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

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN 
 
 
Cornelius Fudge 
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had always known that Hagrid had an unfortunate liking for large and 
monstrous creatures. During their first year at Hogwarts he had tried to raise a dragon in his little 
wooden house, and it would be a long time before they forgot the giant, three-headed dog he’d 
christened “Fluffy.” And if, as a boy, Hagrid had heard that a monster was hidden somewhere in 
the castle, Harry was sure he’d have gone to any lengths for a glimpse of it. He’d probably 
thought it was a shame that the monster had been cooped up so long, and thought it deserved the 
chance to stretch its many legs; Harry could just imagine the thirteen-year-old Hagrid trying to 
fit a leash and collar on it. But he was equally certain that Hagrid would never have meant to kill 
anybody. 
Harry half wished he hadn’t found out how to work Riddle’s diary. Again and again Ron and 
Hermione made him recount what he’d seen, until he was heartily sick of telling them and sick of 
the long, circular conversations that followed. 
“Riddle might have got the wrong person,” said Hermione. “Maybe it was some other monster 
that was attacking people…” 
“How many monsters d’you think this place can hold?” Ron asked dully. 
“We always knew Hagrid had been expelled,” said Harry miserably. “And the attacks must’ve 
stopped after Hagrid was kicked out. Otherwise, Riddle wouldn’t have got his award.” 
Ron tried a different tack. 
“Riddle does sound like Percy — who asked him to squeal on Hagrid, anyway?” 
“But the monster had killed someone, Ron,” said Hermione. 
“And Riddle was going to go back to some Muggle orphanage if they closed Hogwarts,” said 
Harry. “I don’t blame him for wanting to stay here…” 
“You met Hagrid down Knockturn Alley, didn’t you, Harry?” 
“He was buying a Flesh-Eating Slug Repellent,” said Harry quickly. 
The three of them fell silent. After a long pause, Hermione voiced the knottiest question of all in 
a hesitant voice. 
“Do you think we should go and ask Hagrid about it all?” 
“That’d be a cheerful visit,” said Ron. “‘Hello, Hagrid. Tell us, have you been setting anything 

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mad and hairy loose in the castle lately?’” 
In the end, they decided that they would not say anything to Hagrid unless there was another 
attack, and as more and more days went by with no whisper from the disembodied voice, they 
became hopeful that they would never need to talk to him about why he had been expelled. It 
was now nearly four months since Justin and Nearly Headless Nick had been Petrified, and 
nearly everybody seemed to think that the attacker, whoever it was, had retired for good. Peeves 
had finally got bored of his “Oh, Potter, you rotter” song, Ernie Macmillan asked Harry quite 
politely to pass a bucket of leaping toadstools in Herbology one day, and in March several of the 
Mandrakes threw a loud and raucous party in greenhouse three. This made Professor Sprout very 
happy. 
“The moment they start trying to move into each other’s pots, we’ll know they’re fully mature,” 
she told Harry. “Then we’ll be able to revive those poor people in the hospital wing.” 
The second years were given something new to think about during their Easter holidays. The 
time had come to choose their subjects for the third year, a matter that Hermione, at least, took 
very seriously. 
“… it could affect our whole future,” she told Harry and Ron as they pored over lists of new 
subjects, marking them with checks. 
“I just want to give up Potions,” said Harry. 
“We can’t,” said Ron gloomily. “We keep all our old subjects, or I’d’ve ditched Defense Against 
the Dark Arts.” 
“But that’s very important!” said Hermione, shocked. 
“Not the way Lockhart teaches it,” said Ron. “I haven’t learned anything from him except not to 
set pixies loose.” 
Neville Longbottom had been sent letters from all the witches and wizards in his family, all 
giving him different advice on what to choose. Confused and worried, he sat reading the subject 
lists with his tongue poking out, asking people whether they thought Arithmancy sounded more 
difficult than the study of Ancient Runes. Dean Thomas, who, like Harry, had grown up with 
Muggles, ended up closing his eyes and jabbing his wand at the list, then picking the subjects it 
landed on. Hermione took nobody’s advice but signed up for everything. 
Harry smiled grimly to himself at the thought of what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would say 
if he tried to discuss his career in wizardry with them. Not that he didn’t get any guidance: Percy 
Weasley was eager to share his experience. 
“Depends where you want to go, Harry,” he said. “It’s never too early to think about the future, 
so I’d recommend Divination. People say Muggle Studies is a soft option, but I personally think 
wizards should have a thorough understanding of the non-magical community, particularly if 

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they’re thinking of working in close contact with them — look at my father, he has to deal with 
Muggle business all the time. My brother Charlie was always more of an outdoor type, so he 
went for Care of Magical Creatures. Play to your strengths, Harry.” 
But the only thing Harry felt he was really good at was Quidditch. In the end, he chose the same 
new subjects as Ron, feeling that if he was lousy at them, at least he’d have someone friendly to 
help him. 
Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match would be against Hufflepuff. Wood was insisting on team 
practices every night after dinner, so that Harry barely had time for anything but Quidditch and 
homework. However, the training sessions were getting better, or at least drier, and the evening 
before Saturday’s match he went up to his dormitory to drop off his broomstick feeling 
Gryffindor’s chances for the Quidditch cup had never been better. 
But his cheerful mood didn’t last long. At the top of the stairs to the dormitory, he met Neville 
Longbottom, who was looking frantic. 
“Harry — I don’t know who did it — I just found —” 
Watching Harry fearfully, Neville pushed open the door. 
The contents of Harry’s trunk had been thrown everywhere. His cloak lay ripped on the floor. 
The bedclothes had been pulled off his four-poster and the drawer had been pulled out of his 
bedside cabinet, the contents strewn over the mattress. 
Harry walked over to the bed, open-mouthed, treading on a few loose pages of Travels with 
Trolls. As he and Neville pulled the blankets back onto his bed, Ron, Dean, and Seamus came in. 
Dean swore loudly. 
“What happened, Harry?” 
“No idea,” said Harry. But Ron was examining Harry’s robes. All the pockets were hanging out. 
“Someone’s been looking for something,” said Ron. “Is there anything missing?” 
Harry started to pick up all his things and throw them into his trunk. It was only as he threw the 
last of the Lockhart books back into it that he realized what wasn’t there. 
“Riddle’s diary’s gone,” he said in an undertone to Ron. 
“What?” 
Harry jerked his head toward the dormitory door and Ron followed him out. They hurried down 
to the Gryffindor common room, which was half-empty, and joined Hermione, who was sitting 
alone, reading a book called Ancient Runes Made Easy. 

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Hermione looked aghast at the news. 
“But — only a Gryffindor could have stolen — nobody else knows our password —” 
“Exactly,” said Harry. 
They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze. 
“Perfect Quidditch conditions!” said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the 
team’s plates with scrambled eggs. “Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast.” 
Harry had been staring down the packed Gryffindor table, wondering if the new owner of 
Riddle’s diary was right in front of his eyes. Hermione had been urging him to report the 
robbery, but Harry didn’t like the idea. He’d have to tell a teacher all about the diary, and how 
many people knew why Hagrid had been expelled fifty years ago? He didn’t want to be the one 
who brought it all up again. 
As he left the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione to go and collect his Quidditch things, another 
very serious worry was added to Harry’s growing list. He had just set foot on the marble 
staircase when he heard it yet again.