Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets By J. K. Rowling chapter one the Worst Birthday

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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CHAPTER SIX 
 
 
Gilderoy Lockhart 
The next day, however, Harry barely grinned once. Things started to go downhill from breakfast 
in the Great Hall. The four long house tables were laden with tureens of porridge, plates of 
kippers, mountains of toast, and dishes of eggs and bacon, beneath the enchanted ceiling (today, 
a dull, cloudy gray). Harry and Ron sat down at the Gryffindor table next to Hermione, who had 
her copy of Voyages with Vampires propped open against a milk jug. There was a slight stiffness 
in the way she said “Morning,” which told Harry that she was still disapproving of the way they 
had arrived. Neville Longbottom, on the other hand, greeted them cheerfully. Neville was a 
round-faced and accident-prone boy with the worst memory of anyone Harry had ever met. 
“Mail’s due any minute — I think Gran’s sending a few things I forgot.” 
Harry had only just started his porridge when, sure enough, there was a rushing sound overhead 
and a hundred or so owls streamed in, circling the hall and dropping letters and packages into the 
chattering crowd. A big, lumpy package bounced off Neville’s head and, a second later, 
something large and gray fell into Hermione’s jug, spraying them all with milk and feathers. 
“Errol!” said Ron, pulling the bedraggled owl out by the feet. Errol slumped, Unconscious, onto 
the table, his legs in the air and a damp red envelope in his beak. 
“Oh, no —” Ron gasped. 
“It’s all right, he’s still alive,” said Hermione, prodding Errol gently with the tip of her finger. 
“It’s not that — it’s that.” 
Ron was pointing at the red envelope. It looked quite ordinary to Harry, but Ron and Neville 
were both looking at it as though they expected it to explode. 
“What’s the matter?” said Harry. 
“She’s — she’s sent me a Howler,” said Ron faintly. 
“You’d better open it, Ron,” said Neville in a timid whisper. “It’ll be worse if you don’t. My 
gran sent me one once, and I ignored it and” — he gulped —“it was horrible.” 
Harry looked from their petrified faces to the red envelope. 
“What’s a Howler?” he said. 
But Ron’s whole attention was fixed on the letter, which had begun to smoke at the corners. 

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“Open it,” Neville urged. “It’ll all be over in a few minutes —” 
Ron stretched out a shaking hand, eased the envelope from Errol’s beak, and slit it open. Neville 
stuffed his fingers in his ears. A split second later, Harry knew why. He thought for a moment it 
had exploded; a roar of sound filled the huge hall, shaking dust from the ceiling. 
“—STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN’T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY’D 
EXPELLED YOU, YOU WAIT TILL I GET HOLD OF YOU, I DON’T SUPPOSE YOU 
STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW 
IT WAS GONE —” 
Mrs. Weasleys yells, a hundred times louder than usual, made the plates and spoons rattle on the 
table, and echoed deafeningly off the stone walls. People throughout the hall were swiveling 
around to see who had received the Howler, and Ron sank so low in his chair that only his 
crimson forehead could be seen. 
“—LETTER FROM DUMBLEDORE LAST NIGHT, I THOUGHT YOUR FATHER WOULD 
DIE OF SHAME, WE DIDN’T BRING YOU UP TO BEHAVE LIKE THIS, YOU AND 
HARRY COULD BOTH HAVE DIED —” 
Harry had been wondering when his name was going to crop up. He tried very hard to look as 
though he couldn’t hear the voice that was making his eardrums throb. 
“—ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED — YOUR FATHER’S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, 
IT’S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE’LL 
BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME.” 
A ringing silence fell. The red envelope, which had dropped from Ron’s hand, burst into flames 
and curled into ashes. Harry and Ron sat stunned, as though a tidal wave had just passed over 
them. A few people laughed and, gradually, a babble of talk broke out again. 
Hermione closed Voyages with Vampires and looked down at the top of Ron’s head. 
“Well, I don’t know what you expected, Ron, but you —” 
“Don’t tell me I deserved it,” snapped Ron. 
Harry pushed his porridge away. His insides were burning with guilt. Mr. Weasley was facing an 
inquiry at work. After all Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had done for him over the summer…
But he had no time to dwell on this; Professor McGonagall was moving along the Gryffindor 
table, handing out course schedules. Harry took his and saw that they had double Herbology with 
the Hufflepuffs first. 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the 
greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept. At least the Howler had done one good thing: 

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Hermione seemed to think they had now been punished enough and was being perfectly friendly 
again. 
As they neared the greenhouses they saw the rest of the class standing outside, waiting for 
Professor Sprout. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had only just joined them when she came striding 
into view across the lawn, accompanied by Gilderoy Lockhart. Professor Sprout’s arms were full 
of bandages, and with another twinge of guilt, Harry spotted the Whomping Willow in the 
distance, several of its branches now in slings. 
Professor Sprout was a squat little witch who wore a patched hat over her flyaway hair; there 
was usually a large amount of earth on her clothes and her fingernails would have made Aunt 
Petunia faint. Gilderoy Lockhart, however, was immaculate in sweeping robes of turquoise, his 
golden hair shining under a perfectly positioned turquoise hat with gold trimming. 
“Oh, hello there!” he called, beaming around at the assembled students. “Just been showing 
Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow! But I don’t want you running 
away with the idea that I’m better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of 
these exotic plants on my travels…” 
“Greenhouse three today, chaps!” said Professor Sprout, who was looking distinctly disgruntled, 
not at all her usual cheerful self. 
There was a murmur of interest. They had only ever worked in greenhouse one before — 
greenhouse three housed far more interesting and dangerous plants. Professor Sprout took a large 
key from her belt and unlocked the door. Harry caught a whiff of damp earth and fertilizer 
mingling with the heavy perfume of some giant, umbrella-sized flowers dangling from the 
ceiling. He was about to follow Ron and Hermione inside when Lockhart’s hand shot out. 
“Harry! I’ve been wanting a word — you don’t mind if he’s a couple of minutes late, do you, 
Professor Sprout?” 
Judging by Professor Sprout’s scowl, she did mind, but Lockhart said, “That’s the ticket,” and 
closed the greenhouse door in her face. 
“Harry,” said Lockhart, his large white teeth gleaming in the sunlight as he shook his head. 
“Harry, Harry, Harry.” 
Completely nonplussed, Harry said nothing. 
“When I heard — well, of course, it was all my fault. Could have kicked myself.” 
Harry had no idea what he was talking about. He was about to say so when Lockhart went on, 
“Don’t know when I’ve been more shocked. Flying a car to Hogwarts! Well, of course, I knew at 
once why you’d done it. Stood out a mile. Harry, Harry, Harry.” 
It was remarkable how he could show every one of those brilliant teeth even when he wasn’t 

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talking. 
“Gave you a taste for publicity, didn’t I?” said Lockhart. “Gave you the bug. You got onto the 
front page of the paper with me and you couldn’t wait to do it again.” 
“Oh, no, Professor, see —” 
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” said Lockhart, reaching out and grasping his shoulder. “I understand. 
Natural to want a bit more once you’ve had that first taste — and I blame myself for giving you 
that, because it was bound to go to your head — but see here, young man, you can’t start flying 
cars to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when 
you’re older. Yes, yes, I know what you’re thinking! ‘It’s all right for him, he’s an 
internationally famous wizard already!’ But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody 
as you are now. In fact, I’d say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of 
you, haven’t they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!” He glanced at the 
lightning scar on Harry’s forehead. “I know, I know — it’s not quite as good as winning Witch