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

fantastic. 
“My name was down for Eton, you know. I can’t tell you how glad I am I came here instead. Of 
course, Mother was slightly disappointed, but since I made her read Lockhart’s books I think 
she’s begun to see how useful it’ll be to have a fully trained wizard in the family…” 
After that they didn’t have much chance to talk. Their earmuffs were back on and they needed to 
concentrate on the Mandrakes. Professor Sprout had made it look extremely easy, but it wasn’t. 
The Mandrakes didn’t like coming out of the earth, but didn’t seem to want to go back into it 
either. They squirmed, kicked, flailed their sharp little fists, and gnashed their teeth; Harry spent 
ten whole minutes trying to squash a particularly fat one into a pot. 
By the end of the class, Harry, like everyone else, was sweaty, aching, and covered in earth. 
Everyone traipsed back to the castle for a quick wash and then the Gryffindors hurried off to 
Transfiguration. 
Professor McGonagall’s classes were always hard work, but today was especially difficult. 
Everything Harry had learned last year seemed to have leaked out of his head during the 
summer. He was supposed to be turning a beetle into a button, but all he managed to do was give 
his beetle a lot of exercise as it scuttled over the desktop avoiding his wand. 
Ron was having far worse problems. He had patched up his wand with some borrowed 
Spellotape, but it seemed to be damaged beyond repair. It kept crackling and sparking at odd 
moments, and every time Ron tried to transfigure his beetle it engulfed him in thick gray smoke 
that smelled of rotten eggs. Unable to see what he was doing, Ron accidentally squashed his 
beetle with his elbow and had to ask for a new one. Professor McGonagall wasn’t pleased. 
Harry was relieved to hear the lunch bell. His brain felt like a wrung sponge. Everyone filed out 
of the classroom except him and Ron, who was whacking his wand furiously on the desk. 
“Stupid — useless — thing —” 
“Write home for another one,” Harry suggested as the wand let off a volley of bangs like a 
firecracker. 
“Oh, yeah, and get another Howler back,” said Ron, stuffing the now hissing wand into his bag.
“‘It’s your own fault your wand got snapped — ’” 
They went down to lunch, where Ron’s mood was not improved by Hermione’s showing them 
the handful of perfect coat buttons she had produced in Transfiguration. 
“What’ve we got this afternoon?” said Harry, hastily changing the subject. 

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“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione at once. 
“Why,” demanded Ron, seizing her schedule, “have you outlined all Lockhart’s lessons in little 
hearts?” 
Hermione snatched the schedule back, blushing furiously. 
They finished lunch and went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone 
step and buried her nose in Voyages with Vampires again. Harry and Ron stood talking about 
Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. 
Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he’d seen trying on the Sorting Hat last 
night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary 
Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red. 
“All right, Harry? I’m — I’m Colin Creevey,” he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step 
forward. “I’m in Gryffindor, too. D’you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?” 
he said, raising the camera hopefully. 
“A picture?” Harry repeated blankly. 
“So I can prove I’ve met you,” said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. “I know all 
about you. Everyone’s told me. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you 
and how he disappeared and everything and how you’ve still got a lightning scar on your 
forehead” (his eyes raked Harry’s hairline) “and a boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film 
in the right potion, the pictures’ll move.” Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and 
said, “It’s amazing here, isn’t it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the 
letter from Hogwarts. My dad’s a milkman, he couldn’t believe it either. So I’m taking loads of 
pictures to send home to him. And it’d be really good if I had one of you” — he looked 
imploringly at Harry — “maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And 
then, could you sign it?”