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

“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron read aloud off the back cover. “That 
sounds fascinating…” 
“Go away,” Percy snapped. 
“’Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out… He wants to be Minister of 
Magic…” Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it. 
An hour later, they headed for Flourish and Blotts. They were by no means the only ones making 
their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd 
jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner 
stretched across the upper windows: 
GILDEROY LOCKHART 
 
will be signing copies of his autobiography 
 

MAGICAL ME 
 

today 12:30P.M.to 4:30P.M. 
“We can actually meet him!” Hermione squealed. “I mean, he’s written almost the whole 
booklist!” 
The crowd seemed to be made up mostly of witches around Mrs. Weasley’s age. A harassed-
looking wizard stood at the door, saying, “Calmly, please, ladies… Don’t push, there… mind the 
books, now…” 

---

Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed inside. A long line wound right to the back of the shop, 
where Gilderoy Lockhart was signing his books. They each grabbed a copy of The Standard 
Book of Spells, Grade 2 and sneaked up the line to where the rest of the Weasleys were standing 
with Mr. and Mrs. Granger. 
“Oh, there you are, good,” said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded breathless and kept patting her hair. 
“We’ll be able to see him in a minute…” 
Gilderoy Lockhart came slowly into view, seated at a table surrounded by large pictures of his 
own face, all winking and flashing dazzlingly white teeth at the crowd. The real Lockhart was 
wearing robes of forget-me-not blue that exactly matched his eyes; his pointed wizard’s hat was 
set at a jaunty angle on his wavy hair. 
A short, irritable-looking man was dancing around taking photographs with a large black camera 
that emitted puffs of purple smoke with every blinding flash. 
“Out of the way, there,” he snarled at Ron, moving back to get a better shot. “This is for the 
Daily Prophet —” 
“Big deal,” said Ron, rubbing his foot where the photographer had stepped on it. 
Gilderoy Lockhart heard him. He looked up. He saw Ron — and then he saw Harry. He stared. 
Then he leapt to his feet and positively shouted, “It can’t be Harry Potter?” 
The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry’s arm, and pulled 
him to the front. The crowd burst into applause. Harry’s face burned as Lockhart shook his hand 
for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys. 
“Nice big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his own gleaming teeth. “Together, you and I are 
worth the front page.” 
When he finally let go of Harry’s hand, Harry could hardly feel his fingers. He tried to sidle back 
over to the Weasleys, but Lockhart threw an arm around his shoulders and clamped him tightly 
to his side. 
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said loudly, waving for quiet. “What an extraordinary moment this 
is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I’ve been sitting on for some time! 
“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my 
autobiography — which I shall be happy to present him now, free of charge —” The crowd 
applauded again. “He had no idea,” Lockhart continued, giving Harry a little shake that made his 
glasses slip to the end of his nose, “that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my 
book, Magical Me. He and his schoolmates will, in fact, be getting the real magical me. Yes, 
ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that this September, I will be 
taking up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft 
and Wizardry!” 

---

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works 
of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of 
the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron. 
“You have these,” Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. “I’ll buy my own 
—” 
“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?” said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing. He 
straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual 
sneer. 
“Famous Harry Potter,” said Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front 
page.” 
“Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!” said Ginny. It was the first time she had spoken in 
front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy. 
“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Malfoy. Ginny went scarlet as Ron and 
Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books. 
“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his 
shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?” 
“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your 
parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.” 
Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward 
Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket. 
“Ron!” said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. “What are you doing? It’s too 
crowded in here, let’s go outside.” 
“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.” 
It was Mr. Malfoy. He stood with his hand on Draco’s shoulder, sneering in just the same way. 
“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly. 
“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids… I hope they’re paying 
you overtime?” 
He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very 
old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration. 
“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of 
wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?” 

---

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny. 
“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy,” he said. 
“Clearly,” said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching 
apprehensively. “The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no 
lower.” 
There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at 
Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spellbooks came 
thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, “Get him, Dad!” from Fred or George; 
Mrs. Weasley was shrieking, “No, Arthur, no!”; the crowd stampeded backward, knocking more 
shelves over; “Gentlemen, please — please!” cried the assistant, and then, louder than all — 
“Break it up, there, gents, break it up —” 
Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. 
Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the 
eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. 
He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice. 
“Here, girl — take your book — it’s the best your father can give you —” Pulling himself out of 
Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop. 
“Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,” said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he 
straightened his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no 
Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter — bad blood, that’s what it is — come on now — let’s get outta 
here.” 
The assistant looked as though he wanted to stop them leaving, but he barely came up to 
Hagrid’s waist and seemed to think better of it. They hurried up the street, the Grangers shaking 
with fright and Mrs. Weasley beside herself with fury. 
“A fine example to set for your children… brawling in public… what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve 
thought —” 
“He was pleased,” said Fred. “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that 
bloke from the Daily Prophet if he’d be able to work the fight into his report — said it was all 
publicity —” 
But it was a subdued group that headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, 
the Weasleys, and all their shopping would be traveling back to the Burrow using Floo powder. 
They said good-bye to the Grangers, who were leaving the pub for the Muggle street on the other 
side; Mr. Weasley started to ask them how bus stops worked, but stopped quickly at the look on 
Mrs. Weasley’s face. 

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Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo 
powder. It definitely wasn’t his favorite way to travel.