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Malfoy strolled casually along Diagon Alley while Lucius handled an order at the Quality Quidditch Supplies shop. Earlier that morning, when Lucius had seen the pile of Galleons his son brought out, he'd been pleasantly surprised and remarked, "Perfect for buying people's loyalty. I believe every Slytherin student will be grateful to you. Well done, my son."
As for why Lucius didn't accompany him into the shop—well, that was because he'd scammed one of the clerks a few days earlier and preferred not to show his face again.
Left to his own devices, Malfoy decided to spend the time at the Leaky Cauldron. He ordered a drink to his taste and sipped it slowly, but the loud voices nearby soon grated on him. A few wizards were shouting, slamming the table, and swearing as they gambled over cards. Their rowdiness ruined any chance of quiet.
When he judged that enough time had passed, Malfoy tossed a few silver Sickles onto the greasy table, stood up, and made his way toward Flourish and Blotts, where he was supposed to meet his father.
Before he reached the bookstore, he saw a large crowd gathered outside. A banner hung from the second floor read:
"Gilderoy Lockhart: Book Signing and Autograph Session – Today, 12:30 to 4:30 p.m."
The crowd included both students and a surprising number of middle-aged witches, most of them flushed with excitement. Malfoy squeezed closer, spotting Lockhart sitting behind a table surrounded by enormous photos of himself. The moving portraits winked at the audience, flashing perfect, dazzling smiles. The real Lockhart wore a robe of forget-me-not blue that matched his eyes, and his curly hair peeked stylishly out from under a pointed wizard's hat.
A short wizard was busily taking pictures of him. Clearly, Lockhart's combination of handsome looks and supposed heroic adventures made him the darling of every magazine in the wizarding world.
Suddenly, a commotion rippled through the crowd. Lockhart jumped to his feet, exclaiming, "Isn't that Harry Potter?"
The spectators parted immediately as Lockhart dashed forward, grabbed Harry by the arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, while the photographer clicked away frantically—as if each extra shot meant a higher paycheck.
Lockhart presented Harry with a complete set of his books and, seizing the opportunity, announced grandly that he would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts this year. The crowd's excitement exploded once again. Most of the female onlookers, young and old alike, gazed at him with near-religious adoration. Handsome, wealthy, charming—and now a professor—Lockhart seemed to embody every fantasy they had.
Malfoy merely shook his head. "Brain-dead fans exist in every world," he muttered. He had no intention of exposing Lockhart's self-absorbed fraudulence; he wasn't that idle. He squeezed his way through the crowd, bought the full set of Lockhart's so-called "autobiographies," which were more like embellished adventure tales than real textbooks, and turned to leave.
Just then, a loud argument broke out near the back of the shop. Curious, Malfoy headed toward the noise and saw that a row of bookshelves had collapsed. Lucius was in a heated quarrel with a red-haired man—Arthur Weasley—mocking him for spending next month's living expenses on books and ridiculing his poor character.
Great, Malfoy sighed inwardly. So much for a peaceful school year. Father's plan will fall apart at this rate.
He approached, trying to look calm.
"Draco, come here. Stay away from them—I feel ashamed to breathe the same air," Lucius snapped when he spotted him. He was panting slightly, his usually sleek platinum hair disheveled and one eye swollen—apparently from being struck by a book.
Arthur didn't look much better; his lip was bleeding. The two men glared at each other, both seething.
"Father," Malfoy said quietly, "didn't you always tell me to remain composed at all times? Even if others are intolerable, we can simply ignore them, can't we?"
Lucius gave a venomous snort. "Draco, some barbarians are born reckless. Ignore them, and they'll still go out of their way to offend you."
Malfoy eyed the worn-out book in his father's hand. "Father, is that for me? It's awfully shabby. What is it—some old wizard's musings?" He reached out and read the faded title: A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
Lucius sneered. "We're not like certain families who use hand-me-downs for generations. That book belongs to that little girl over there." He nodded toward a young red-haired witch—Ginny Weasley. "You should return it quickly, or their family might not be able to afford next month's meals. Perhaps the Muggles next to them can lend them a few coins."
"Say that again!" Arthur roared, his face crimson with fury.
Lucius turned away, his expression cold but silent. He knew exactly when to stop.
No one noticed that while Lucius and Arthur exchanged insults, Draco discreetly slipped a small black notebook from the old textbook. There, he thought. That should guarantee me a peaceful year.
He handed the book back to Ginny with a sneer. "Better take good care of it—this might become a Weasley family heirloom someday."
Ginny glared at him, her brown eyes burning with indignation.
"Honestly, girl, I'm helping you," Draco muttered under his breath, uncertain how to respond to her anger.
At that moment, Gilderoy Lockhart came bustling over, his face frozen in an exaggerated expression of shock. "Heavens, what happened here?" he cried. "Lucius! Your eye!"
Lucius ignored him, silently picking up his snake-headed cane. His sharp gaze soon found Harry again. "Potter," he drawled, "we meet again. Not even five minutes apart, was it?"
Malfoy stifled a laugh. Your skill at self-promotion is truly unmatched, Father.
Lockhart, sensing tension but eager for attention, tried to mediate. "Gentlemen, surely this is all a misunderstanding," he said brightly, already picturing tomorrow's headlines:
Lockhart Teaches Wizards Conflict Resolution!
or maybe
How Lockhart's Charm Heals Broken Relationships!
Unfortunately, neither side appreciated his "help." When both Lucius and Arthur stayed silent, Lockhart simply chuckled, instructed the clerk to clean up the mess, and sauntered back to his table—ready to resume dazzling his fanbase.
Suddenly, the light dimmed. It wasn't sunset—the crowd had simply been overshadowed by Hagrid's massive frame as he approached.
"Stand back, gentlemen, stand back!" Hagrid's booming voice filled the store.
He stepped forward and clapped a hand on Arthur's shoulder, nearly lifting him off his feet. "You shouldn't waste breath on him, Arthur. That one's rotten to the core—and his kid's sneakier than a Niffler." He nudged Harry with a thick arm. "Right, Harry?"
Harry nodded earnestly, and Ron added a vigorous nod of agreement.
"Draco, let's go," Lucius said curtly, leaning on his cane as he limped toward the door. His injuries were minor, but his pride had taken the worst blow. It's normal, Draco thought dryly, that an upper-class wizard wouldn't stand a chance in a brawl with a working-class father of seven.
"Yes, Father," he replied.
As he turned to follow, Draco reached behind him toward the shelf where he'd briefly hidden the small black notebook—only to find the spot empty.
His heart sank. What? It's gone?
He hadn't dared hold the diary in plain sight; Lucius would have noticed, and others might have grown suspicious. So he'd tucked it discreetly onto the shelf, intending to retrieve it before leaving. But now it had vanished.
This isn't just any book—it's dangerous. He swallowed hard. Whoever took it might be in serious trouble… or cause it.
A headache pulsed behind his eyes. Great. Another disaster waiting to happen.
The first time the story had gone off-script was with the troll—when he'd saved Hermione and inadvertently changed the entire course of events. Now the diary, which was supposed to end up with Ginny, had slipped from his control completely.
He sighed. So much for using my foreknowledge to make things easier this year. Instead, I've lit a fuse that could explode at any moment.
"Serves me right," he muttered to himself. "I'll have to take precautions."
In the busy street outside, he pulled a folded, yellowed sheet of parchment from his pocket—the same one covered in distorted, cryptic writing. With a resigned expression, he circled another line of text.
"I really hope I never need this backup plan," he whispered, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "But if the time comes… I won't hesitate."
Back inside the bookstore, Hermione stood frozen, staring blankly at an open book. She couldn't read a single word. The confrontation she'd just witnessed left her shaken. The elegant, aristocratic man she'd assumed was merely strict turned out to be cruel and venomous. For the first time, she truly felt the sting of prejudice from a pure-blood wizard toward a Muggle-born. His words had pierced her like knives.
Then she caught sight of Draco again. She wanted to greet him, to ask about the strange spell and note he'd once given her, and about the House Cup—but when she met his eyes, the words died in her throat. The boy before her felt entirely different from the one she'd spoken to at school. There was something distant, unfamiliar—almost cold—about him.
Which version of him is real? she wondered helplessly. The one who helped me that night, or the one who smirks at others' pain?
Her heart ached with confusion, and no answer came.
"Hermione, we should be going," said Mr. and Mrs. Granger. They had to return to the Muggle world by train, since they didn't own Floo Powder. After saying brief goodbyes to the Weasleys, the Grangers stepped out of the shop and back onto the cobbled street.
"What a pity," Arthur Weasley sighed, rubbing his bruised lip. "I wanted to ask them more about Muggle trains."
"You should worry about your own bruises first!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief.
"I thought all wizards would be as kind as the Weasleys," Mr. Granger said as they walked. "But that blond man—honestly, what an unpleasant fellow."
Hermione nodded absently, barely hearing him. Her thoughts were elsewhere—on the silver-haired boy who seemed to exist between two worlds.
Mr. Granger, sensing her silence, tried to lighten the mood. "Still, I'm quite fascinated by that Floo Network they mentioned. Imagine traveling by fireplace! The wizarding world really is extraordinary."
Mrs. Granger smiled faintly. "It certainly is."
They were, after all, an open-minded couple—curious about the magical world even after glimpsing its darker side.
End of Chapter 32: The Missing Diary
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