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Harry Potter and the Chamber of SecretsChapter 4 - Chez Fleury et Bott “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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“Famous Harry Potter,” said Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.”
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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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“If we’re not careful, we’ll have another Head Boy in the family. I don’t think I could stand the shame.”
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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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“A fine example to set for your children... brawling in public... what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought —” [Molly]
“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 —”
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“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 —”
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They took turns riding Harry’s Nimbus Two Thousand, which was easily the best broom; Ron’s old Shooting Star was often outstripped by passing butterflies.
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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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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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