"Do we have to go in there?" Ron groaned as we stood outside Flourish and Blotts.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a bookstore, not a dentist's office."
"I'm not convinced it's not both," I muttered.
From inside came the sound of camera flashes and a voice that could only be described as pompous dipped in honey: "Smile wider! Perfect! Now hold the book just under your chin—yes, just like that!"
"Who's that?" Harry asked, squinting into the bookstore. "Why is everyone acting like he's famous?"
Gilderoy Lockhart. Author. Poser. Walking cologne advertisement. And apparently today's main event.
We stepped in and were immediately blinded by camera flashes. Lockhart was mid-pose atop a stack of his own books, his teeth twinkling unnaturally in the enchanted lighting. The crowd was a mixed bag of swooning witches and dazed victims.
"Do my eyes deceive me?" Lockhart's voice rang out dramatically as he caught sight of Harry. "Is that young Harry Potter himself?"
Without waiting for confirmation, he bounded off his stack of books and made a beeline through the crowd. "Oh, this is perfect! Absolutely perfect! You and me, Mr. Potter—we're guaranteed to make the front cover now! Come along, come along, front and center!"
"He wants you for a photo," I said sympathetically. "You have my condolences."
Hermione looked torn between indignation and amusement.
"Come now, front and center!" Lockhart beckoned. "A perfect moment—just imagine it: the Boy Who Lived and me, Gilderoy Lockhart, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile! We'll make headlines by dinner!"
"Can you win that if you apply yourself?" I asked under my breath.
"Probably just needs a good dentist," Hermione said without missing a beat.
We stood awkwardly as Lockhart shoved several signed books into Harry's arms and proclaimed they were a gift. Harry looked like someone had just been handed a cake made of homework.
Meanwhile, I stepped aside, browsing titles. I reached the Defense section and frowned. The titles were bold, dramatic, and... deeply inaccurate.
Travels with Trolls.Gadding with Ghouls.Holidays with Hags.
I pulled one at random and flipped to a chapter. According to Lockhart, the proper way to defeat a werewolf was to throw lavender oil on its nose and sing a lullaby.
"This man's a danger to literacy," I said.
Hermione peeked over my shoulder. "I already knew it was this bad," she said with a sigh. "I read all his books over the summer in France. Every single one. I gave him the benefit of the doubt until you mentioned how unreliable he was as a source. After that, I went back through them with a quill and tore them to shreds—figuratively. I couldn't find a single consistent or verifiable method that hadn't been either grossly exaggerated or flat-out made up."
"He weaponized a spa day," I said, pointing to the werewolf chapter.
"We can't include any of this in the Neverending Guide."
"It would be criminal."
Behind us, the twins had taken to mocking Lockhart's poses with terrifying accuracy.
"Should we be worried?" Ron asked, watching Fred pout dramatically. "Mum's acting like she's meeting a rock star. If she faints, I'm not carrying her out of here."
"Only if Lockhart tries to lure her away into a secluded alley to run a train together" I muttered.
"Why would mum and Lockhart want to run a train together? and why in an alley?" Poor Ron asked.
cough cough "Sorry Ron, you weren't supposed to hear that." I said with a little embarrassment.
As we prepared to leave, Lucius Malfoy stepped from the crowd, Draco in tow. He spotted me instantly.
"Mr. Kingston," he said smoothly. "Might I have a word?"
I stepped forward, Hermione stiff beside me. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy."
He gestured for me to follow him a few steps away from the crowd. Once we were out of earshot, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small black diary.
"It's tradition," he said, "for pureblood families to gift journals to their heirs. But sometimes, exceptions must be made."
"How generous," I said evenly, taking it. Internally, every nerve screamed. But my hand didn't shake.
"I trust you'll find it useful."
"I'm sure it'll be... enlightening."
Behind me, Hermione gripped her bookbag tighter. Draco gave a sneer, but there was a flicker of confusion in his eyes. He wasn't in on it.
"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius inclined his head, then melted back into the crowd.
Hermione leaned close. "We're not keeping that, are we?"
"We're not using it," I replied. "Keeping it is a different matter."
"Sky—"
"Just tucking it away for now. I'll figure out what it is later—when I'm alone."
We left the bookstore with Lockhart still signing away and Lucius already gone, having vanished into the crowd as smoothly as he'd appeared. My fingers still itched from taking the diary—every instinct screamed that it was a trap wrapped in pureblood politeness. I didn't like how calm he had been. I didn't like how deliberate his words were. Most of all, I didn't like how he looked at me like I was a pawn in a chess game he thought he was winning.
I was furious. Behind my perfectly polite smile and soft tone, I was one second away from slamming that diary back into his smug face. That snake had handed me a Horcrux—one of Voldemort's soul anchors—and had the audacity to make it look like a gift. He was targeting me. Me.
I couldn't lash out. Not here. Not now. But oh, I was going to remember this.
Whatever this diary was, it wasn't a gift. It was a loaded gun left on my doorstep. And I planned to treat it like one.
....who should I shoot first?