Shopping took far longer than I’d expected. Potter had only ever worn his cousin’s cast-offs and hadn’t a clue about clothes. He didn’t even know what he wanted. Fortunately, Madam Malkin knew her stuff. After asking a few questions, she quickly pulled together everything he needed and even gave him a catalogue so he could order more later if needed.

Next stop was The Dancing Heel for shoes. That took some time too, though at least you didn’t have to try on every pair—wizarding shoes adjusted themselves to your size.

After that, we dashed about picking up missing potion ingredients and got held up in the stationery shop for a bit. I kept my purchases to the bare minimum this year. There wasn’t much money to go around; Fred and George needed new Quidditch gear, Percy got new robes and clothes, and Ginny—well, she needed an entire wardrobe from scratch.

It’s no wonder Ron felt so bitter about being poor. As the youngest of six brothers, he was the one who bore the brunt of it. This year, I’d have to make do with robes that were a bit short in the sleeves, but I decided to save my money. I was growing fast, anyway. One year in ill-fitting robes wouldn’t kill me.

While in the stationery shop, I picked out a lovely pink journal for Ginny with an embossed fairy on the cover. For Luna, I bought a phoenix feather quill holder that looked like a carved wooden mouthpiece adorned with stones and beads. I also picked up a magical hairbrush and some enchanted hair ties for her. Yeah, I could’ve sold the phoenix feather for three Galleons to Ollivander, but selling gifts from magical creatures didn’t feel right.

Harry gave me a curious look when I nipped into The Fashionable Witch and came out with a few enchanted hair clips for Ginny and Luna. By the time we were done, we’d missed the excitement entirely.

When we reached Flourish and Blotts, the door swung open to reveal Hagrid, who was dragging a scowling Lucius Malfoy and a flustered Arthur behind him.

“Calm yourselves, the lot of you,” Hagrid rumbled, shaking both men by the scruffs of their robes like a couple of unruly kids. He let them go reluctantly. “Honestly, you’re worse than first-years.” He shook his head, muttered something about grown men behaving like children, and squeezed back inside the shop.

Malfoy straightened up, trying to look dignified, though the shiner under his eye ruined the effect. Moments later, Draco emerged, looking rather disheveled, as though he’d fought his way through a crowd to get outside. He glanced at us briefly, his face a mix of embarrassment and disdain, before sauntering over to his father. Without a word, Lucius turned, and the two of them swept off down the street.

“Ah, Ron, Harry, you missed the best bit!” Dad called us over, looking like a kid who’d just pulled off the best prank of his life. There was a nasty split on his lip, but his eyes were gleaming with pride. He’d probably been dreaming of this moment for years. Before he could start boasting, Mum stormed over, her face like thunder.

“What a disgrace, Arthur!” she hissed, ignoring us completely. “What kind of example are you setting for the children?”

“Er… I’ll just nip inside to get the textbooks,” Harry muttered to me before slipping away into the shop.

“And what do you think Gilderoy Lockhart will make of this?” Mum went on, her voice a mix of horror and exasperation. Dad, meanwhile, looked entirely unrepentant, though he was doing his best to look contrite.

“Actually, Mum, Lockhart was so pleased he signed our books personally,” George chimed in.

“Yeah, and he told the reporter to make sure the fight got into the article—it’ll boost his popularity, he said,” added Fred.

“What? Let me see those,” Mum exclaimed, snatching the books and forgetting all about Dad. Her face softened as she noticed the grand flourish of Lockhart’s signature. “Oh, how marvellous! What a generous man. You’d best take care of these books, you lot. If you so much as tear a page…”

But before she could go on, Dad sneezed. Mum’s gaze snapped back to him, her eyes narrowing. She clearly remembered she wasn’t done telling him off. Poor bloke probably would’ve copped it right then and there if Hermione hadn’t appeared with her parents. Ginny followed shortly after, with Harry trailing behind, looking a bit red-faced and out of sorts.

“Here, Ginny,” Harry said, sounding slightly out of breath. He handed Dad a stack of books. “Lockhart gave me these, but I already bought my own.”

“Oh, Harry, dear, you’re so thoughtful!” Mum beamed, pulling him into a hug. Ginny flushed bright red, mumbling her thanks under her breath. Not that anyone could hear her over Mum’s enthusiastic praise.

“Shall we get going?” Dad suggested, spotting Percy making his way toward us. “We’re blocking the doorway.”

Everyone perked up at that and set off noisily up the street. Harry fell into step beside me, muttering under his breath about how Lockhart had made him pose for pictures.

Of course, any plans for a cafe stop were abandoned. The Grangers looked thoroughly rattled and eager to leave. Even Dad couldn’t salvage the conversation—it all fizzled out into awkward silence.

At The Leaky Cauldron, we said our goodbyes to Hermione and her parents, then Flooed back home.

The rest of the holidays passed in good spirits. The fight was soon forgotten, though Mum kept the paper where it was reported as a keepsake.

Lockhart spun the story to make it sound like Dad and Malfoy had come to blows over one of his signed books, which Harry had supposedly already claimed. The part where Malfoy landed a hit didn’t make it into the paper, but the shot of Dad walloping him with a massive tome did. Mum might’ve pretended to be cross with Dad, but I reckon deep down, she was proud of her Gryffindor lion.

That same evening, after dinner, I grabbed the gifts and headed to Ginny’s room.

“Is that you, Ron? Come in,” she said with a warm smile, stepping aside to let me in. “Did you need something?”

“Just wanted to congratulate my little sister on getting into Hogwarts,” I grinned and pulled out the bag. “Here, enjoy.”

Ginny eagerly tore off the wrapping and froze, staring at the contents in awe. Her eyes lit up with gratitude, and she let out an excited squeal before throwing her arms around me. She didn’t linger on the hug, though, quickly diving into the bag to examine her gifts. Out of nowhere, she pulled a glittery silver feather quill with fluffy pink plumage tucked inside the spine of a book—I hadn’t even noticed it was there.

“Thank you, Ron!” she gushed, flipping through pages filled with some girly moving illustrations. “This is my favourite—Fairy Ollinsa from The Magical Adventures comic! How did you know I love her?”

“Well, you’re my only sister, aren’t you? Who else would know what you like?” I lied smoothly. No way I’d admit to just asking the shopkeeper what was trending with girls and buying whatever they recommended.

“Thanks, Ron. I’ve been saving up for this journal, but I didn’t have enough—a whole Galleon! And these clips are so pretty.”

“By the way, Ginny,” I cut in before her thanks overwhelmed me, “you wouldn’t happen to have seen my journal, would you? It’s black, a bit worn. I bought it but reckon it ended up in your cauldron by mistake. Could you have a look?”

“Sure,” she nodded eagerly, pointing at a chair by the window. “I haven’t unpacked it yet.”

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Exactly what I was counting on, I thought as I rummaged through her schoolbooks.

“Is this it?” Ginny asked, handing me a soft black notebook with silver filigree corners on the cover.

“That’s the one,” I confirmed after spotting the owner’s initials embossed on the back. “Cheers.”

“Sorry, Ron,” she suddenly sniffled, burying her face in my shirt. “You had to buy yourself a second-hand one because of me.”

“Oi, what’s all this about?” I asked, taken aback. “Think about it—why’d I need a brand-new notebook for jotting down formulas? I’ll only use it for a year, then buy another one. Don’t cry, Gin.”

On my way back to my room, I kept thinking about her. Ginny really was a sensitive and kind-hearted girl. It seemed poverty got to her in its own way too, even though, outwardly, it looked like she didn’t go without. Still, it must be tough on a girl, always settling for what’s cheaper, even if it’s new. Lucky I’m a bloke, and not twelve anymore. Still, I couldn’t help wondering—where did all our family’s money go?

I stashed the journal in my school bag for now—it had protective runes, so no one would nick it—but I didn’t fancy lugging it around.

I’d moved Scabbers into Charlie’s old room the day before—no one used it anyway. If the diary was a Horcrux, I didn’t want Wormtail sniffing around. He had the Dark Mark, so who knew what he might sense? Plus, I didn’t want him eavesdropping on my chats with Harry, especially when he kept bringing up the Philosopher’s Stone and You-Know-Who.

It was three days before I finally got around to the journal. I’d come home early on purpose—Harry, the twins, and Ginny had already gone off to the beach, Dad was at work, and Mum was busy with her own tasks, leaving me undisturbed.

What can I say? For starters, it wasn’t Muggle-made. The paper was enchanted parchment, and the leather cover was magical too, even though it’d been bought in a Muggle stationer’s shop on Vauxhall Road in London. How’d a magical item end up there? Maybe during the war, they sold them off like at a car boot sale? Anyway, it didn’t matter now.

Second, there was no dark magic about it. None at all. It felt like a magical artefact, sure, but nothing sinister. After years of training with Luna and being around her house, I’d gotten good at sensing that sort of thing. How else would I manage “the Path”?

And there weren’t any enchantments or curses on it either—just an ordinary notebook. Maybe it would activate if someone wrote in it? Still, I couldn’t figure out if it was a Horcrux or just a charmed trinket. Either way, I decided not to take any risks. I’d ask Luna when she got back if she knew how to hide something magical so no one could find it. Destroying it wasn’t an option yet, so I’d need to sort that too.

A week later, Harry gave me a right shock. I came home from work to find him in bed in the middle of the day—his leg in a splint. Apparently, he’d taken a tumble off his bike and broken it. Good thing it happened near home; the twins saw him fall, and Dad, who had the day off, quickly got him to St. Mungo’s. They’d dosed him up with Skele-Gro and a calming draught, so he was out cold until the next morning.

The following day, I skipped work. I planned to get a haircut and pop into a few Muggle shops. If my robes were old, at least I could stock up on some decent clothes and sweets.

Harry decided to tag along, which I didn’t mind. But he seemed off—too quiet for him—and kept apologising about the bike. I figured he felt bad for causing trouble. He’s stuck on this idea that he’s a burden—years of Dursleys hammering that into him.

I suggested he get a haircut too, and after some hesitation, he agreed. He even asked me to exchange some Galleons for Muggle money. Said he wanted to buy sweets and maybe something else, just to shop like a regular kid. The Dursleys only ever gave him enough money to stick to their lists, and he wanted the freedom to buy what he liked. So, I swapped him fifty pounds—ten Galleons wouldn’t make much difference to me.

He kept going on about paying me back for the bike, but I told him not to bother—Dad had already fixed it.

“How d’you even manage to fall off it?” I teased, laughing.

“That wasn’t me. I had help,” Harry said suddenly, looking at me with a serious expression. It was clear he’d been wanting to talk about it but hadn’t dared.

“Yeah? Who?” I asked, startled. Surely not Dobby? Had he meddled again?

"I first heard a sort of popping sound behind me, like the backfire from an exhaust pipe," Harry began, his voice quiet but steady as we sat on a fallen tree by the river. This was the spot where I’d found my bike ages ago. "Thought it was a car, so I stepped to the side. But when I turned around, the road was empty. Then I heard a voice—squeaky, like a kid’s—and saw something in the bushes. That’s when I spotted… it."

He glanced at me for reassurance before continuing.

"It stepped out of the bush. Only came up to about my waist, with these massive eyes and ears like great flapping bat wings."

"Did it say who it was?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Said its name was Dobby, a house-elf." Harry hesitated, as though expecting me to laugh at him. "You believe me, don’t you, Ron? I’m not making this up!"

"Course I do," I said quickly, wanting to put him at ease. Poor bloke looked like he thought I’d cart him off to St. Mungo’s for a check-up. "I’ve seen house-elves before. Didn’t it strike you as odd, though? Seeing something like that out of nowhere?"

"Not really," Harry admitted, looking a bit sheepish. "I mean, I don’t know what sort of creatures live in your lot’s world. You’ve got gnomes and a ghoul in your attic, so why not this? And it didn’t seem dangerous—more like… I dunno, pitiful."

"Fair enough," I said with a shrug. "What happened next?"

"Well," Harry said, shifting on the log, "he told me this story, but he kept getting himself all muddled. Would freeze up, then start bashing his head on the nearest thing—railings, the road… it was awful. Honestly, he seemed barmy, especially when he started begging me not to go back to Hogwarts. Said I shouldn’t have left the Dursleys and come here, and that he’d been watching me for ages, waiting for a chance to warn me. He looked so miserable I almost felt sorry for him… at first."

"What was he warning you about?" I pressed, not wanting him to drift into silence.

"Something about danger waiting for me at school," Harry said, rubbing his forehead as though the memory pained him. "He wouldn’t say what, though. When I asked if it had to do with… You-Know-Who," he faltered, catching my pointed look, "he said it didn’t."

"And?" I prompted. "How’d it end?"

"He pulled out this stack of letters—yours, Hermione’s, even Hagrid’s. The ones you sent over the summer. Turns out he’d been nicking them! I lost it and told him to shove off. Got on my bike and pedalled towards the Burrow, but the little sod shouted something after me. Something like, ‘I won’t let Harry Potter get hurt! I’ll protect him!’ Next thing I know, it’s like there’s an invisible wall in front of me. I slammed straight into it at full speed and went flying. Lucky I managed to grab the edge of the bridge, or I’d have gone into the water with the bike.

"While I’m lying there, aching all over, he just pops up again, all apologetic, muttering stuff like, ‘Better to be injured than dead.’ Can you believe that?!" Harry fumed. "And here’s the kicker—Fred and George didn’t see a thing when they came running."

"Right," I said, standing up and dusting off my jeans. "We’ll sort this out back home. Merlin knows he might still be skulking about. And no more wandering off on your own, yeah?"

"Alright," Harry said with a grin, brightening up a bit. "Hey, Ron, what’s the deal with house-elves, anyway? Who are they?"

On the way back, I told him everything I knew about house-elves. By the time we’d pieced together all the scraps of information, we’d convinced ourselves it had to be Malfoy’s elf. He was the one who’d benefit most from Harry not showing up at school. Harry reckoned that was the only explanation, and I didn’t argue. But privately, I wasn’t so sure.

This whole business with the Horcrux felt too murky. What if it wasn’t Malfoy’s initiative at all, but a direct order from the Dark Lord? Maybe that’s why he wasn’t punished for losing the Horcrux. As they say—he did his job, and it’s not his fault how it all turned out. You can’t compete with Potter and his ridiculous streak of luck. Especially when the Dark Lord didn’t know the whole prophecy, just part of it.

Voldemort might not have revealed the full truth to his servant. He could’ve simply ordered something like: “If I ever disappear, plant the diary with a pureblood schoolkid—preferably one of the children of my enemies. That will unleash the horror of the Chamber, Muggle-borns will suffer, Dumbledore will be ousted, and Hogwarts will fall under the Board of Governors’ control. After that, they’ll appoint a new headmaster—someone they can manipulate to enforce their own rules.”

And who really knows how that Horcrux worked? From what I understood in that last exchange between Tom and Harry in the book, he didn’t care much about Muggle-borns. He wanted to meet Harry himself. Maybe the Horcrux didn’t create a physical body.* What if Tom could leave the possessed body at will? At first, he probably intended to dominate Ginny completely, like he did with Quirrell, but after learning about Potter, he decided Harry’s body was a better prize than a teenage girl’s.

Still, we’d need basilisk venom to destroy it properly. Or maybe there were spells for that, like Fiendfyre. Something to look into, anyway.

And then there was Dobby. Who’d sent him? The elf might’ve been rebellious, sure, but betraying his master outright? Unlikely. What if Lucius had sent him on purpose, to stir things up while still playing innocent?

Whatever it was, I put the whole mess out of my mind for the night. Tomorrow, Luna was coming back, and I’d finally see her again. Letters were all well and good, but nothing beat seeing her in person. I just hoped she’d like the gifts I got her.