Harry Potter 02 - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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 amidst the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.
    ‘Obviously not,’ he 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 backwards 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 backwards, 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 towards 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 to 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 who headed back to the fireside in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry, the Weasleys and all their shopping would be travelling back to The Burrow using Floo powder. They said goodbye 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.
    Harry took off his glasses and put them safely in his pocket before helping himself to Floo powder. It definitely wasn’t his favourite way to travel.

 
— CHAPTER FIVE —
     
The Whomping Willow
    The end of the summer holidays came too quickly for Harry’s liking. He was looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts, but his month at The Burrow had been the happiest of his life. It was difficult not to feel jealous of Ron when he thought of the Dursleys and the sort of welcome he could expect next time he turned up in Privet Drive.
    On their last evening, Mrs Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner which included all of Harry’s favourite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed.
    It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at cock-crow, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills, people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands, and Mr Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny’s trunk to the