Lockhart's gaze locked onto Harry's forehead.
"It can't be… Harry Potter!"
The photographer reacted instantly, elbowing through the crowd and dragging Harry to the front. Books were jostled, witches protested faintly, and Harry found himself thrust beside Lockhart before he could object.
"Nice big smile, Harry," Lockhart said brightly, throwing an arm around him. "Together, you and I are worth the front page!"
Harry did not smile. The camera flashed anyway.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Lockhart announced grandly. "When young Harry stepped into Flourish and Blotts this morning to purchase my autobiography, Magical Me — currently celebrating its twenty-seventh week atop the Daily Prophet bestseller list — he had no idea he would be leaving with my entire collected works…"
He piled the books into Harry's arms.
"…free of charge!"
The crowd erupted into applause. Hermione clapped eagerly. Mrs. Weasley beamed.
Harry staggered back toward them, half-buried under glossy portraits of Lockhart.
Ron watched the spectacle with open disbelief. "I don't understand why everyone lets him do that."
Victor's eyes remained on Lockhart, who was already adjusting his hair for another photograph.
"For once, Ron," Victor said smoothly, "your lack of discernment in matters of celebrity is working in your favor."
Ron frowned. "Was that supposed to be nice?"
Victor glanced at him. "Interpret it as you wish."
Harry walked back toward them with a distinctly sour look, clearly unimpressed at being used as part of someone else's spectacle.
Mrs. Weasley intercepted him at once.
"Harry, you give those to me, dear — I'll have them signed."
She gathered the stack of Lockhart's books from his arms and hurried back toward the signing table before Harry could object.
Victor studied Harry's expression.
"So," he asked quietly, "what do you think of him? Do you find him… pleasant?"
Harry didn't hesitate. "No."
A faint, approving curve touched Victor's lips. "Good. That makes two of us."
Hermione turned to him at once, brows knitting together. "Why? Do you hate him?"
The question carried genuine disbelief, as though disliking Gilderoy Lockhart required justification.
Victor's gaze drifted toward the front of the shop, where Lockhart was positioning himself carefully for another photograph, making sure the light caught his best angle.
"I don't hate him," Victor replied calmly. "I simply dislike illusions sold as substance."
Hermione frowned. "He's a brilliant writer."
"Perhaps," Victor said evenly. "But brilliance and truth are not always the same thing."
He glanced at her, expression unreadable.
"Trust me. I'm sparing you a rather painful second-hand embarrassment. When the truth comes out — and it will — you may regret ever admiring him."
Hermione still looked unconvinced when a familiar, cool voice cut through the noise of the shop.
Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, Draco close at his side.
Victor turned slightly.
Lucius's pale gaze swept the room, then settled on Harry.
"Mr. Potter," he said smoothly, extending a hand. "Lucius Malfoy. We meet at last."
Harry shook it stiffly.
Lucius leaned in just slightly, examining the lightning-shaped scar with open interest. "Your scar is legend. As, of course, is the wizard who gave it to you."
"Voldemort killed my parents," Harry replied firmly, pulling his hand back. "He was nothing more than a murderer."
A faint, dangerous smile touched Lucius's lips.
"How very brave," he murmured. "Or perhaps very foolish, to speak his name so freely."
"Father," Victor said quietly, stepping forward just enough to interrupt the tension, "this is hardly the place."
Lucius's gaze flicked to him — mildly displeased at being cut short — but he allowed it to pass. Instead, his attention shifted.
Red hair. Worn robes. Secondhand books spilling from a cauldron.
He plucked one of the battered textbook from Ginny's cauldron and turned it over with visible distaste.
"Let me see… red hair, vacant expressions… threadbare hand-me-downs. You must be the Weasleys."
At that moment, Arthur Weasley approached, face already tightening.
"Children," Mr. Weasley said briskly, "it's rather crowded in here. Let's step outside."
"Well, well, well," Lucius drawled. "Weasley senior."
"Lucius."
"Busy time at the Ministry, I hear. All those extra raids." Lucius glanced pointedly at the book in his hand. "I do hope they're paying you overtime. Though judging by the state of this, I rather doubt it. What's the use of being a disgrace in the name of wizard if they don't even pay you well for it?."
"We have very different ideas about what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy."
Lucius's smile thinned. "Clearly. Associating with Muggles. I would have thought your family had reached its limit — yet you continue to surprise me."
Victor's eyes flicked to the book still in his father's hand.
He knew what was coming.
Lucius casually slid the battered textbook back into Ginny's cauldron with practiced ease but now there is an extra book— too smooth to draw attention, too deliberate to be accidental.
"Victor," Lucius said coolly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It pains me to see you associating so freely."
He steered him away without raising his voice.
Victor allowed himself to be guided, but his thoughts remained on the cauldron behind them.
The diary had just entered play.
Hermione watched Lucius disappear into the crowd with Draco and Victor.
"Is he really Victor's father?" she asked quietly. "They're nothing alike."
Ron snorted, still glaring in the direction Lucius had gone.
"Didn't I tell you?" he said. "Malfoys are all like that. Shady lot. Always acting superior like the rest of us are dirt on their shoes."
Hermione frowned slightly, thoughtful rather than convinced. "Victor doesn't behave like that."
"Give him time," Ron muttered. "That's how they're raised."
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon, the story has already been updated up to Chapter 73🔥
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