Originally, Hermione had planned to drag Harry and Ron along to queue up for Lockhart's book signing event, but Ron was vehemently against it.
"I don't want to have to see that ridiculous Lockhart's signature every time I open my textbook or borrow yours or Harry's to take notes!" Ron huffed.
"Gilderoy Lockhart is not ridiculous! He's an internationally renowned figure, a celebrated author, a recipient of the Order of Merlin, Third Class, and an honorary member of the Anti-Dark Arts League!" Hermione glared at Ron.
"Well, Harry here defeated You-Know-Who, the actual Dark Lord, and you don't see him running around handing out stupid autographs!" Ron shot back, his voice full of indignation as he looked across Harry at Hermione.
"I… you… that's—! You're absolutely impossible!" Hermione was momentarily at a loss for words. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to think of a comeback, but no perfect rebuttal came to mind. Frustrated, she grabbed Harry's right hand and stormed off. "Come on, Harry, let's go!"
"And why should Harry go with you?!" Ron grabbed hold of Harry's left hand.
The two of them started playing tug-of-war.
Harry, who had been standing peacefully in the middle, watching the argument unfold, was utterly dumbfounded. Wait a second—arguing is one thing, but why am I getting dragged into this?!
Just then, a high, drawling voice, dripping with arrogance and condescension, rang out in front of them.
"Oh, you must really enjoy this, don't you, Potter? Being fought over like some kind of prize. After all, ever since your dear parents died, you probably haven't had anyone who cared enough to do that, have you?"
Malfoy stood before them, hands in his pockets, a smirk of mockery plastered across his face.
Harry, who had just been enjoying some lighthearted fun with Hermione and Ron, turned his head toward Malfoy, his expression instantly turning to ice.
"Poor little Harry Potter," Malfoy sneered. "The great Boy Who Lived—and yet, in front of our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, all that glory of his means absolutely nothing. Look at him—standing here, surrounded by so many people, and yet all he has to rely on is…"
His gaze flicked to Hermione, who was glaring daggers at him, then, as if reconsidering his words, he turned his sneer toward Ron instead.
"…a Weasley who's so dirt poor he can't even afford a new wand. Hah! Tell me, Weasley, in order to scrape together enough money for this term's books, will your parents have to skip meals next month?"
Ron saw red. With a furious roar, he lunged at Malfoy.
But before his fist could land on Malfoy's face, a sleek, polished cane was suddenly pressed against his forehead.
"And what do you think you are, Weasley, to dare lay a hand on my son?"
A tall man with neatly combed pale blond hair and cold, steely gray eyes loomed over Ron, looking down at him with disdain. Lucius Malfoy's aristocratic face was ghostly pale, his posture haughty and imposing.
Hermione immediately pulled out her wand. Harry raised his left hand and drew his own wand as well.
"Lucius Malfoy!" A deep, furious voice roared through the crowd.
Mr. Weasley came charging forward like an enraged lion, barreling through the onlookers before tackling Lucius Malfoy to the ground. Books scattered everywhere as the two men crashed into the pile Harry and the others had set aside earlier, then rolled onto the floor, fists flying.
"YOU DARE POINT YOUR WAND AT MY SON?!"
The Weasley brothers had followed their father into the crowd and, seeing the fight break out, immediately started cheering him on.
As for Harry?
Well, he simply stood on the sidelines and—did nothing at all.
…Except, of course, for discreetly casting an Acceleration Charm on Mr. Weasley and Ron, doubling their movement speed for one minute (after which they would suffer six seconds of fatigue).
Other than that? Yep. Absolutely nothing.
"By Merlin's beard—WHAT ON EARTH ARE YOU ALL DOING?!"
Mrs. Weasley's voice cut through the chaos like a whip.
She had just finished getting Lockhart's autograph and was happily walking over with Ginny when she suddenly spotted her husband pinning Lucius Malfoy to the ground, his fists pounding down in a rapid blur.
And then there was Ron—mimicking his father's actions perfectly as he straddled Draco Malfoy and repeatedly slammed him into the floor.
Mouth agape, Mrs. Weasley looked from her husband to her son in utter shock.
Ginny, who had followed her mother, was so startled that she lost her grip on the cauldron she was carrying. It hit the ground with a loud clang, spilling a pile of old, tattered secondhand books across the floor.
In contrast to the neatly wrapped, pristine editions of Lockhart's works around them, Ginny's battered textbooks looked all the more pitiful.
The commotion had drawn an even larger crowd. Even the photographer, who had been busy snapping pictures of Lockhart, had turned his attention to the brawl.
One minute later, as Harry's Acceleration Charm wore off, both Mr. Weasley and Ron abruptly slowed down, their movements dragging as fatigue overtook them.
This finally gave the Malfoys—who had spent the past sixty seconds being thoroughly beaten into the floor—a chance to break free.
Lucius Malfoy, his face now swollen and bruised beyond recognition, staggered upright. Scowling, he bent down and picked up Ginny's Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, flipping through its tattered pages before letting out a disdainful sniff.
"Poor and pathetic, as always…"
He cast a cold glance at Mr. Weasley, who was still recovering from exhaustion, then turned his gaze to Mrs. Weasley, who had instinctively stepped forward to shield her children. Finally, he sneered at the two Muggle-borns watching from the sidelines.
"Hmph. Look at the company you choose to keep," he said, voice dripping with scorn. "Just when I thought the Weasleys had already hit rock bottom…"
Seeing that Mr. Weasley was about to get back on his feet, Lucius—now thoroughly resembling a swollen pig's head—hastily tossed Ginny's book back into her cauldron and turned on his heel, dragging Draco—also a pig-headed mess—out of the store.
Once the Malfoys had finally left, Harry followed Ron and the others, attempting to squeeze through the crowd to exit the bookstore.
But just as he was about to leave, a hand suddenly grabbed his arm.
At the same time, a familiar, overly cheerful voice chimed in beside him.
"Well, well, if it isn't Harry Potter?"
The crowd immediately parted, buzzing with excitement.
Lockhart swooped in, latching onto Harry's arm and pulling him forward. A wave of applause erupted from the audience.
Grinning, he held onto Harry's hand, ready for the photographer to capture the perfect shot. The short man behind the camera, having worked with Lockhart for years, instantly understood what was expected of him and began furiously snapping pictures.
Thick clouds of smoke from the flashbulbs drifted toward the Weasleys.
However, before Lockhart could launch into his usual self-praising monologue, Harry abruptly tightened his grip on the man's wrist—then twisted.
Lockhart let out a sharp hiss of pain, instinctively releasing his hold.
"Ah… Looks like our dear Savior isn't much of a fan of the spotlight, eh?" Lockhart chuckled, rubbing his wrist as he watched Harry walk away. Forcing a smile, he turned back to the crowd.
"But that's understandable! Who hasn't felt a little shy now and then? Even I wasn't born with this dazzling smile, you know~"
He flashed his pearly whites at the photographer before waving a hand to quiet the murmuring audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what an extraordinary moment this is! I would like to take advantage of this marvelous occasion to announce something small—a little matter that I've kept under wraps for some time now."
With a beaming smile, Gilderoy Lockhart gestured for his assistant to retrieve an entire set of books from the nearby stack and hand them to Harry Potter, who was just about to slip away from the crowd.
"The young and bashful Harry walked into Flourish and Blotts today simply intending to purchase my autobiography—and I am more than happy to gift him a copy, free of charge—"
A wave of enthusiastic applause swept through the bookstore.
"—but what he doesn't yet know," Lockhart continued, "is that soon he will receive something even more valuable than my humble work, Magical Me. In fact, he and his fellow students will have the privilege of experiencing a real, live, magical me! Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is with immense pleasure and pride that I announce—I will be joining Hogwarts this September as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor!"
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Meanwhile, Harry glanced at the two full sets of Gilderoy Lockhart's collected works now in his hands, sighed helplessly, and decided to pass one of them to Ginny later.
When Harry finally caught up with Ginny, she was standing beside Mrs. Weasley, who was busy dusting off her husband and sons while scolding them, particularly Mr. Weasley, who was getting quite the verbal lashing.
"Just look at the example you're setting for the children… brawling in public… what would Gilderoy Lockhart think…?"
"Oh, he was thrilled," Fred snorted. "When we left, that Lockhart bloke was actually asking the photographer if he could get the fight included in tomorrow's article… Said it would 'cause a sensation.'"
"Ginny, wait a second," Harry called out as she started to follow her mother. Ginny stopped in her tracks, turning back with her head lowered, sneaking a cautious glance at him.
"I remember you haven't bought your Defense Against the Dark Arts books yet. I've got an extra set, so I thought I'd give—"
Harry's words cut off abruptly. He had reached into Ginny's cauldron to retrieve her books, but as he sifted through them, he pulled out A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration—and from within its pages, a tattered, black-covered notebook slipped out.
His brows furrowed.
As soon as Harry touched the thin diary, he felt a strangely familiar magical resonance coursing through it—along with an undercurrent of malice, carefully concealed within. This thing… it was just like the Ravenclaw diadem. It was a Horcrux.
But why on earth was there a Horcrux inside Ginny's schoolbooks?
Without hesitation, Harry pulled Mr. and Mrs. Weasley aside and told them everything, briefly explaining just how dark and dangerous Horcruxes were.
Upon hearing that something so sinister had been slipped into his daughter's belongings, Mr. Weasley's face twisted with fury. He roared, "It must have been that filthy scum, Lucius Malfoy! That bastard dared to put such a dark artifact into my daughter's things?! I'll make him pay for this—I swear I will!"
Mrs. Weasley didn't say a word, but her expression was livid. She was too enraged to even speak.
As for Ginny, she remained utterly confused throughout the entire conversation. All she knew was that Harry had found something very dangerous among her books—but as for how dangerous, she had no idea.
By the time they returned to the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron, everyone had calmed down somewhat.
With their newly purchased school supplies in tow, they used Floo Powder to travel back to the Burrow. Harry and Hermione then packed up their things, preparing to head home for the remainder of the summer before returning to Hogwarts.
But before they could leave, there was one crucial matter to attend to—informing Dumbledore about the Horcrux.
The responsibility of delivering this urgent message fell to Hedwig, who accepted the task with great pride and dignity—though, in truth, there weren't many other options. The Weasleys only had two owls: one was so old it could barely fly, and the other had already been sent off by Percy on some mysterious errand, the details of which he refused to disclose.
As for Hermione, she hadn't bought an owl at all. Instead, she had chosen a large, ginger-colored cat.
The cat had a squashed face, as if it had once run headfirst into a brick wall, and a bushy tail that resembled an overgrown bottle brush.
According to Hermione, the shopkeeper had told her that this cat—named Crookshanks—had been in the store for quite some time, but because of his peculiar appearance, no one had wanted to buy him. Judging by the way Hermione doted on the cat, however, she seemed more than satisfied with her choice.
"His fur is rather splendid, don't you think?" she said happily.
Ron, on the other hand, was far from pleased. Ever since that monster of a cat had tried to pounce on his pet rat, Scabbers, Ron had taken an instant dislike to it.
Predictably, Crookshanks and Scabbers soon became the cause of yet another argument between Ron and Hermione.
And now, Ron was outright refusing to speak to her.
Even when Harry tried to mediate, their conversations still inevitably spiraled into bickering.
At precisely 5:03 in the afternoon, Dumbledore arrived at the Burrow's front door in a burst of fire, accompanied by his phoenix, Fawkes.
Taking the thin, black notebook from Harry's hands, the old wizard examined it carefully.
He tapped his wand over the diary, ensuring that there were no active curses or dangerous enchantments, then flipped it open. The moment he saw the name Tom Marvolo Riddle, a complex expression crossed his brilliant blue eyes.
As Dumbledore continued to study the book, Mr. Weasley—unable to contain himself—asked, "Professor Dumbledore, what's the verdict?"
"Arthur, this is indeed a Horcrux," Dumbledore sighed. "And yes, it is one of Voldemort's." He paused, his gaze growing even more solemn. "In fact, if I'm not mistaken, this may very well be the first Horcrux he ever created."
A wave of unease swept through the room.
Ginny, trembling like a frightened fawn, buried herself in Mrs. Weasley's embrace.
Though most of the group didn't fully understand what a Horcrux was, they did understand one thing—this was something created by You-Know-Who. That alone was enough to make their blood run cold.
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