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

Godric Gryffindor 
“Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat, Harry,” said Dumbledore simply. 
For a minute, neither of them spoke. Then Dumbledore pulled open one of the drawers in 
Professor McGonagall’s desk and took out a quill and a bottle of ink. 
“What you need, Harry, is some food and sleep. I suggest you go down to the feast, while I write 
to Azkaban —we need our gamekeeper back. And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily 
Prophet, too,” he added Thoughtfully. “We’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts 
teacher… Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?” 
Harry got up and crossed to the door. He had just reached for the handle, however, when the 
door burst open so violently that it bounced back off the wall. 
Lucius Malfoy stood there, fury in his face. And cowering behind his legs, heavily wrapped in 
bandages, was Dobby. 
“Good evening, Lucius,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. 
Mr. Malfoy almost knocked Harry over as he swept into the room. Dobby went scurrying in after 
him, crouching at the hem of his cloak, a look of abject terror on his face. 
The elf was carrying a stained rag with which he was attempting to finish cleaning Mr. Malfoys 
shoes. Apparently Mr. Malfoy had set out in a great hurry, for not only were his shoes half-
polished, but his usually sleek hair was disheveled. Ignoring the elf bobbing apologetically 
around his ankles, he fixed his cold eyes upon Dumbledore. 

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“So!” he said “You’ve come back. The governors suspended you, but you still saw fit to return to 
Hogwarts.” 
“Well, you see, Lucius,” said Dumbledore, smiling serenely, “the other eleven governors 
contacted me today. It was something like being caught in a hailstorm of owls, to tell the truth. 
They’d heard that Arthur Weasleys daughter had been killed and wanted me back here at once. 
They seemed to think I was the best man for the job after all. Very strange tales they told me, 
too… Several of them seemed to think that you had threatened to curse their families if they 
didn’t agree to suspend me in the first place.” 
Mr. Malfoy went even paler than usual, but his eyes were still slits of fury. 
“So — have you stopped the attacks yet?” he sneered. “Have you caught the culprit?” 
“We have,” said Dumbledore, with a smile. 
“Well?” said Mr. Malfoy sharply. “Who is it?” 
“The same person as last time, Lucius,” said Dumbledore. “But this time, Lord Voldemort was 
acting through somebody else. By means of this diary.” 
He held up the small black book with the large hole through the center, watching Mr. Malfoy 
closely. Harry, however, was watching Dobby. 
The elf was doing something very odd. His great eyes fixed meaningfully on Harry, he kept 
pointing at the diary, then at Mr. Malfoy, and then hitting himself hard on the head with his fist. 
“I see…” said Mr. Malfoy slowly to Dumbledore. 
“A clever plan,” said Dumbledore in a level voice, still staring Mr. Malfoy straight in the eye. 
“Because if Harry here —” Mr. Malfoy shot Harry a swift, sharp look “and his friend Ron hadn’t 
discovered this book, why — Ginny Weasley might have taken all the blame. No one would ever 
have been able to prove she hadn’t acted of her own free will…” 
Mr. Malfoy said nothing. His face was suddenly masklike. 
“And imagine,” Dumbledore went on, “what might have happened then… The Weasleys are one 
of our most prominent pure-blood families. Imagine the effect on Arthur Weasley and his 
Muggle Protection Act, if his own daughter was discovered attacking and — killing Muggle-
borns… Very fortunate the diary was discovered, and Riddle’s memories wiped from it. Who 
knows what the consequences might have been otherwise…” 
Mr. Malfoy forced himself to speak. 
“Very fortunate,” he said stiffly. 

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And still, behind his back, Dobby was pointing, first to the diary, then to Lucius Malfoy, then 
punching himself in the head. 
And Harry suddenly understood. He nodded at Dobby, and Dobby backed into a corner, now 
twisting his ears in punishment. 
“Don’t you want to know how Ginny got hold of that diary, Mr. Malfoy?” said Harry. 
Lucius Malfoy rounded on him. 
“How should I know how the stupid little girl got hold of it?” he said. 
“Because you gave it to her,” said Harry. “In Flourish and Blotts. You picked up her old 
Transfiguration book and slipped the diary inside it, didn’t you?” 
He saw Mr. Malfoy’s white hands clench and unclench. 
“Prove it,” he hissed. 
“Oh, no one will be able to do that,” said Dumbledore, smiling at Harry. “Not now that Riddle 
has vanished from the book. On the other hand, I would advise you, Lucius, not to go giving out 
any more of Lord Voldemort’s old school things. If any more of them find their way into 
innocent hands, I think Arthur Weasley, for one, will make sure they are traced back to you…” 
Lucius Malfoy stood for a moment, and Harry distinctly saw his right hand twitch as though he 
was longing to reach for his wand. Instead, he turned to his house-elf. “We’re going, Dobby!” 
He wrenched open the door and as the elf came hurrying up to him, he kicked him right through 
it. They could hear Dobby squealing with pain all the way along the corridor. Harry stood for a 
moment, thinking hard. Then it came to him — 
“Professor Dumbledore,” he said hurriedly. “Can I give that diary back to Mr. Malfoy, please?” 
“Certainly, Harry,” said Dumbledore calmly. “But hurry. The feast, remember…” Harry grabbed 
the diary and dashed out of the office. He could hear Dobby’s squeals of pain receding around 
the corner. Quickly, wondering if this plan could possibly work, Harry took off one of his shoes, 
pulled off his slimy, filthy sock, and stuffed the diary into it. Then he ran down the dark corridor. 
He caught up with them at the top of the stairs. 
“Mr. Malfoy,” he gasped, skidding to a halt, “I’ve got something for you —” 
And he forced the smelly sock into Lucius Malfoy’s hand. 
“What the —?” 

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Mr. Malfoy ripped the sock off the diary, threw it aside, then looked furiously from the ruined 
book to Harry. “You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry 
Potter,” he said softly. “They were meddlesome fools, too.” 
He turned to go. 
“Come, Dobby. I said, come.” 
But Dobby didn’t move. He was holding up Harry’s disgusting, slimy sock, and looking at it as 
though it were a priceless treasure. 
“Master has given a sock,” said the elf in wonderment. “Master gave it to Dobby.” 
“What’s that?” spat Mr. Malfoy. “What did you say?” 
“Got a sock,” said Dobby in disbelief. “Master threw it, and Dobby caught it, and Dobby — 
Dobby is free.” 
Lucius Malfoy stood frozen, staring at the elf then he lunged at Harry. 
“You’ve lost me my servant, boy!” 
But Dobby shouted, “You shall not harm Harry Potter!” 
There was a loud bang, and Mr. Malfoy was thrown backward. He crashed down the stairs, three 
at a time, landing in a crumpled heap on the landing below. He got up, his face livid, and pulled 
out his wand, but Dobby raised a long, threatening finger. 
“You shall go now,” he said fiercely, pointing down at Mr. Malfoy. “You shall not touch Harry 
Potter. You shall go now.” 
Lucius Malfoy had no choice. With a last, incensed stare at the pair of them, he swung his cloak 
around him and hurried out of sight. 
“Harry Potter freed Dobby!” said the elf shrilly, gazing up at Harry, moonlight from the nearest 
window reflected in his orb-like eyes. “Harry Potter set Dobby free!” 
“Least I could do, Dobby,” said Harry, grinning. “Just promise never to try and save my life 
again.” 
The elf’s ugly brown face split suddenly into a wide, toothy smile. 
“I’ve just got one question, Dobby,” said Harry as Dobby pulled on Harry’s sock with shaking 
hands. “You told me all this had nothing to do with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, remember? 
Well —” 

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“It was a clue, sir,” said Dobby, his eyes widening, as though this was obvious. “Was giving you 
a clue. The Dark Lord, before he changed his name, could be freely named, you see?” 
“Right,” said Harry weakly. “Well, I’d better go. There’s a feast, and my friend Hermione should 
be awake by now…” 
Dobby threw his arms around Harry’s middle and hugged him. 
“Harry Potter is greater by far than Dobby knew!” he sobbed. “Farewell, Harry Potter!” 
And with a final loud crack, Dobby disappeared. 
Harry had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their 
pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Harry didn’t know whether the best bit was 
Hermione running toward him, screaming “You solved it! You solved it!” or Justin hurrying 
over from the Hufflepuff table to wring. his hand and apologize endlessly for suspecting him, or 
Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they 
were knocked into their plates of trifle, or his and Ron’s four hundred points for Gryffindor 
securing the House Cup for the second year running, or Professor McGonagall standing up to tell 
them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat (“Oh, no!” said Hermione), or 
Dumbledore announcing that, unfortunately, Professor Lockhart would be unable to return next 
year, owing to the fact that he needed to go away and get his memory back. Quite a few of the 
teachers joined in the cheering that greeted this news. 
“Shame,” said Ron, helping himself to a jam doughnut. “He has starting to grow on me.” 
The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal 
with only a few, small differences — Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled (“but 
we’ve had plenty of practice at that anyway,” Ron told a disgruntled Hermione) and Lucius 
Malfoy had been sacked as a school governor. Draco was no longer strutting around the school 
as though he owned the place. On the contrary, he looked resentful and sulky. On the other hand, 
Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again. 
Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Harry, Ron, Hermione, 
Fred, George, and Ginny got a compartment to themselves. They made the most of the last few 
hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, 
set off the very last of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each 
other by magic. Harry was getting very good at it. 
They were almost at King’s Cross when Harry remembered something. 
“Ginny – what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?” 
“Oh, that,” said Ginny, giggling. “Well — Percy’s got a girlfriend.” Fred dropped a stack of 
books on George’s head. 

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“What?” 
“It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” said Ginny. “That’s who he was writing to 
all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing 
in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was — you know — attacked. You 
won’t tease him, will you?” she added anxiously. 
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early. 
“Definitely not,” said George, sniggering. 
The Hogwarts Express slowed and finally stopped. 
Harry pulled out his quill and a bit of parchment and turned to Ron and Hermione. 
“This is called a telephone number,” he told Ron, scribbling it twice, tearing the parchment in 
two, and handing it to them. “I told your dad how to use a telephone last summer — he’ll know. 
Call me at the Dursleys’, okay? I can’t stand another two months with only Dudley to talk to…” 
“Your aunt and uncle will be proud, though, won’t they?” said Hermione as they got off the train 
and joined the crowd thronging toward the enchanted barrier. “When they hear what you did this 
year?” 
“Proud?” said Harry. “Are you crazy? All those times I could’ve died, and I didn’t manage it? 
They’ll be furious…” 
And together they walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world. 

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