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

Weekly’s Most Charming Smile Award but I don’t talk about that. I didn’t get rid of the Bandon 
Banshee by smiling at her!” 
He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly. 
“I see you’ve all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we’d start today 
with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you’ve read them, how much 
you’ve taken in —” 
When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, “You have 
thirty minutes — start —now!” 
Harry looked down at his paper and read: 
1. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s favorite color? 
 
2. What is Gilderoy Lockhart’s secret ambition? 
 
3. What, in your opinion, is Gilderoy Lockhart’s greatest achievement to date? 
On and on it went, over three sides of paper, right down to: 
54. When is Gilderoy Lockhart’s birthday, and what would his ideal gift be? 
Half an hour later, Lockhart collected the papers and rifled through them in front of the class. 
“Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favorite color is lilac. I say so in Year with 
the Yeti. And a few of you need to read Wanderings with Werewolves more carefully — I clearly 

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state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-
magic peoples — though I wouldn’t say no to a large bottle of Ogdeds Old Firewhisky!” 
He gave them another roguish wink. Ron was now staring at Lockhart with an expression of 
disbelief on his face; Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas, who were sitting in front, were 
shaking with silent laughter. Hermione, on the other hand, was listening to Lockhart with rapt 
attention and gave a start when he mentioned her name. 
“… but Miss Hermione Granger knew my secret ambition is to rid the world of evil and market 
my own range of hair-care potions — good girl! In fact” — he flipped her paper over — “full 
marks! Where is Miss Hermione Granger?” 
Hermione raised a trembling hand. 
“Excellent!” beamed Lockhart. “Quite excellent! Take ten points for Gryffindor! And so — to 
business —” 
He bent down behind his desk and lifted a large, covered cage onto it. 
“Now — be warned! It is my job to arm you against the foulest creatures known to wizardkind! 
You may find yourselves facing your worst fears in this room. Know only that no harm can 
befall you whilst I am here. All I ask is that you remain calm.” 
In spite of himself, Harry leaned around his pile of books for a better look at the cage. Lockhart 
placed a hand on the cover. Dean and Seamus had stopped laughing now. Neville was cowering 
in his front row seat. 
“I must ask you not to scream,” said Lockhart in a low voice. “It might provoke them.” 
As the whole class held its breath, Lockhart whipped off the cover. 
“Yes,” he said dramatically. “Freshly caught Cornish pixies.” 
Seamus Finnigan couldn’t control himself. He let out a snort of laughter that even Lockhart 
couldn’t mistake for a scream of terror. 
“Yes?” He smiled at Seamus. 
“Well, they’re not — they’re not very —dangerous, are they?” Seamus choked. 
“Don’t be so sure!” said Lockhart, waggling a finger annoyingly at Seamus. “Devilish tricky 
little blighters they can be!” 
The pixies were electric blue and about eight inches high, with pointed faces and voices so shrill 
it was like listening to a lot of budgies arguing. The moment the cover had been removed, they 
had started jabbering and rocketing around, rattling the bars and making bizarre faces at the 

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people nearest them. 
“Right, then,” Lockhart said loudly. “Let’s see what you make of them!” And he opened the 
cage. 
It was pandemonium. The pixies shot in every direction like rockets. Two of them seized Neville 
by the ears and lifted him into the air. Several shot straight through the window, showering the 
back row with broken glass. The rest proceeded to wreck the classroom more effectively than a 
rampaging rhino. They grabbed ink bottles and sprayed the class with them, shredded books and 
papers, tore pictures from the walls, up-ended the waste basket, grabbed bags and books and 
threw them out of the smashed window; within minutes, half the class was sheltering under desks 
and Neville was swinging from the iron chandelier in the ceiling. 
“Come on now — round them up, round them up, they’re only pixies,” Lockhart shouted. 
He rolled up his sleeves, brandished his wand, and bellowed, “Peskipiksi Pesternomi!” 
It had absolutely no effect; one of the pixies seized his wand and threw it out of the window, too. 
Lockhart gulped and dived under his own desk, narrowly avoiding being squashed by Neville, 
who fell a second later as the chandelier gave way. 
The bell rang and there was a mad rush toward the exit. In the relative calm that followed, 
Lockhart straightened up, caught sight of Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were almost at the 
door, and said, “Well, I’ll ask you three to just nip the rest of them back into their cage.” He 
swept past them and shut the door quickly behind him. 
“Can you believe him?” roared Ron as one of the remaining pixies bit him painfully on the ear. 
“He just wants to give us some hands-on experience,” said Hermione, immobilizing two pixies at 
once with a clever Freezing Charm and stuffing them back into their cage. 
“Hands on? “said Harry, who was trying to grab a pixie dancing out of reach with its tongue out. 
“Hermione, he didn’t have a clue what he was doing —” 
“Rubbish,” said Hermione. “You’ve read his books — look at all those amazing things he’s done 
—” 
“He says he’s done,” Ron muttered.