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Harry Potter and the Chamber of SecretsChapter 4 - Chez Fleury et Bott “Where did you come out?” Ron asked.
“Knockturn Alley,” said Hagrid grimly.
“Excellent!” said Fred and George together.
“We’ve never been allowed in,” said Ron enviously.
“I should ruddy well think not,” growled Hagrid.
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Harry enjoyed the breakneck journey down to the Weasleys’ vault, but felt dreadful, far worse than he had in Knockturn Alley, when it was opened. There was a very small pile of silver Sickles inside, and just one gold Galleon. Mrs. Weasley felt right into the corners before sweeping the whole lot into her bag. Harry felt even worse when they reached his vault. He tried to block the contents from view as he hastily shoved handfuls of coins into a leather bag.
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In a tiny junk shop full of broken wands, lopsided brass scales, and old cloaks covered in potion stains they found Percy, deeply immersed in a small and deeply boring book called Prefects Who Gained Power.
“A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers,” Ron read
aloud off the back cover. “That sounds fascinating...”
“Go away,” Percy snapped.
“ ’Course, he’s very ambitious, Percy, he’s got it all planned out... He wants to be Minister of Magic ...” Ron told Harry and Hermione in an undertone as they left Percy to it.
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“Nice big smile, Harry,” said Lockhart, through his own gleaming
teeth. “Together, you and I are worth the front page.”
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“Famous Harry Potter,” said Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”
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“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend !”
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“Oh, it’s you,” said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. “Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”
“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.”
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“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.
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There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward 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 backward, 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 toward 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.
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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 —”
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