Harry Potter 02 - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire and threw the powder into the flames.
    With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, ‘Diagon Alley!’ and vanished.
    ‘You must speak clearly, dear,’ Mrs Weasley told Harry, as George dipped his hand into the flowerpot. ‘And mind you get out at the right grate …’
    ‘The right what?’ said Harry nervously, as the fire roared and whipped George out of sight too.
    ‘Well, there are an awful lot of wizard fires to choose from, you know, but as long as you’ve spoken clearly –’
    ‘He’ll be fine, Molly, don’t fuss,’ said Mr Weasley, helping himself to Floo powder too.
    ‘But dear, if he got lost, how would we ever explain to his aunt and uncle?’
    ‘They wouldn’t mind,’ Harry reassured her. ‘Dudley would think it was a brilliant joke if I got lost up a chimney, don’t worry about that.’
    ‘Well … all right … you go after Arthur,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘Now, when you get into the fire, say where you’re going –’
    ‘And keep your elbows tucked in,’ Ron advised.
    ‘And your eyes shut,’ said Mrs Weasley. ‘The soot –’
    ‘Don’t fidget,’ said Ron. ‘Or you might well fall out of the wrong fireplace –’
    ‘But don’t panic and get out too early, wait until you see Fred and George.’
    Trying hard to bear all this in mind, Harry took a pinch of Floo powder and walked to the edge of the fire. He took a deep breath, scattered the powder into the flames and stepped forward; the fire felt like a warm breeze; he opened his mouth and immediately swallowed a lot of hot ash.
    ‘D-Dia-gon Alley,’ he coughed.
    It felt as though he was being sucked down a giant plug hole. He seemed to be spinning very fast … the roaring in his ears was deafening … he tried to keep his eyes open but the whirl of green flames made him feel sick … something hard knocked his elbow and he tucked it in tightly, still spinning and spinning … now it felt as though cold hands were slapping his face … squinting through his glasses he saw a blurred stream of fireplaces and snatched glimpses of the rooms beyond … his bacon sandwiches were churning inside him … He closed his eyes again wishing it would stop, and then – he fell, face forward, onto cold stone and felt his glasses shatter.
    Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was quite alone, but where he was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop – but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list.
    A glass case nearby held a withered hand on a cushion, a blood-stained pack of cards and a staring glass eye. Evil-looking masks leered down from the walls, an assortment of human bones lay upon the counter and rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.
    The sooner he got out of here, the better. Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently towards the door, but before he’d got halfway towards it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass – and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was lost, covered in soot and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.
    Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors to, leaving a small crack to peer through. Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop.
    The man who followed could only be his father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold grey eyes. Mr Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, ‘Touch nothing, Draco.’
    Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, ‘I thought you were going to buy me a present.’
    ‘I said I would buy you a racing broom,’ said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.
    ‘What’s the good of that if I’m not in the house team?’ said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. ‘Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year. Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous … famous for having a