And suddenly, their wardrobes were empty, their trunks were packed, Neville’s toad was found lurking in a corner of the toilets; notes were handed out to all students, warning them not to use magic over the holidays (“I always hope they’ll forget to give us these,” said Fred Weasley sadly); Hagrid was there to take them down to the fleet of boats that sailed across the lake; they were boarding the Hogwarts Express; talking and laughing as the countryside became greener and tidier; eating Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans as they sped past Muggle towns; pulling off their wizard robes and putting on jackets and coats; pulling into platform nine and three-quarters at King’s Cross station.
It took quite a while for them all to get off the platform. A wizened old guard was up by the ticket barrier, letting them go through the gate in twos and threes so they didn’t attract attention by all bursting out of a solid wall at once and alarming the Muggles.
“You must come and stay this summer,” said Ron, “both of you — I’ll send you an owl.”
“Thanks,” said Harry, “I’ll need something to look forward to.”
People jostled them as they moved forward toward the gateway back to the Muggle world. Some of them called:
“Bye, Harry!”
“See you, Potter!”
“Still famous,” said Ron, grinning at him.
“Not where I’m going, I promise you,” said Harry.
He, Ron, and Hermione passed through the gateway together.
“There he is, Mum, there he is, look!”
It was Ginny Weasley, Ron’s younger sister, but she wasn’t pointing at Ron.
“Harry Potter!” she squealed. “Look, Mum! I can see —”
“Be quiet, Ginny, and it’s rude to point.”
Mrs. Weasley smiled down at them.
“Busy year?” she said.
“Very,” said Harry. “Thanks for the fudge and the sweater, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Oh, it was nothing, dear.”
“Ready, are you?”
It was Uncle Vernon, still purple-faced, still mustached, still looking furious at the nerve of Harry, carrying an owl in a cage in a station full of ordinary people. Behind him stood Aunt Petunia and Dudley, looking terrified at the very sight of Harry.
“You must be Harry’s family!” said Mrs. Weasley.
“In a manner of speaking,” said Uncle Vernon. “Hurry up, boy, we haven’t got all day.” He walked away.
Harry hung back for a last word with Ron and Hermione.
“See you over the summer, then.”
“Hope you have — er — a good holiday,” said Hermione, looking uncertainly after Uncle Vernon, shocked that anyone could be so unpleasant.
“Oh, I will,” said Harry, and they were surprised at the grin that was spreading over his face. “They don’t know we’re not allowed to use magic at home. I’m going to have a lot of fun with Dudley this summer. . . .”
Text copyright ? 1997 by J.K. Rowling.
Cover illustration by Olly Moss ? Pottermore Limited 2015
Interior illustrations by Mary GrandPré ? 1998 by Warner Bros.
Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of and ? Warner Bros. Ent.
Harry Potter Publishing Rights ? J.K. Rowling.
This digital edition first published by Pottermore Limited in 2015
Published in print in the U.S.A. by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.
ISBN 978-1-78110-647-1
FOR SEáN P. F. HARRIS,
GETAWAY DRIVER AND FOUL-WEATHER FRIEND
CONTENTS
ONE
The Worst Birthday
TWO
Dobby’s Warning
THREE
The Burrow
FOUR
At Flourish and Blotts
FIVE
The Whomping Willow
SIX
Gilderoy Lockhart
SEVEN
Mudbloods and Murmurs
EIGHT
The Deathday Party
NINE
The Writing on the Wall
TEN
The Rogue Bludger
ELEVEN
The Dueling Club
TWELVE
The Polyjuice Potion
THIRTEEN
The Very Secret Diary
FOURTEEN
Cornelius Fudge
FIFTEEN
Aragog
SIXTEEN
The Chamber of Secrets
SEVENTEEN
The Heir of Slytherin
EIGHTEEN
Dobby’s Reward
CHAPTER ONE
THE WORST BIRTHDAY
Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four, Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry’s room.
“Third time this week!” he roared across the table. “If you can’t control that owl, it’ll have to go!”
Harry tried, yet again, to explain.
“She’s bored,” he said. “She’s used to flying around outside. If I could just let her out at night —”
“Do I look stupid?” snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy mustache. “I know what’ll happen if that owl’s let out.”
He exchanged dark looks with his wife, Petunia.
Harry tried to argue back but his words were drowned by a long, loud belch from the Dursleys’ son, Dudley.
“I want more bacon.”
“There’s more in the frying pan, sweetums,” said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. “We must build you up while we’ve got the chance. . . . I don’t like the sound of that school food. . . .”
“Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings,” said Uncle Vernon heartily. “Dudley gets enough, don’t you, son?”
Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Harry.
“Pass the frying pan.”
“You’ve forgotten the magic word,” said Harry irritably.
The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Mrs. Dursley gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Mr. Dursley jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.
“I meant ‘please’!” said Harry quickly. “I didn’t mean —”
“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU,” thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table, “ABOUT SAYING THE ‘M’ WORD IN OUR HOUSE?”
“But I —”
“HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!” roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.
“I just —”
“I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!”
Harry stared from his purple-faced uncle to his pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.