Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2 page)

      “You c-can’t — Dad told you you’re not to do m-magic — he said he’ll chuck you out of the house — and you haven’t got anywhere else to go — you haven’t got any friends to take you —”

      “Jiggery pokery!” said Harry in a fierce voice. “Hocus pocus — squiggly wiggly —”

      “MUUUUUUM!” howled Dudley, tripping over his feet as he dashed back toward the house. “MUUUUM! He’s doing you know what!”

      Harry paid dearly for his moment of fun. As neither Dudley nor the hedge was in any way hurt, Aunt Petunia knew he hadn’t really done magic, but he still had to duck as she aimed a heavy blow at his head with the soapy frying pan. Then she gave him work to do, with the promise he wouldn’t eat again until he’d finished.

      While Dudley lolled around watching and eating ice cream, Harry cleaned the windows, washed the car, mowed the lawn, trimmed the flowerbeds, pruned and watered the roses, and repainted the garden bench. The sun blazed overhead, burning the back of his neck. Harry knew he shouldn’t have risen to Dudley’s bait, but Dudley had said the very thing Harry had been thinking himself…maybe he didn’t have any friends at Hogwarts.…

     
Wish they could see famous Harry Potter now, he thought savagely as he spread manure on the flower beds, his back aching, sweat running down his face.

      It was half past seven in the evening when at last, exhausted, he heard Aunt Petunia calling him.

      “Get in here! And walk on the newspaper!”

      Harry moved gladly into the shade of the gleaming kitchen. On top of the fridge stood tonight’s pudding: a huge mound of whipped cream and sugared violets. A loin of roast pork was sizzling in the oven.

      “Eat quickly! The Masons will be here soon!” snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to two slices of bread and a lump of cheese on the kitchen table. She was already wearing a salmon-pink cocktail dress.

      Harry washed his hands and bolted down his pitiful supper. The moment he had finished, Aunt Petunia whisked away his plate. “Upstairs! Hurry!”

      As he passed the door to the living room, Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon and Dudley in bow ties and dinner jackets. He had only just reached the upstairs landing when the door bell rang and Uncle Vernon’s furious face appeared at the foot of the stairs.

      “Remember, boy — one sound —”

      Harry crossed to his bedroom on tiptoe slipped inside, closed the door, and turned to collapse on his bed. The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.

DOBBY’S WARNING

H
arry managed not to shout out, but it was a close thing. The little creature on the bed had large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls. Harry knew instantly that this was what had been watching him out of the garden hedge that morning.

      As they stared at each other, Harry heard Dudley’s voice from the hall.

      “May I take your coats, Mr. and Mrs. Mason?”

      The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Harry noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

      “Er — hello,” said Harry nervously.

      “Harry Potter!” said the creature in a high-pitched voice Harry was sure would carry down the stairs. “So long has Dobby wanted to meet you, sir…Such an honor it is.…”

      “Th-thank you,” said Harry, edging along the wall and sinking into his desk chair, next to Hedwig, who was asleep in her large cage. He wanted to ask, “What are you?” but thought it would sound too rude, so instead he said, “Who are you?”

      “Dobby, sir. Just Dobby. Dobby the house-elf,” said the creature.

      “Oh — really?” said Harry. “Er — I don’t want to be rude or anything, but — this isn’t a great time for me to have a house-elf in my bedroom.”

      Aunt Petunias high, false laugh sounded from the living room. The elf hung his head.

      “Not that I’m not pleased to meet you,” said Harry quickly, “but, er, is there any particular reason you’re here?”

      “Oh, yes, sir,” said Dobby earnestly. “Dobby has come to tell you, sir…it is difficult, sir…Dobby wonders where to begin.…”

      “Sit down,” said Harry politely, pointing at the bed.

      To his horror, the elf burst into tears — very noisy tears.

      “S-sit down!” he wailed. “Never …never ever…”

      Harry thought he heard the voices downstairs falter.

      “I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything —”

      “Offend Dobby!” choked the elf. “Dobby has never been asked to sit down by a wizard — like an equal —”

      Harry, trying to say “Shh!” and look comforting at the same time, ushered Dobby back onto the bed where he sat hiccoughing, looking like a large and very ugly doll. At last he managed to control himself, and sat with his great eyes fixed on Harry in an expression of watery adoration.

      “You can’t have met many decent wizards,” said Harry, trying to cheer him up.

      Dobby shook his head. Then, without warning, he leapt up and started banging his head furiously on the window, shouting, “Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

      “Don’t — what are you doing?” Harry hissed, springing up and pulling Dobby back onto the bed — Hedwig had woken up with a particularly loud screech and was beating her wings wildly against the bars of her cage.

      “Dobby had to punish himself, sir,” said the elf, who had gone slightly cross-eyed. “Dobby almost spoke ill of his family, sir.…”

      “Your family?”

      “The wizard family Dobby serves, sir.…Dobby is a house-elf — bound to serve one house and one family forever.…”

      “Do they know you’re here?” asked Harry curiously.

      Dobby shuddered.

      “Oh, no, sir, no…Dobby will have to punish himself most grievously for coming to see you, sir. Dobby will have to shut his ears in the oven door for this. If they ever knew, sir —”

      “But won’t they notice if you shut your ears in the oven door?”

      “Dobby doubts it, sir. Dobby is always having to punish himself for something, sir. They lets Dobby get on with it, sir. Sometimes they reminds me to do extra punishments.…”

      “But why don’t you leave? Escape?”

      “A house-elf must be set free, sir. And the family will never set Dobby free…Dobby will serve the family until he dies, sir.…”

      Harry stared.

      “And I thought I had it bad staying here for another four weeks,” he said. “This makes the Dursleys sound almost human. Can’t anyone help you? Can’t I?”

      Almost at once, Harry wished he hadn’t spoken. Dobby dissolved again into wails of gratitude.

      “Please,” Harry whispered frantically, “please be quiet. If the Dursleys hear anything, if they know you’re here —”

      “Harry Potter asks if he can help Dobby…Dobby has heard of your greatness, sir, but of your goodness, Dobby never knew.…”

      Harry, who was feeling distinctly hot in the face, said, “Whatever you’ve heard about my greatness is a load of rubbish. I’m not even top of my year at Hogwarts; that’s Hermione, she —”

      But he stopped quickly, because thinking about Hermione was painful.

      “Harry Potter is humble and modest,” said Dobby reverently, his orb-like eyes aglow. “Harry Potter speaks not of his triumph over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named —”

      “Voldemort?” said Harry.

      Dobby clapped his hands over his bat ears and moaned, “Ah, speak not the name, sir! Speak not the name!”

      “Sorry,” said Harry quickly. “I know lots of people don’t like it. My friend Ron —”

      He stopped again. Thinking about Ron was painful, too.

      Dobby leaned toward Harry, his eyes wide as headlights.

      “Dobby heard tell,” he said hoarsely, “that Harry Potter met the Dark Lord for a second time just weeks ago…that Harry Potter escaped yet again.”

      Harry nodded and Dobby’s eyes suddenly shone with tears.

      “Ah, sir,” he gasped, dabbing his face with a corner of the grubby pillowcase he was wearing. “Harry Potter is valiant and bold! He has braved so many dangers already! But Dobby has come to protect Harry Potter, to warn him, even if he does have to shut his ears in the oven door later.…Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.”

      There was a silence broken only by the chink of knives and forks from downstairs and the distant rumble of Uncle Vernon’s voice.

      “W-what?” Harry stammered. “But I’ve got to go back — term starts on September first. It’s all that’s keeping me going. You don’t know what it’s like here. I don’t belong here. I belong in your world — at Hogwarts.”

      “No, no, no,” squeaked Dobby, shaking his head so hard his ears flapped. “Harry Potter must stay where he is safe. He is too great, too good, to lose. If Harry Potter goes back to Hogwarts, he will be in mortal danger.”

      “Why?” said Harry in surprise.

      “There is a plot, Harry Potter. A plot to make most terrible things happen at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year,” whispered Dobby, suddenly trembling all over. “Dobby has known it for months, sir. Harry Potter must not put himself in peril. He is too important, sir!”

      “What terrible things?” said Harry at once. “Who’s plotting them?”

      Dobby made a funny choking noise and then banged his head frantically against the wall.

      “All right!” cried Harry, grabbing the elf’s arm to stop him. “You can’t tell me. I understand. But why are you warning me?” A sudden, unpleasant thought struck him. “Hang on — this hasn’t got anything to do with Vol- — sorry — with You-Know-Who, has it?
You could just shake or nod,” he added hastily as Dobby’s head tilted worryingly close to the wall again.

      Slowly, Dobby shook his head.

      “Not — not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, sir —”

      But Dobby’s eyes were wide and he seemed to be trying to give Harry a hint. Harry, however, was completely lost.

      “He hasn’t got a brother, has he?”

      Dobby shook his head, his eyes wider than ever.

      “Well then, I can’t think who else would have a chance of making horrible things happen at Hogwarts,” said Harry. “I mean, there’s Dumbledore, for one thing — you know who Dumbledore is, don’t you?”

      Dobby bowed his head.

      “Albus Dumbledore is the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, sir. Dobby has heard Dumbledore’s powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, sir” — Dobby’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper — “there are powers Dumbledore doesn’t…powers no decent wizard…”

      And before Harry could stop him, Dobby bounded off the bed, seized Harry’s desk lamp, and started beating himself around the head with earsplitting yelps.

      A sudden silence fell downstairs. Two seconds later Harry, heart thudding madly, heard Uncle Vernon coming into the hall, calling, “Dudley must have left his television on again, the little tyke!”

      “Quick! In the closet!” hissed Harry, stuffing Dobby in, shutting the door, and flinging himself onto the bed just as the door handle turned.

      “What — the — devil — are — you — doing?” said Uncle Vernon through gritted teeth, his face horribly close to Harry’s. “You’ve just ruined the punch line of my Japanese golfer joke.…One more sound and you’ll wish you’d never been born, boy!”

      He stomped flat-footed from the room.

      Shaking, Harry let Dobby out of the closet.

      “See what it’s like here?” he said. “See why I’ve got to go back to Hogwarts? It’s the only place I’ve got — well, I think I’ve got friends.”

      “Friends who don’t even write to Harry Potter?” said Dobby slyly.

      “I expect they’ve just been — wait a minute,” said Harry, frowning. “How do you know my friends haven’t been writing to me?”

      Dobby shuffled his feet.

      “Harry Potter mustn’t be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best —”

      “Have you been stopping my letters?”

      “Dobby has them here, sir,” said the elf. Stepping nimbly out of Harry’s reach, he pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Harry could make out Hermione’s neat writing, Ron’s untidy scrawl, and even a scribble that looked as though it was from the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid.

      Dobby blinked anxiously up at Harry.

      “Harry Potter mustn’t be angry.…Dobby hoped…if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him…Harry Potter might not want to go back to school, sir.…”

      Harry wasn’t listening. He made a grab for the letters, but Dobby jumped out of reach.

      “Harry Potter will have them, sir, if he gives Dobby his word that he will not return to Hogwarts. Ah, sir, this is a danger you must not face! Say you won’t go back, sir!”

      “No,” said Harry angrily. “Give me my friends’ letters!”

      “Then Harry Potter leaves Dobby no choice,” said the elf sadly.

      Before Harry could move, Dobby had darted to the bedroom door, pulled it open, and sprinted down the stairs.

      Mouth dry, stomach lurching, Harry sprang after him, trying not to make a sound. He jumped the last six steps, landing catlike on the hall carpet, looking around for Dobby. From the dining room he heard Uncle Vernon saying, “…tell Petunia that very funny story about those American plumbers, Mr. Mason. She’s been dying to hear…”

      Harry ran up the hall into the kitchen and felt his stomach disappear.

      Aunt Petunia’s masterpiece of a pudding, the mountain of cream and sugared violets, was floating up near the ceiling. On top of a cupboard in the corner crouched Dobby.

      “No,” croaked Harry. “Please…they’ll kill me.…”

      “Harry Potter must say he’s not going back to school —”

      “Dobby…please…”

      “Say it, sir —”

      “I can’t —”

      Dobby gave him a tragic look.