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

“What?” 
“Come on!” 
Harry blundered after Ron toward the light, stumbling and tripping, and a moment later they had 
emerged into a clearing. 
Mr. Weasley’s car was standing, empty, in the middle of a circle of thick trees under a roof of 
dense branches, its headlights ablaze. As Ron walked, open-mouthed, toward it, it moved slowly 
toward him, exactly like a large, turquoise dog greeting its owner. 
“It’s been here all the time!” said Ron delightedly, walking around the car. “Look at it. The 
forest’s turned it wild…” 
The sides of the car were scratched and smeared with mud. Apparently it had taken to trundling 
around the forest on its own. Fang didn’t seem at all keen on it; he kept close to Harry, who 
could feel him quivering. His breathing slowing down again, Harry stuffed his wand back into 
his robes. 
“And we thought it was going to attack us!” said Ron, leaning against the car and patting it. “I 
wondered where it had gone!” 
Harry squinted around on the floodlit ground for signs of more spiders, but they had all scuttled 
away from the glare of the headlights. 
“We’ve lost the trail,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go and find them.” 
Ron didn’t speak. He didn’t move. His eyes were fixed on a point some ten feet above the forest 
floor, right behind Harry. His face was livid with terror. 
Harry didn’t even have time to turn around. There was a loud clicking noise and suddenly he felt 
something long and hairy seize him around the middle and lift him off the ground, so that he was 
hanging facedown. Struggling, terrified, he heard more clicking, and saw Ron’s legs leave the 
ground, too, heard Fang whimpering and howling — next moment, he was being swept away 
into the dark trees. 
Head hanging, Harry saw that what had hold of him was marching on six immensely long, hairy 
legs, the front two clutching him tightly below a pair of shining black pincers. Behind him, he 
could hear another of the creatures, no doubt carrying Ron. They were moving into the very heart 
of the forest. Harry could hear Fang fighting to free himself from a third monster, whining 
loudly, but Harry couldn’t have yelled even if he had wanted to; he seemed to have left his voice 
back with the car in the clearing. 
He never knew how long he was in the creature’s clutches; he only knew that the darkness 

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suddenly lifted enough for him to see that the leaf-strewn ground was now swarming 
with spiders. Craning his neck sideways, he realized that they had reached the ridge of a vast 
hollow, a hollow that had been cleared of trees, so that the stars shone brightly onto the worst 
scene he had ever laid eyes on. 
Spiders. Not tiny spiders like those surging over the leaves below. Spiders the size of carthorses, 
eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic. The massive specimen that was carrying Harry 
made its way down the steep slope toward a misty, domed web in the very center of the hollow, 
while its fellows closed in all around it, clicking their pincers excitedly at the sight of its load. 
Harry fell to the ground on all fours as the spider released him. Ron and Fang thudded down next 
to him. Fang wasn’t howling anymore, but cowering silently on the spot. Ron looked exactly like 
Harry felt. His mouth was stretched wide in a kind of silent scream and his eyes were popping. 
Harry suddenly realized that the spider that had dropped him was saying something. It had been 
hard to tell, because he clicked his pincers with every word he spoke. 
“Aragog!” it called. “Aragog!” 
And from the middle of the misty, domed web, a spider the size of a small elephant emerged, 
very slowly. There was gray in the black of his body and legs, and each of the eyes on his ugly, 
pincered head was milky white. He was blind. 
“What is it?” he said, clicking his pincers rapidly. 
“Men,” clicked the spider who had caught Harry. 
“Is it Hagrid?” said Aragog, moving closer, his eight milky eyes wandering vaguely. 
“Strangers,” clicked the spider who had brought Ron. 
“Kill them,” clicked Aragog fretfully. “I was sleeping…” 
“We’re friends of Hagrid’s,” Harry shouted. His heart seemed to have left his chest to pound in 
his throat. 
Click, click, click went the pincers of the spiders all around the hollow. 
Aragog paused. 
“Hagrid has never sent men into our hollow before,” he said slowly. 
“Hagrid’s in trouble,” said Harry, breathing very fast. “That’s why we’ve come.” 
“In trouble?” said the aged spider, and Harry thought he heard concern beneath the clicking 
pincers. “But why has he sent you?” 

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Harry thought of getting to his feet but decided against it; he didn’t think his legs would support 
him. So he spoke from the ground, as calmly as he could. 
“They think, up at the school, that Hagrid’s been setting a — a — something on students. 
They’ve taken him to Azkaban.” 
Aragog clicked his pincers furiously, and all around the hollow the sound was echoed by the 
crowd of spiders; it was like applause, except applause didn’t usually make Harry feel sick with 
fear. 
“But that was years ago,” said Aragog fretfully. “Years and years ago. I remember it well. That’s 
why they made him leave the school. They believed that I was the monster that dwells in what 
they call the Chamber of Secrets. They thought that Hagrid had opened the Chamber and set me 
free.” 
“And you… you didn’t come from the Chamber of Secrets?” said Harry, who could feel cold 
sweat on his forehead. 
“I!” said Aragog, clicking angrily. “I was not born in the castle. I come from a distant land. A 
traveler gave me to Hagrid when I was an egg. Hagrid was only a boy, but he cared for me, 
hidden in a cupboard in the castle, feeding me on scraps from the table. Hagrid is my good 
friend, and a good man. When I was discovered, and blamed for the death of a girl, he protected 
me. I have lived here in the forest ever since, where Hagrid still visits me. He even found me a 
wife, Mosag, and you see how our family has grown, all through Hagrid’s goodness…” 
Harry summoned what remained of his courage. 
“So you never — never attacked anyone?” 
“Never,” croaked the old spider. “It would have been my instinct, but out of respect for Hagrid, I 
never harmed a human. The body of the girl who was killed was discovered in a bathroom. I 
never saw any part of the castle but the cupboard in which I grew up. Our kind like the dark and 
the quiet…” 
“But then… Do you know what did kill that girl?” said Harry. “Because whatever it is, it’s back 
and attacking people again —” 
His words were drowned by a loud outbreak of clicking and the rustling of many long legs 
shifting angrily; large black shapes shifted all around him. 
“The thing that lives in the castle,” said Aragog, “is an ancient creature we spiders fear above all 
others. Well do I remember how I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I sensed the beast 
moving about the school.” 
“What is it?” said Harry urgently. 

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More loud clicking, more rustling; the spiders seemed to be closing in. 
“We do not speak of it!” said Aragog fiercely. “We do not name it! I never even told Hagrid the 
name of that dread creature, though he asked me, many times.” 
Harry didn’t want to press the subject, not with the spiders pressing closer on all sides. Aragog 
seemed to be tired of talking. He was backing slowly into his domed web, but his fellow spiders 
continued to inch slowly toward Harry and Ron. 
“We’ll just go, then,” Harry called desperately to Aragog, hearing leaves rustling behind him. 
“Go?” said Aragog slowly. “I think not…” 
“But — but —” 
“My sons and daughters do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But I cannot deny them fresh 
meat, when it wanders so willingly into our midst. Good-bye, friend of Hagrid.” 
Harry spun around. Feet away, towering above him, was a solid wall of spiders, clicking, their 
many eyes gleaming in their ugly black heads. 
Even as he reached for his wand, Harry knew it was no good, there were too many of them, but 
as he tried to stand, ready to die fighting, a loud, long note sounded, and a blaze of light flamed 
through the hollow. 
Mr. Weasley’s car was thundering down the slope, headlights glaring, its horn screeching, 
knocking spiders aside; several were thrown onto their backs, their endless legs waving in the 
air. The car screeched to a halt in front of Harry and Ron and the doors flew open. 
“Get Fang!” Harry yelled, diving into the front seat; Ron seized the boarhound around the middle 
and threw him, yelping, into the back of the car — the doors slammed shut — Ron didn’t touch 
the accelerator but the car didn’t need him; the engine roared and they were off, hitting more 
spiders. They sped up the slope, out of the hollow, and they were soon crashing through the 
forest, branches whipping the windows as the car wound its way cleverly through the widest 
gaps, following a path it obviously knew. 
Harry looked sideways at Ron. His mouth was still open in the silent scream, but his eyes 
weren’t popping anymore. 
“Are you okay?” 
Ron stared straight ahead, unable to speak. 
They smashed their way through the undergrowth, Fang howling loudly in the back seat, and 
Harry saw the side mirror snap off as they squeezed past a large oak. After ten noisy, rocky 
minutes, the trees thinned, and Harry could again see patches of sky.

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The car stopped so suddenly that they were nearly thrown into the windshield. They had reached 
the edge of the forest. Fang flung himself at the window in his anxiety to get out, and when 
Harry opened the door, he shot off through the trees to Hagrid’s house, tail between his legs. 
Harry got out too, and after a minute or so, Ron seemed to regain the feeling in his limbs and 
followed, still stiff-necked and staring. Harry gave the car a grateful pat as it reversed back into 
the forest and disappeared from view. 
Harry went back into Hagrid’s cabin to get the Invisibility Cloak. Fang was trembling under a 
blanket in his basket. When Harry got outside again, he found Ron being violent sick in the 
pumpkin patch. 
“Follow the spiders,” said Ron weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “I’ll never forgive 
Hagrid. We’re lucky to be alive.” 
“I bet he thought Aragog wouldn’t hurt friends of his,” said Harry. 
“That’s exactly Hagrid’s problem!” said Ron, thumping the wall of the cabin. “He always thinks 
monsters aren’t as bad as they’re made out, and look where it’s got him! A cell in Azkaban!” He 
was shivering uncontrollably now. “What was the point of sending us in there? What have we 
found out, I’d like to know?” 
“That Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets,” said Harry, throwing the cloak over Ron 
and prodding him in the arm to make him walk. “He was innocent.” 
Ron gave a loud snort. Evidently, hatching Aragog in a cupboard wasn’t his idea of being 
innocent. 
As the castle loomed nearer Harry twitched the cloak to make sure their feet were hidden, then 
pushed the creaking front doors ajar. They walked carefully back across the entrance hall and up 
the marble staircase, holding their breath as they passed corridors where watchful sentries were 
walking. At last they reached the safety of the Gryffindor common room, where the fire had 
burned itself into glowing ash. They took off the cloak and climbed the winding stair to their 
dormitory. 
Ron fell onto his bed without bothering to get undressed. Harry, however, didn’t feel very 
sleepy. He sat on the edge of his fourposter, thinking hard about everything Aragog had said. 
The creature that was lurking somewhere in the castle, he thought, sounded like a sort of monster 
Voldemort — even other monsters didn’t want to name it. But he and Ron were no closer to 
finding out what it was, or how it petrified its victims. Even Hagrid had never known what was 
in the Chamber of Secrets. 
Harry swung his legs up onto his bed and leaned back against his pillows, watching the moon 
glinting at him through the tower window. 
He couldn’t see what else they could do. They had hit dead ends everywhere. Riddle had caught 

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the wrong person, the Heir of Slytherin had got off, and no one could tell whether it was the 
same person, or a different one, who had opened the Chamber this time. There was nobody else 
to ask. Harry lay down, still thinking about what Aragog had said. 
He was becoming drowsy when what seemed like their very last hope occurred to him, and he 
suddenly sat bolt upright. 
“Ron,” he hissed through the dark, “Ron —” 
Ron woke with a yelp like Fang’s, stared wildly around, and saw Harry. 
“Ron — that girl who died. Aragog said she was found in a bathroom,” said Harry, ignoring 
Neville’s snuffling snores from the corner. “What if she never left the bathroom? What if she’s 
still there?” 
Ron rubbed his eyes, frowning through the moonlight. And then he understood, too. 
“You don’t think — not Moaning Myrtle?”