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

 
His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, 
 
His hair is as dark as a blackboard, 
 
I wish he was mine, 
 

he’s really divine, 
 
The hero who conquered the Dark Lord 
Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot. Trying valiantly to 
laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy 
Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth. 
“Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,” he said, shooing some 
of the younger students away. “And you, Malfoy —” 
Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to 
Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realized that he’d got Riddle’s diary. 
“Give that back,” said Harry quietly. 
“Wonder what Potter’s written in this?” said Malfoy, who obviously hadn’t noticed the year on 
the cover and thought he had Harry’s own diary. A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was 
staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified. 
“Hand it over, Malfoy,” said Percy sternly. 
“When I’ve had a look,” said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry. 

---

Percy said, “As a school prefect —” but Harry had lost his temper. He pulled out his wand and 
shouted, “Expelliarmus!” and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary 
shooting out of his hand into the air. Ron, grinning broadly, caught it. 
“Harry!” said Percy loudly. “No magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this, you know!” 
But Harry didn’t care, he was one-up on Malfoy, and that was worth five points from Gryffindor 
any day. Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled 
spitefully after her, “I don’t think Potter liked your valentine much!” 
Ginny covered her face with her hands and ran into class. Snarling, Ron pulled out his wand, too, 
but Harry pulled him away. Ron didn’t need to spend the whole of Charms belching slugs. 
It wasn’t until they had reached Professor Flitwick’s class that Harry noticed something rather 
odd about Riddle’s diary. All his other books were drenched in scarlet ink. The diary, however, 
was as clean as it had been before the ink bottle had smashed all over it. He tried to point this out 
to Ron, but Ron was having trouble with his wand again; large purple bubbles were blossoming 
out of the end, and he wasn’t much interested in anything else. 
Harry went to bed before anyone else in his dormitory that night. This was partly because he 
didn’t think he could stand Fred and George singing, “His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled 
toad” one more time, and partly because he wanted to examine Riddle’s diary again, and knew 
that Ron thought he was wasting his time. 
Harry sat on his four-poster and flicked through the blank pages, not one of which had a trace of 
scarlet ink on it. Then he pulled a new bottle out of his bedside cabinet, dipped his quill into it, 
and dropped a blot onto the first page of the diary. 
The ink shone brightly on the paper for a second and then, as though it was being sucked into the 
page, vanished. Excited, Harry loaded up his quill a second time and wrote, “My name is Harry 
Potter.” 
The words shone momentarily on the page and they, too, sank without trace. Then, at last, 
something happened. 
Oozing back out of the page, in his very own ink, came words Harry had never written. 
“Hello, Harry Potter. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come by my diary?” 
These words, too, faded away, but not before Harry had started to scribble back. 
“Someone tried to flush it down a toilet.” 
He waited eagerly for Riddle’s reply. 
“Lucky that I recorded my memories in some more lasting way than ink. But I always knew that 

---

there would be those who would not want this diary read.” 
“What do you mean?” Harry scrawled, blotting the page in his excitement. 
“I mean that this diary holds memories of terrible things. Things that were covered up. Things 
that happened at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” 
“That’s where I am now,” Harry wrote quickly. “I’m at Hogwarts, and horrible stuff’s been 
happening. Do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?” 
His heart was hammering. Riddle’s reply came quickly, his writing becoming untidier, as though 
he was hurrying to tell all he knew. 
“Of course I know about the Chamber of Secrets. In my day, they told us it was a legend, that it 
did not exist. But this was a lie. In my fifth year, the Chamber was opened and the monster 
attacked several students, finally killing one. I caught the person who’d opened the Chamber and 
he was expelled. But the Headmaster, Professor Dippet, ashamed that such a thing had happened 
at Hogwarts, forbade me to tell the truth. A story was given out that the girl had died in a freak 
accident. They gave me a nice, shiny, engraved trophy for my trouble and warned me to keep my 
mouth shut. But I knew it could happen again. The monster lived on, and the one who had the 
power to release it was not imprisoned.” 
Harry nearly upset his ink bottle in his hurry to write back. 
“It’s happening again now. There have been three attacks and no one seems to know who’s 
behind them. Who was it last time?” 
“I can show you, if you like, “came Riddle’s reply. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I can 
take you inside my memory of the night when I caught him.” 
Harry hesitated, his quill suspended over the diary. What did Riddle mean? How could he be 
taken inside somebody else’s memory? He glanced nervously at the door to the dormitory, which 
was growing dark. When he looked back at the diary, he saw fresh words forming. 
“Let me show you.” 
Harry paused for a fraction of a second and then wrote two letters. 
OK 
The pages of the diary began to blow as though caught in a high wind, stopping halfway through 
the month of June. Mouth hanging open, Harry saw that the little square for June thirteenth 
seemed to have turned into a miniscule television screen. His hands trembling slightly, he raised 
the book to press his eye against the little window, and before he knew what was happening, he 
was tilting forward; the window was widening, he felt his body leave his bed, and he was pitched 
headfirst through the opening in the page, into a whirl of color and shadow. 

---

He felt his feet hit solid ground, and stood, shaking, as the blurred shapes around him came 
suddenly into focus. 
He knew immediately where he was. This circular room with the sleeping portraits was 
Dumbledore’s office — but it wasn’t Dumbledore who was sitting behind the desk. A wizened, 
frail-looking wizard, bald except for a few wisps of white hair, was reading a letter by 
candlelight. Harry had never seen this man before. 
“I’m sorry,” he said shakily. “I didn’t mean to butt in —” 
But the wizard didn’t look up. He continued to read, frowning slightly. Harry drew nearer to his 
desk and stammered, “Er — I’ll just go, shall I?” 
Still the wizard ignored him. He didn’t seem even to have heard him. Thinking that the wizard 
might be deaf, Harry raised his voice. 
“Sorry I disturbed you. I’ll go now,” he half-shouted. 
The wizard folded up the letter with a sigh, stood up, walked past Harry without glancing at him, 
and went to draw the curtains at his window. 
The sky outside the window was ruby-red; it seemed to be sunset. The wizard went back to the 
desk, sat down, and twiddled his thumbs, watching the door. 
Harry looked around the office. No Fawkes the phoenix — no whirring silver contraptions. This 
was Hogwarts as Riddle had known it, meaning that this unknown wizard was Headmaster, not 
Dumbledore, and he, Harry, was little more than a phantom, completely invisible to the people of 
fifty years ago. 
There was a knock on the office door. 
“Enter,” said the old wizard in a feeble voice. 
A boy of about sixteen entered, taking off his pointed hat. A silver prefect’s badge was glinting 
on his chest. He was much taller than Harry, but he, too, had jet-black hair. 
“Ah, Riddle,” said the Headmaster. 
“You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?” said Riddle. He looked nervous. 
“Sit down,” said Dippet. “I’ve just been reading the letter you sent me.” 
“Oh,” said Riddle. He sat down, gripping his hands together very tightly. 
“My dear boy,” said Dipper kindly, “I cannot possibly let you stay at school over the summer. 
Surely you want to go home for the holidays?” 

---

“No,” said Riddle at once. “I’d much rather stay at Hogwarts than go back to that — to that —” 
“You live in a Muggle orphanage during the holidays, I believe?” said Dippet curiously. 
“Yes, sir,” said Riddle, reddening slightly. 
“You are Muggle-born?” 
“Half-blood, sir,” said Riddle. “Muggle father, witch mother.” 
“And are both your parents —?” 
“My mother died just after I was born, sir. They told me at the orphanage she lived just long 
enough to name me — Tom after my father, Marvolo after my grandfather.” 
Dipper clucked his tongue sympathetically. 
“The thing is, Tom,” he sighed, “Special arrangements might have been made for you, but in the 
current circumstances…” 
“You mean all these attacks, sir?” said Riddle, and Harry’s heart leapt, and he moved closer, 
scared of missing anything. 
“Precisely,” said the headmaster. “My dear boy, you must see how foolish it would be of me to 
allow you to remain at the castle when term ends. Particularly in light of the recent tragedy… the 
death of that poor little girl… You will be safer by far at your orphanage. As a matter of fact, the 
Ministry of Magic is even now talking about closing the school. We are no nearer locating the — 
er — source of all this unpleasantness…” 
Riddle’s eyes had widened. 
“Sir — if the person was caught — if it all stopped —” 
“What do you mean?” said Dippet with a squeak in his voice, sitting up in his chair. “Riddle, do 
you mean you know something about these attacks?” 
“No, sir,” said Riddle quickly. 
But Harry was sure it was the same sort of “no” that he himself had given Dumbledore. 
Dippet sank back, looking faintly disappointed. 
“You may go, Tom…” 
Riddle slid off his chair and slouched out of the room. Harry followed him. 

---

Down the moving spiral staircase they went, emerging next to the gargoyle in the darkening 
corridor. Riddle stopped, and so did Harry, watching him. Harry could tell that Riddle was doing 
some serious thinking. He was biting his lip, his forehead furrowed. 
Then, as though he had suddenly reached a decision, he hurried off, Harry gliding noiselessly 
behind him. They didn’t see another person until they reached the entrance hall, when a tall 
wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and a beard called to Riddle from the marble staircase. 
“What are you doing, wandering around this late, Tom?” 
Harry gaped at the wizard. He was none other than a fifty-year-younger Dumbledore. 
“I had to see the headmaster, sir,” said Riddle. 
“Well, hurry off to bed,” said Dumbledore, giving Riddle exactly the kind of penetrating stare 
Harry knew so well. “Best not to roam the corridors these days. Not since…” 
He sighed heavily, bade Riddle good night, and strode off. Riddle watched him walk out of sight 
and then, moving quickly, headed straight down the stone steps to the dungeons, with Harry in 
hot pursuit. 
But to Harry’s disappointment, Riddle led him not into a hidden passageway or a secret tunnel 
but to the very dungeon in which Harry had Potions with Snape. The torches hadn’t been lit, and 
when Riddle pushed the door almost closed, Harry could only just see him, standing stock-still 
by the door, watching the passage outside. 
It felt to Harry that they were there for at least an hour. All he could see was the figure of Riddle 
at the door, staring through the crack, waiting like a statue. And just when Harry had stopped 
feeling expectant and tense and started wishing he could return to the present, he heard 
something move beyond the door. 
Someone was creeping along the passage. He heard whoever it was pass the dungeon where he 
and Riddle were hidden. Riddle, quiet as a shadow, edged through the door and followed, Harry 
tiptoeing behind him, forgetting that he couldn’t be heard. 
For perhaps five minutes they followed the footsteps, until Riddle stopped suddenly, his head 
inclined in the direction of new noises. Harry heard a door creak open, and then someone 
speaking in a hoarse whisper. 
“C’mon… gotta get yeh outta here… C’mon now… in the box…” 
There was something familiar about that voice…
Riddle suddenly jumped around the corner. Harry stepped out behind him. He could see the dark 
outline of a huge boy who was crouching in front of an open door, a very large box next to it. 

---

“Evening, Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply. 
The boy slammed the door shut and stood up. 
“What yer doin’ down here, Tom?” 
Riddle stepped closer. 
“It’s all over,” he said. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. They’re talking about closing 
Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.” 
“‘N at d’yeh —” 
“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just 
let it out for exercise and —” 
“It never killed no one!” said the large boy, backing against the closed door. From behind him, 
Harry could hear a funny rustling and clicking. 
“Come on, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer. “The dead girl’s parents will be here 
tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is 
slaughtered…” 
“It wasn’t him!” roared the boy, his voice echoing in the dark passage. “He wouldn’! He never!” 
“Stand aside,” said Riddle, drawing out his wand. 
His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind the large boy flew open 
with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And out of it came something that made 
Harry let out a long, piercing scream unheard by anyone. 
A vast, low-slung, hairy body and a tangle of black legs; a gleam of many eyes and a pair of 
razor-sharp pincers — Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The thing bowled him 
over as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrambled to his feet, 
looking after it; he raised his wand, but the huge boy leapt on him, seized his wand, and threw 
him back down, yelling, “NOOOOOO!” 
The scene whirled, the darkness became complete; Harry felt himself falling and, with a crash, 
he landed spread-eagled on his four-poster in the Gryffindor dormitory, Riddle’s diary lying 
open on his stomach. 
Before he had had time to regain his breath, the dormitory door opened and Ron came in. 
“There you are,” he said. 
Harry sat up. He was sweating and shaking. 

---

“What’s up?” said Ron, looking at him with concern. 
“It was Hagrid, Ron. Hagrid opened the Chamber of Secrets fifty years ago.”