the counter.

"What's the good of that if I'm not on the House team?" said Malfoy,

looking sulky and bad-tempered. "Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two

Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could

play for Gryffindor. He's not even that good, it's just because he's

famous ... famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead . . . ."

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

". . . everyone thinks he's so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and

his broomstick -"

"You have told me this at least a dozen times already," said Mr.

Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son. "And I would remind you that it

is not - prudent - to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when

most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord

disappear - ah, Mr. Borgin."

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his

greasy hair back from his face.

"Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again," said Mr. Borgin in a

voice as oily as his hair. "Delighted - and young Master Malfoy, too -

charmed. How may I be of assistance? I must show you, just in today,

and very reasonably priced -"

"I'm not buying today, Mr. Borgin, but selling," said Mr. Malfoy.

"Selling?" The smile faded slightly from Mr. Borgin's face.

"You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more

raids," said Mr. Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside

pocket and unraveling it for Mr. Borgin to read. "I have a few - ah -

items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call

......

Mr. Borgin fixed a pair of pince-nez to his nose and looked down the

list.

"The Ministry wouldn't presume to trouble you, sir, surely?"

Mr. Malfoy's lip curled.

"I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a

certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There

are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that fleabitten,

Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it

Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

"- and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear -"

"I understand, sir, of course," said Mr. Borgin. "Let me see. . ."

"Can I have that?" interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on

its cushion.

"Ah, the Hand of Glory!" said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy's

list and scurrying over to Draco. "Insert a candle and it gives light only

to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine

taste, sir."

"I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer,

Borgin," said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, "No

offense, sir, no offense meant -"

"Though if his grades don't pick up," said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still,

"that may indeed be all he is fit for -"

"It's not my fault," retorted Draco. "The teachers all have favorites,

that Hermione Granger -"

"I would have thought you'd be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family

beat you in every exam," snapped Mr. Malfoy.

"Ha!" said Harry under his breath, pleased to see Draco looking both

abashed and angry.

"It's the same all over," said Mr. Borgin, in his oily voice. "Wizard

blood is counting for less everywhere -"

"Not with me," said Mr. Malfoy, his long nostrils flaring.

"No, sir, nor with me, sir," said Mr. Borgin, with a deep bow.

"In that case, perhaps we can return to my list," said Mr. Malfoy

shortly. "I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important

business elsewhere today -"

They started to haggle. Harry watched nervously as Draco drew

nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale.

Draco paused to examine a long coil of hangman's rope and to read,

smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals,

Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed - Has Claimed the Lives of Nineteen Muggle

Owners to Date.

* 52

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. He

walked forward - he stretched out his hand for the handle

"Done," said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. "Come, Draco -"

Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.

"Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I'll expect you at the manor tomorrow

to pick up the goods."

The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.

"Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you

haven't sold me half of what's hidden in your manor ......

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room. Harry

waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could,

slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop

door.

Clutching his broken glasses to his face, Harry stared around. He had

emerged into a dingy alleyway that seemed to be made up entirely of

shops devoted to the Dark Arts. The one he'd just left, Borgin and

Burkes, looked like the largest, but opposite was a nasty window

display of shrunken heads and, two doors down, a large cage was

alive with gigantic black spiders. Two shabby-looking wizards were

watching him from the shadow of a doorway, muttering to each other.

Feeling jumpy, Harry set off, trying to hold his glasses on straight and

hoping against hope he'd be able to find a way out of here.

An old wooden street sign hanging over a shop selling poisonous

candles told him he was in Knockturn Alley. This didn't help, as Harry

had never heard of such a place. He supposed he hadn't spoken

clearly enough through his mouthful of ashes

back in the Weasleys' fire. Trying to stay calm, he wondered what to

do.

"Not lost are you, my dear?" said a voice in his ear, making him jump.

An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked

horribly like whole human fingernails. She leered at him, showing

mossy teeth. Harry backed away.

"I'm fine, thanks," he said. "I'm just -"

"HARRY! What d'yeh think yer doin' down there?"

Harry's heart leapt. So did the witch; a load of fingernails cascaded

down over her feet and she cursed as the massive form of Hagrid, the

Hogwarts gamekeeper, came striding toward them, beetle-black eyes

flashing over his great bristling beard.

"Hagrid!" Harry croaked in relief. "I was lost - Floo powder -"

Hagrid seized Harry by the scruff of the neck and pulled him away

from the witch, knocking the tray right out of her hands. Her shrieks

followed them all the way along the twisting alleyway out into bright

sunlight. Harry saw a familiar, snow-white marble building in the

distance - Gringotts Bank. Hagrid had steered him right into Diagon

Alley.

"Yer a mess!" said Hagrid gruffly, brushing soot off Harry so

forcefully he nearly knocked him into a barrel of dragon dung outside

an apothecary. "Skulkin' around Knockturn Alley, I dunno dodgy place,

Harry - don' want no one ter see yeh down there -"

"I realized that," said Harry, ducking as Hagrid made to brush him off

again. "I told you, I was lost - what were you doing down there,

anyway?"

* 54

"I was lookin' fer a Flesh-Eatin' Slug Repellent," growled Hagrid.

"They're ruinin' the school cabbages. Yer not on yer own?"

"I'm staying with the Weasleys but we got separated," Harry explained.

"I've got to go and find them . . . ."

They set off together down the street.

"How come yeh never wrote back ter me?" said Hagrid as Harry

jogged alongside him (he had to take three steps to every stride of

Hagrid's enormous boots). Harry explained all about Dobby and the

Dursleys.

"Lousy Muggles," growled Hagrid. "If I'd've known -"

"Harry! Harry! Over here!"

Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the

white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her

bushy brown hair flying behind her.

"What happened to your glasses? Hello, Hagrid - Oh, it's wonderful to

see you two again - Are you coming into Gringotts, Harry?"

"As soon as I've found the Weasleys," said Harry.

"Yeh won't have long ter wait," Hagrid said with a grin.

Harry and Hermione looked around: Sprinting up the crowded street

were Ron, Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. Weasley.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley panted. "We hoped you'd only gone one

grate too far . He mopped his glistening bald patch. "Molly's

frantic - she's coming now -"

"Where did you come out?" Ron asked.

"Knockturn Alley," said Hagrid grimly.

"Excellent." said Fred and George together.

"We've never been allowed in," said Ron enviously.

*55*

"I should ruddy well think not," growled Hagrid.

Mrs. Weasley now came galloping into view, her handbag swing

ing wildly in one hand, Ginny just clinging onto the other.

"Oh, Harry - oh, my dear - you could have been any

where -"

Gasping for breath she pulled a large clothes brush out of her

bag and began sweeping off the soot Hagrid hadn't managed to

beat away. Mr. Weasley took Harry's glasses, gave them a tap of his

wand, and returned them, good as new.

"Well, gotta be off," said Hagrid, who was having his hand

wrung by Mrs. Weasley ("Knockturn Alley! If you hadn't found

him, Hagrid!"). "See yer at Hogwarts!" And he strode away, head

and shoulders taller than anyone else in the packed street.

"Guess who I saw in Borgin and Burkes?" Harry asked Ron and

Hermione as they climbed the Gringotts steps. "Malfoy and his fa

ther."

"Did Lucius Malfoy buy anything?" said Mr. Weasley sharply

behind them.

"No, he was selling ='

"So he's worried," said Mr. Weasley with grim satisfaction. "Oh,

I'd love to get Lucius Malfoy for something ......

"You be careful, Arthur," said Mrs. Weasley sharply as they were

bowed into the bank by a goblin at the door. "That family's trou

ble. Don't go biting off more than you can chew -"

"So you don't think I'm a match for Lucius Malfoy?" said Mr.

Weasley indignantly, but he was distracted almost at once by the

sight of Hermione's parents, who were standing nervously at the

counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for

Hermione to introduce them.

,5 s

"But you're Muggles!" said Mr. Weasley delightedly. "We must have a drink!

What's that you've got there? Oh, you're changing Muggle money. Molly,

look!" He pointed excitedly at the tenpound notes in Mr. Granger's hand.

"Meet you back here," Ron said to Hermione as the Weasleys and Harry

were led off to their underground vaults by another Gringotts goblin.

The vaults were reached by means of small, goblin-driven carts that sped

along miniature train tracks through the bank's underground tunnels.

Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys' vault, but felt

dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened.

There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon.

Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into

her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to

block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a

leather bag.

Back outside on the marble steps, they all separated. Percy muttered

vaguely about needing a new quill. Fred and George had spotted their

friend from Hogwarts, Lee Jordan. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were going to

a secondhand robe shop. Mr. Weasley was insisting on taking the Grangers

off to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink.

"We'll all meet at Flourish and Blotts in an hour to buy your schoolbooks,"

said Mrs. Weasley, setting off with Ginny. "And not one step down

Knockturn Alley!" she shouted at the twins' retreating backs.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione strolled off along the winding, cobbled street.

The bag of gold, silver, and bronze jangling cheerfully

*57*

in Harry's pocket was clamoring to be spent, so he bought three

large strawberry-and-peanut-butter ice creams, which they slurped

happily as they wandered up the alley, examining the fascinating

shop windows. Ron gazed longingly at a full set of Chudley Can

non robes in the windows of Quality Quidditch Supplies until

Hermione dragged them off to buy ink and parchment next door.

In Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, they met Fred, George,

and Lee Jordan, who were stocking up on Dr. Filibuster's Fabulous

Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks, and in a tiny junk shop full of bro

ken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion

stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply

boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power.

`A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers, " Ron read

aloud off the back cover. "That sounds fascinating . . . ."

"Go away," Percy snapped.

"'Course, he's very ambitious, Percy, he's got it all planned

out .... He wants to be Minister of Magic. . . " Ron told Harry

and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it.

An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by

no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they

approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling out

side the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed

by a large banner stretched across the upper windows:

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will be signing copies of his autobiography

MAGICAL ME

today 12:30 P.m. to 4:30 P.m.

"We can actually meet him!" Hermione squealed. "I mean, he's

written almost the whole booklist!"

The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs.

Weasley's age. A harrassed-looking wizard stood at the door, saying,

"Calmly, please, ladies .... Don't push, there ... mind the books, now . .

. . "

Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound

right to the back of the shop, where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing

his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard Book of Spells,

Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys

were standing with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"Oh, there you are, good," said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless

and kept patting her hair. "We'll be able to see him in a minute ......

Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded

by large pictures of his own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly