Speaker 1: USU Studious. Hello there, welcome back. I'm so glad you're here.
Speaker 1: To night. This is Muggle Snuggle, a boring Harry Potter
Speaker 1: podcast to make you sleep. I'm Nigel, and to night
Speaker 1: we begin a brand new book, Harry Potter and the
Speaker 1: Chamber of Secrets. Just close your eyes and let me
Speaker 1: take you there. Now where were we last time? Harry
Speaker 1: had finished his first year at Hogwarts. He had faced
Speaker 1: a troll, survived a deadly game of quidditch, and discovered
Speaker 1: something about the mirror of heires that he kept tucked
Speaker 1: away in his heart. Then he went back to the
Speaker 1: Dursleys for the summer. Back to privet drive, back to
Speaker 1: the cupboard under the stairs. Well almost back to the cupboard.
Speaker 1: Uncle Vernon had actually given Harry a real bedroom. Now,
Speaker 1: not out of kindness, out of fear. Harry had threatened
Speaker 1: to hex Dudley's pig tail off if things didn't improve,
Speaker 1: and Uncle Vernon, trembling behind his mustache, had agreed to
Speaker 1: let Harry sleep in the spare room. And that is
Speaker 1: where we find Harry now on a hot summer night,
Speaker 1: the last night of July, his birthday. Let your mind
Speaker 1: wander to that little room the bed with the thin sheets,
Speaker 1: rumpled and warm from the heat. The wall paper faded
Speaker 1: yellow with little flowers printed on it, flowers that looked
Speaker 1: tired and droopy, as if they too wanted to be
Speaker 1: somewhere else. The desk by the window stacked high with
Speaker 1: Dudley's old home work that Harry had been forced to
Speaker 1: copy out by hand, and the window opened just a crack,
Speaker 1: letting in the water warm night air that smelled of
Speaker 1: cut grass and the faintest hint of the distant sea.
Speaker 1: Harry ly there in the dark, staring at the ceiling.
Speaker 1: He counted the days until he could go back to Hogworks,
Speaker 1: that wonderful place that felt more like home than this
Speaker 1: house ever had. But tonight there would be no birthday ache,
Speaker 1: no cards, no presents. The Dursleys did not celebrate Harry's birthday.
Speaker 1: They barely acknowledged he existed at all. To them, Harry
Speaker 1: was a burden, a nuisance, a strange boy who had
Speaker 1: been dumped on their doorstep as a baby, and who
Speaker 1: refused to behave normally. Harry rolled on to his side
Speaker 1: and stared at the wall. On it hung a row
Speaker 1: of faded photographs, not real people, of course, just the
Speaker 1: flowers in his bedroom at Hogwas. He had managed to
Speaker 1: make them bloom using magic, a little spell from her
Speaker 1: bology class that Professor Sprout had taught them, And now
Speaker 1: they sat in their frames on the wall, swaying gently
Speaker 1: in a breeze that wasn't there. He missed those flowers.
Speaker 1: He missed everything about Awkwards, the great Hall with its
Speaker 1: thousand floating candles and its enchanted ceiling, the common room
Speaker 1: with its crackling fire and its squashy arm chairs, Hagrid's
Speaker 1: hut with its warmth and the smell of something always
Speaker 1: cooking on the fire, even the cold stone corridors. At night,
Speaker 1: when the only sounds were his own footsteps and the distant,
Speaker 1: sleepy murmur of the portraits on the walls, he was
Speaker 1: so deep and thought that he didn't hear the footsteps
Speaker 1: on the stairs, not until the door burst open and
Speaker 1: a shape filled the doorway. It was Uncle Varnon. His
Speaker 1: purple face was already turning down, his mustache twitched with irritation.
Speaker 1: His small, piggy eyes darted around the room, checking for
Speaker 1: anything that might look unusual. No glowing books, no floating feathers,
Speaker 1: just a perfectly ordinary perfectly miserable bedroom dinners in ten minutes,
Speaker 1: he growled, And I want you to be quiet. The
Speaker 1: Masons are coming. They're very important people. If you so
Speaker 1: much as breathe the wrong way, I'll lock you in
Speaker 1: that cupboard so fast your head spins. Harrison nothing, He'd
Speaker 1: just watched as Uncle Vernon's eyes narrowed, as if trying
Speaker 1: to find something to complain about, but unable to find it.
Speaker 1: Then Uncle Vernon grunted, apparently satisfied, and left. Harry heard
Speaker 1: him stomping back down the stairs. Then the distant clatter
Speaker 1: of plates, the squeak of the china cabinet being opened,
Speaker 1: the murmur of Aunt Petunia giving instructions about which glass
Speaker 1: is to you. The Dursleys were getting ready for their
Speaker 1: dinner party, the Masons. Mister Mason was some kind of
Speaker 1: business man who would with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia
Speaker 1: had been planning this evening for weeks. She had polished
Speaker 1: the silver, she had eye in the tablecloth twice. She
Speaker 1: had even made a cake, a proper cake with layers
Speaker 1: of sponge and cream and fresh strawberries on top. Not
Speaker 1: for Harry, of course, the cake was for the Masons.
Speaker 1: There would be fancy food and polished silver and Aunt
Speaker 1: Petunia's famous lemon drizzle cake. There would be laughter that
Speaker 1: was too loud and smiles that were too wide, and
Speaker 1: all of it would happen while Harry sat in his
Speaker 1: room pretending not to exist. Harry sat up and looked
Speaker 1: at the desk. On it sat a pile of Dudley's
Speaker 1: old homework. Aunt Petunia had made him copy it out
Speaker 1: by hand, all the essays and worksheets that Dudley had
Speaker 1: never bothered to do. He was supposed to keep him busy,
Speaker 1: keep him quiet, keep him invisible. Harry stared at the
Speaker 1: pile and sighed. Then he reached for his wand he
Speaker 1: couldn't help it. He just missed it. The weight of
Speaker 1: the wood in his hand, the smooth, worn surface where
Speaker 1: his fingers had held it a thousand times, the way
Speaker 1: it felt when he pointed it at something and whispered
Speaker 1: a spell, and the whole world seemed to tilt just slightly,
Speaker 1: as if acknowledging that something extraordinary had just happened. He
Speaker 1: picked up a beetle that had crawled on to the
Speaker 1: desk and nudged it with his warned tip wing guardium leviosa,
Speaker 1: he whispered. The beetle floated gently into the air, turning slowly,
Speaker 1: its legs dangling in the empty space. Harry smiled. It
Speaker 1: was a tiny thing, a tiny wonderful thing that reminded
Speaker 1: him that magic was real, that it belonged to him,
Speaker 1: that somewhere out there, Hogwarts was waiting. He let the
Speaker 1: beetle drift back down to the desk and set his
Speaker 1: wand back in its hiding place, a gap ning, a
Speaker 1: loose board in the wall, stuffed with socks to muffle it.
Speaker 1: Not exactly a proper wand holster, but it would do.
Speaker 1: Then he heard something, not from downstairs, not from the garden,
Speaker 1: from inside his own bedroom, A small, squeaky sound, like
Speaker 1: a hiccup or a sob, very faint, almost too faint
Speaker 1: to hear, but in the silence of that small room
Speaker 1: it was as clear as a bell. Harry turned slowly,
Speaker 1: his heart beating a little faster, and there, sitting on
Speaker 1: his bedside table, was the most peculiar thing he had
Speaker 1: ever seen, and he had seen quite a few peculiar
Speaker 1: things this year. It was a small creature, no bigger
Speaker 1: than a foot tall. It adn enormous bat like ears
Speaker 1: that stuck out from its head like wings. Its eyes
Speaker 1: were enormous and green, like a cat's, and they filled
Speaker 1: most of its wrinkled face. It was wearing a pillowcase,
Speaker 1: a clean white pillowcase, tied at the waist with a
Speaker 1: piece of string. It was staring at Harry with an
Speaker 1: expression of absolute devoted adoration. Harry Potter, it whispered. Its
Speaker 1: voice was high and squeaky, like a mouse. But there
Speaker 1: was something deeper underneath it, something old and tired and
Speaker 1: desperately sad. Harry Potter, Sir, Harry stared at it for
Speaker 1: a long moment. The creature stared back, its lower lip
Speaker 1: trembling er said Harry, Hello. The creature burst into tears.
Speaker 1: It was quite extraordinary. The tears rolled down its wrinkled
Speaker 1: cheeks and splashed onto the pillowcase. Its enormous ears flapped,
Speaker 1: Its whole body shook with sobs. The sound was high
Speaker 1: and thin, like a kettle just beginning to whistle. Harry Potter,
Speaker 1: It wailed, Dobby has come to see Harry Potter at last.
Speaker 1: Dobby has heard so much about Harry Potter, Sir, so much,
Speaker 1: the most wonderful wizard. The kindest heart, and Dobby. It
Speaker 1: broke off into another fit of weeping, burying its face
Speaker 1: in the pillowcase. Its shoulders heaved, its ears flopped forward
Speaker 1: over its face. Harry looked around the room, hoping for
Speaker 1: someone else to appear, but there was no one, just
Speaker 1: him and the crying creature, Dobby. Harry said, softly, is
Speaker 1: that your name? The creature looked up, its huge eyes
Speaker 1: glistening Dobby, Sir, Dobby is a house else, Sir, and Dobby.
Speaker 1: Dobby has come to warn Harry Potter. Warn me. Harry
Speaker 1: sat up straighter, pulling his knees toward it. Chest warned
Speaker 1: me about what Dobby's ears flattened against its head. It
Speaker 1: looked genuinely terrified. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.
Speaker 1: The words hanginging air like a cold mist. Outside, a
Speaker 1: car engine rumbled past on Privet Drive. Somewhere in the distance,
Speaker 1: a dog barked. The curtains stirred in the warm breeze
Speaker 1: from the window. But inside that small bedroom everything was
Speaker 1: very quiet. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts.
Speaker 1: Dobby repeated its voice, barely above a whisper. There is
Speaker 1: a plot, sir, A terrible plot to make most terrible
Speaker 1: things happen. At Hogwarts, Harry felt a chill run down
Speaker 1: his spine. Despite the warm summer night, despite the open window,
Speaker 1: despite everything, he felt cold, the kind of cold that
Speaker 1: comes from inside, from the pit of your stomach. What
Speaker 1: kind of plot, Harry asked, But Dobby just shook its head,
Speaker 1: its face crumpling again. Dobby cannot tell, Sir Dobby. Dobby
Speaker 1: has said too much already. Dobby is a house elf.
Speaker 1: Dobby is bound to serve. But Doarby could not let
Speaker 1: Harry Potter go back. Without warning, the creature reached behind
Speaker 1: its ear and pulled out a small, square object. Harry blinked.
Speaker 1: It was a sock, a dirty, ragged sock with a
Speaker 1: hole in the heel and a faint smell that suggested
Speaker 1: it had been worn many times before being washed, which
Speaker 1: it probably hadn't been. Dorby wrought Harry Potter a present,
Speaker 1: Dobby said, holding it out with trembling hands. Its eyes
Speaker 1: were shining with hope and fear all mixed together. Harry
Speaker 1: took it more out of surprise than anything else. It
Speaker 1: was a very old sock, very worn. It had clearly
Speaker 1: been mended many times. The fabric patched with different colored thread.
Speaker 1: Dobby knew, Sir, Dobby said, wiping its eyes with the
Speaker 1: corner of its pillowcase. Dobby knew that Harry Potter did
Speaker 1: not have a proper birthday present this year. Harry looked
Speaker 1: at the sock, then back at the small creature. Something
Speaker 1: about this was both deeply sad and deeply strange. A
Speaker 1: house elf he had never met had sneaked into his
Speaker 1: bedroom on his birthday to bring him a sock, a
Speaker 1: sock that probably belonged to someone else, a sock that was,
Speaker 1: by any reasonable standard, a terrible gift. But Dobby had
Speaker 1: given it with such hope, such genuine affection, that Harry
Speaker 1: felt something warm and tender in his chest. Thank you,
Speaker 1: Harry said, because he didn't know what else to say.
Speaker 1: That's that's very kind of you, Dobby. Dobby's face lit
Speaker 1: up like a small lantern. Harry Potter is so kind, Sir,
Speaker 1: so kind. Dobby will remember this forever. Then the creature's
Speaker 1: expression darkened again, its ears up, its eyes grew rat
Speaker 1: once more, per persing. But Harry Potter must promise, promise
Speaker 1: not to go back to Hogwarts. Harry shook his head
Speaker 1: I can't promise that Hogwarts is. It's my home, It's
Speaker 1: the only place I've ever belonged. Dobby let out a
Speaker 1: moan so loud and so piteous that Harry leaped out
Speaker 1: of bed and clapped his hand over the creature's mouth.
Speaker 1: Its skin was warm and slightly damp, and it smelled
Speaker 1: faintly of something metallic. Dobby, he hissed, sh they'll hear you.
Speaker 1: He could hear movement downstairs, the clink of glasses, Aunt
Speaker 1: Petunia's sharp voice giving orders about the soup. Uncle Vernon's
Speaker 1: deep laugh, the kind he saved for important guests. Dobby's
Speaker 1: enormous eyes stared up at Harry in gratitude, Then very gently,
Speaker 1: it wriggled free. Dobby is sorry, sir. Doppy did not
Speaker 1: mean to shout. It looked at Harry with such sorrow
Speaker 1: that Harry felt something twist in his chest. Harry Potter
Speaker 1: is the only one who has ever been kind to Dobby.
Speaker 1: What do you mean, Harry asked, sitting back on the bed.
Speaker 1: Dorby serves a wizard family, Sir, the Malfoys. The word
Speaker 1: came out like a curse, like something foul tasting. Doppy's
Speaker 1: whole body shuddered. Master is a dark wizard, sir, very powerful,
Speaker 1: But Dobby is bound house Elves cannot leave, they cannot disobey.
Speaker 1: They can only try, try what try to save Harry
Speaker 1: Potter from going back to hogwartsu The plot, sir, The
Speaker 1: plot is terrible, and Harry Potter is in danger. Harry
Speaker 1: knelt down so he was closer to Dobby's level. Can
Speaker 1: you tell me anything more? Just a little? Dobby's lips
Speaker 1: moved as if fighting with itself. Its hands twisted, the
Speaker 1: fabric of its pillow case. Its whole body tensed. Then
Speaker 1: in a whisper so faint Harry could barely hear it.
Speaker 1: The Chamber of Secrets is going to be opened. The
Speaker 1: words made no sense to Harry. The Chamber of secrets.
Speaker 1: He had never heard of it. He looked at Dbby,
Speaker 1: hoping for more, but Dobby shook its head violently. No more, Sir,
Speaker 1: Darby has said too much. Dubby must go. But please, sir,
Speaker 1: please do not go back, for your own safety. And then,
Speaker 1: with a faint parped up it was golm vanished into
Speaker 1: thin air, leaving behind nothing but the faint impression of
Speaker 1: a pillow case, the echo of those terrible words and
Speaker 1: a small crumpled sock lying on the bedside table. Harry
Speaker 1: stood in the middle of his room, Hart pounding the
Speaker 1: chamber of secrets? What was the chamber of secrets? Who
Speaker 1: were the Malfoyse? What was Dobby trying to protect him from?
Speaker 1: He sat back down on the bed. His mind raced.
Speaker 1: He thought about the howler he had received from Ron
Speaker 1: that morning. Ron's mother, Molly Weasley, had sent it in
Speaker 1: a red envelope. When Harry opened it, her voice had
Speaker 1: echoed through the entire house like a fog horn. Dear
Speaker 1: Rung told, how dare you steal that car? I am
Speaker 1: absolutely disgusted. Your father is facing an inquiry at work,
Speaker 1: and it is entirely your fault. If you put another
Speaker 1: toe out of line, I will send you home by
Speaker 1: owl mail. Vernon had heard, of course, Vernon had heard.
Speaker 1: The howler had practically shaken the house. Vernon had snatched
Speaker 1: it from Harry's hands and torn it to pieces, his
Speaker 1: face going the color of a plum. Harry had felt
Speaker 1: a stab of guilt. Poor missus Weesley. She had been
Speaker 1: so worried about Ron that she had sent the howler
Speaker 1: without waiting to hear his side of the story, But
Speaker 1: underneath the guilt, Harry had felt something else, a warmth.
Speaker 1: Missus Wesley cared enough to write. The Dursleys didn't care
Speaker 1: enough to ask. He thought about writing back to Ron
Speaker 1: to tell him about Darby, about the warning about the
Speaker 1: Chamber of Secrets, but he didn't have an owl Headwig
Speaker 1: was in her cage downstairs, probably asleep, and Harry didn't
Speaker 1: dare risk going down to get her, not with the
Speaker 1: Masons arriving any minute. So he lay back on his
Speaker 1: pillow and stared at the ceiling. The sounds of the
Speaker 1: Dursley's dinner party drifted up through the floor. Laughter, the
Speaker 1: clink of cutlery had Petunia's voice smooth and welcoming, the
Speaker 1: way she only sounded when important people were watching. Harry
Speaker 1: pulled the thin sheet over himself and closed his eyes.
Speaker 1: The warm night air drifted through the window, carrying the
Speaker 1: scent of the garden, the roses that on Petunia tended
Speaker 1: so carefully, the honeysuckle climbing the fence, and somewhere far away,
Speaker 1: an owl called a long, slow note that faded into
Speaker 1: the darkness like a sigh. Harry let the sound wash
Speaker 1: over him like water. He thought about Hogwards, the moving
Speaker 1: staircases that shifted and groaned, changing destinations without warning, The
Speaker 1: portrait halls that whispered and laughed as you tried to
Speaker 1: climb through them, the ghosts drifting through the walls, transparent
Speaker 1: and shimmering trailing mists like wedding veils. He thought about
Speaker 1: the Great Hall with its enchanted ceiling that showed whatever
Speaker 1: the sky was doing outside. On clear nights, you could
Speaker 1: see the star round. Rainy nights, clouds drifted overhead, and
Speaker 1: drops of water fell through the ceiling and vanished just
Speaker 1: before they reached your head. He thought about Hagrid, probably
Speaker 1: feeding buckbeak in his hut right now, or trying to
Speaker 1: hatch some new months from a forbidden egg. He thought
Speaker 1: about Neville, probably losing his towed traver again, searching under
Speaker 1: every cushion in the Briffin Door dormitory. He thought about Hermione,
Speaker 1: already back in the Muggle world, probably reading every book
Speaker 1: she could get her hands on before term started. She
Speaker 1: had probably finished the summer reading list three times over
Speaker 1: by now. And he thought about ron Ron, who had
Speaker 1: sent him the most extraordinary birthday gift, a sweater with
Speaker 1: a big orange ar on it, knitted by missus Wesley herself.
Speaker 1: Harry touched his chest, remembering the soft wool against his skin.
Speaker 1: I was folded in his trunk, now packed and ready
Speaker 1: for the journey back to Hogwarts, the Chamber of Secrets.
Speaker 1: He would find out what it was. He would ask Dumbledore,
Speaker 1: he would ask McGonagall, he would ask any one who knew.
Speaker 1: Because Doarby's warning, as frightening as it was, had only
Speaker 1: made Harry more determined to go back. He could not
Speaker 1: stay here, not at the Dursley's, not in this cold,
Speaker 1: quiet house when the boy wanted him. Hogwarts was his home,
Speaker 1: and he was going back. The sounds of the dinner
Speaker 1: party faded, the footsteps on the stairs grew lighter. The
Speaker 1: lights creaped off one by one, until the whole house
Speaker 1: was dark. Harry lay in the silence, listening to his
Speaker 1: own breathing, slow, steady, in and out, in and out,
Speaker 1: each bather little slower than the last. The warm night
Speaker 1: wrapped around him like a blanket. The distant hum of
Speaker 1: the town settled into stillness, and slowly, gently, Harry's thoughts
Speaker 1: began to drift like clouds across a summer sky. He
Speaker 1: thought of the sorting hat, sitting on its stool in
Speaker 1: the Great Hall. He thought of the way it had
Speaker 1: whispered inside his head, not slitherin, not slitherin? But why not?
Speaker 1: What was slytherin? And why had the hat wanted to
Speaker 1: put in there? He thought of the quidditch pitch soaring
Speaker 1: through the clouds, the wind in his hair, the golden
Speaker 1: flash of the snatch, tiny and bright against the gray sky,
Speaker 1: the feeling of catching it, of winning, of the whole
Speaker 1: crowd roaring his name. He thought of the chest pieces
Speaker 1: clicking and clattering across the board, Ran sitting in the dark,
Speaker 1: guiding his pieces with fierce concentration, sacrificing himself so Harry
Speaker 1: and Hermione could move forward. He thought of the mirror
Speaker 1: of Airy Said, and the family he had seen standing
Speaker 1: behind him, his mother and father, their faces smiling, their
Speaker 1: hands reaching for him. The warmth of knowing that somewhere,
Speaker 1: somehow they were watching over him. And somewhere in those thoughts,
Speaker 1: in those soft, drifting memories, Harry fell asleep. The room
Speaker 1: was quiet, the night was warm, and on the bedside
Speaker 1: table where Dobby had been sitting, there was nothing left
Speaker 1: but a small crumpled sock. Just close your eyes. There
Speaker 1: is no rush we have all night. Let your mind
Speaker 1: drift to Hawkwartz, where the towers are glowing in the moonlight,
Speaker 1: and the owls are settling into their purchase, Where the
Speaker 1: common room fire is crackling softly, and the portraits are
Speaker 1: snoring in their frames. Where the womping willow is swaying
Speaker 1: gently in the night breeze, and the black lake is
Speaker 1: still and dark and silent. Harkwartz is waiting, and Harry,
Speaker 1: he's going back. Good night.