---
Chapter 32
While Malfoy wandered around Diagon Alley, Lucius was busy placing orders at the Quidditch Boutique. When he saw Draco take out a large stack of gold coins, he raised a brow in pleasant surprise.
"A flawless way to win people over. I imagine every Slytherin student will be grateful to you. Well done, child."
As for why Draco hadn't gone with him—well, the shop assistant Draco had swindled days ago was still working there. Best not to stir that up again.
Draco instead strolled into the Leaky Cauldron to pass the time. He ordered a drink that suited his particular taste and sipped it slowly. The loud shouts around him grated on his nerves—people slamming tables, yelling, swearing. They seemed to be gambling over cards.
Judging that enough time had passed, Draco tossed a few silver coins onto the greasy table and left for Flourish and Blotts, the place they'd agreed on.
Even from a distance, Draco saw a crowd spilling out of the shop, pressing forward to get inside. A huge banner hung above the entrance:
"Gilderoy Lockhart Autograph Signing!
Today, 12:30 – 4:30 PM."
Students weren't the only ones in line—middle-aged witches packed the area, practically vibrating with excitement.
As Draco drew closer, the crowd thickened. Lockhart sat at a signing table surrounded by giant, flashing photographs of himself. Each photo winked at the onlookers, dazzling them with perfect white teeth. The real Lockhart wore a long, forget-me-not-blue robe that matched his eyes exactly, with a pointed wizard hat tilted playfully over his neat blond hair.
A squat wizard was snapping pictures nonstop. With Lockhart's so-called legendary exploits and charming looks, the man was a darling of magazines and newspapers.
Suddenly, the crowd rippled with excitement.
Lockhart shot to his feet, beaming.
"Isn't this Harry Potter?"
The sea of people parted instantly. Lockhart practically lunged forward, grabbed Harry's arm, and dragged him to the front. Applause exploded. The photographer hammered the shutter so fast it sounded like he feared losing his job if he didn't capture every possible angle.
Lockhart enthusiastically handed Harry a full set of his books, then announced that he would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.
The reaction was deafening—especially from the women. Whether teenage girls or middle-aged witches, they stared at Lockhart as though he were a gift from Merlin himself. Handsome, rich, heroic adventures, and now a professor? Impossible not to swoon.
"Fans are insane no matter the world." Draco shook his head. He wasn't about to expose the walking embroidery cushion behind the persona; he had better things to do. Quietly, he squeezed through the masses, bought Lockhart's set of very-questionable autobiographies, and escaped the crowd.
Then he heard raised voices. A fight? Draco rushed toward the commotion.
A bookshelf had collapsed. Lucius was locked in a heated argument with a tall, flame-haired man—Arthur Weasley. Lucius mocked Arthur for having to use next month's allowance to buy books, and then for his poor character in general.
"For my peaceful school year… Father, you've probably ruined it," Draco sighed inwardly and walked over.
"Draco! Get over here at once. Stay away from them. I feel ashamed to breathe the same air," Lucius snapped as soon as he saw him. He was panting heavily. His usually immaculate platinum hair was disheveled, and one eye had swollen—clearly hit by a flying book.
Arthur didn't look much better; his lip was split.
Draco approached slowly.
"Father, didn't you always teach me to maintain my composure? Even if some people are unbearable, we can simply ignore them."
"Draco, some barbarians have recklessness in their blood. Ignore them and they'll still charge at you," Lucius growled.
"Father, did you buy this for me? It looks ancient. Some old wizard's memoirs?" Draco held up the battered book Lucius carried. The title was barely hanging on: A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration.
"We're not like certain families who only use secondhand things," Lucius sneered. "That's the little girl's textbook. Return it before they can't afford next month's living expenses. Maybe the Muggle couple next to them can lend them a few coins."
"Say that again!" Arthur roared, face turning red.
Lucius wisely shut his mouth.
Both sides were too angry to notice Draco discreetly slipping a small notebook out from between the book's pages.
Alright. Success. Maybe this year really will stay peaceful, he thought as he handed the book back to Ginny.
"Take good care of it. Who knows? It might become a Weasley family heirloom someday," Draco said with a cold smirk.
Ginny glared at him fiercely with bright brown eyes, clearly furious.
"Miss, I just helped you," he muttered awkwardly, unsure what expression to make.
"What happened here?" Lockhart's voice suddenly rang out. He stared at the toppled shelves in shock. "Lucius! Your eye!" he gasped. Lucius ignored him completely, picking up his snake-headed cane.
Then Lockhart spotted Harry again.
"Potter! Fate brings us together—I haven't even been away five minutes!"
Your talent for self-promotion is terrifying, Draco thought, trying not to laugh.
"I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding!" Lockhart declared loudly, already imagining tomorrow's headline:
"Gilderoy Lockhart Mediates Wizarding Conflict!"
Or something equally nauseating.
Neither Lucius nor Arthur acknowledged him, but Lockhart plowed ahead until he decided he had done enough. He instructed staff to clean up, then swept off to continue enchanting the women waiting for him.
Suddenly everything dimmed—not the sky, but because Hagrid arrived. His massive frame blocked the light, and his booming voice drowned out the crowd.
"All right, folks, move aside—move along!"
He strode forward.
"You shouldn't listen to him, Arthur," Hagrid said, straightening Mr. Weasley's robes with a massive hand (nearly lifting him off the ground). "That one's rotten to the core. And his kid's even worse." He nudged Harry. "Ain't I right, Harry?" Harry nodded. Ron nodded even harder.
"Draco, we're leaving," Lucius said stiffly as he limped toward the door. Apparently he had twisted his ankle too. The pampered aristocracy losing a scuffle to the working class—how very unsurprising.
"Yes, Father." Draco reached behind him automatically—only to grasp empty air.
His expression froze.
The diary was gone.
He'd placed it on the shelf behind him so Lucius wouldn't see him holding it. Now it had vanished.
This isn't wisdom. Whoever stole it might actually die using it, Draco thought grimly. Instead of relief, a headache bloomed. So much for a peaceful year.
The plot had slipped out of his control again. The first time had been with the troll—he'd saved Hermione and become the "sacrifice" instead. Now the diary that should have gone to Ginny had disappeared entirely.
He didn't know what butterfly effect he'd ignited this time.
I did this to myself, he admitted.
He slipped a yellowed piece of parchment from his pocket—the same twisted handwriting as before. He circled another entry. A new plan was forming.
"I really hope I never need this backup plan," he muttered to himself. "But if the time comes… I won't hesitate."
Determination hardened his face.
---
Inside the bookstore, Hermione stared blankly at the pages of a book, unable to read a single line. The scene earlier had stunned her. That elegant-looking man—Malfoy's father—had spoken with such venom. For the first time, she truly felt the malice a pure-blood wizard could have toward someone "Muggle-born." His cruel words had pierced her like needles.
She saw Draco again afterward. She wanted to greet him, to ask about the charms he'd written on that note, about the House Cup—but she couldn't speak. The Draco standing in front of her now and the Draco she knew at school felt like two completely different people.
Which one is the real him?
The question gnawed at her, leaving her more confused than ever.
"Hermione, we should go," her parents said. They needed to return to the Muggle street—they had no Floo Powder, so they had to leave early. After a quick goodbye to the Weasleys, the Grangers stepped out of the shop.
"What a shame. I wanted to ask them what a bus station looks like," Arthur muttered.
"You worry about yourself first!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, wiping the blood from his lip.
"I thought all wizards were as kind as the Weasleys," Mr. Granger said slowly as they walked. "But clearly that's not the case. That platinum-blond man… goodness."
Hermione nodded faintly, not really listening.
"The Floo Network is fascinating, though," Mr. Granger continued, eager to change the subject. "Wizarding life really is remarkable."
The Grangers, like Arthur Weasley in reverse, were open-minded and endlessly curious.
---