This conversation went poorly. Tom had clearly lost his patience.
He wanted to use the Imperius Curse to control 'Harry' into hunting magical creatures in the Forbidden Forest to replenish his energy.
After feigning resistance, Wayne obliged, pretending to fall under the curse's influence.
Only with his Meditation Technique reaching master level—his mind and will now unshakable—did he dare play this game.
He found a few Bowtruckles in the forest, giving the diary a slight energy boost.
This also served as an opportunity to feign fear of the diary, conveniently 'losing' it... only for the ever-helpful Lockhart to stumble upon it.
...
During the final Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the term, Lockhart handed each student a greeting card he'd written, winking as he said,
"These aren't for you, mind—take them home to your parents. I'm sure they'll adore them."
Wayne overheard Ron's muttered complaint: "Mum's definitely going to frame every single greeting card. Every single one."
After all the students had left, Lockhart noticed a tattered black notebook lying on the first-row seat.
Curious, he picked it up.
A note was tucked inside the first page.
[Whoever you are, please deliver this notebook to Dumbledore immediately!]
The handwriting was in perfectly standard print, making it impossible to identify the note's author.
Lockhart thought carefully and realised this seat had been empty all day – no student had occupied the front row at all.
"Give it to Dumbledore?"
Lockhart murmured to himself. Though he was a useless wizard who could barely cast anything beyond Memory Charms, having plagiarised so many people's stories gave him a sense of déjà vu about this situation.
This notebook... definitely seemed suspicious.
It might even be a Dark Artefact.
As an adult, Lockhart fully understood that Dark Artefacts meant danger. But at the same time, they also represented... power.
If he could obtain powerful magic, he wouldn't care whether it came from a Dark Artefact or not.
He'd take it back to study. If anything seemed off, he could always hand it over to Dumbledore later.
He could even claim he'd discovered it himself – another opportunity to boost his reputation.
Lockhart quickly made up his mind. Greed and desire had already clouded his judgement – perhaps with just a little nudge from Wayne's influence.
Watching Lockhart carry the notebook into his office, Gardevoir, which had been monitoring him momentarily, revealed itself before returning to report to Wayne.
...
Inside his office, Lockhart tested the notebook with various Dark Magic detection instruments but found nothing unusual, which relaxed him considerably.
After examining the notebook inside out for ages without discovering anything amiss, Lockhart grew disappointed. He decided it must be some young wizard's prank to create panic.
Spotting the red ink on his desk, he dipped a quill into it and flamboyantly signed his name across the first page.
Might as well practise his autograph on this worthless thing.
To Lockhart's astonishment, the writing shimmered briefly on the page before being absorbed without leaving a trace.
[Hello, Gilderoy Lockhart. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you come across my diary?]
"So this is how it's meant to be used?" Lockhart immediately perked up.
"I found it on a classroom desk. No idea who left it there – there was a note inside telling me to give it to Dumbledore."
[Probably mistaken for a Dark Artefact. But in truth, I'm just a memory...]
Using his considerable skills, Tom gradually gained Lockhart's trust.
That 'Harry' had discarded him didn't surprise Tom at all.
Recently, he'd begun sensing 'Harry's' growing suspicion, especially after using the Imperius Curse.
Not being able to use his nemesis's body for revenge against Dumbledore was admittedly disappointing.
But his new finder seemed considerably dimmer, making things much easier for Tom.
Perhaps this wasn't entirely bad – at least the risk of Dumbledore discovering him had decreased significantly.
After all, it had taken multiple conversation attempts just to earn 'Harry's' trust. But this new master... hadn't questioned its origins at all...
Tom was thinking that if this fellow had picked him up from the start, Dumbledore would have been driven out long ago, and he'd have been successfully resurrected by now.
Lockhart, who remained blissfully unaware that Tom had mentally labelled him as a complete idiot, was currently grinning from ear to ear in delight.
What a fascinating experience - being able to converse with a diary! He'd already decided on the title for his next book.
How about Gilderoy Lockhart and the Diary?
"Ah, a relic from fifty years ago? Then you certainly wouldn't have heard of me."
"I, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin recipient, bestselling author, five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award - I don't tell just anyone, only write it in my diary."
Tom fell silent.
Initially, he'd focused solely on manipulating his new master without paying attention to other details.
But now, hearing this string of familiar titles and terms...
Moments later, handwriting appeared.
[Are you the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts?]
"How did you know? Did that little wizard who found you tell you?"
Lockhart was thrilled, completely oblivious to the impending danger: "Just one of my many titles, nothing to boast about."
Perfect.
He'd finally found that insufferable professor who'd made him sick with forced flattery!
Die now!
...
In the Hufflepuff Common Room, Wayne received Gardevoir's telepathic message and smiled.
Good, no mishaps had occurred.
Had the diary been picked up by someone else, he'd have had to retrieve it, perform a memory charm, then find another way to deliver it to Lockhart.
Perhaps by using the Imperius Curse on a student.
The Confundus Charm he'd placed on the diary also ensured Lockhart wouldn't actually hand it over to Dumbledore.
As for the rest, with Tom's intelligence, nothing could possibly go wrong.
Lockhart would be completely under their control.
The two had executed perfect coordination without any communication between them.
This made Wayne reflect that he and Tom truly shared remarkable synergy.
He felt rather reluctant to part with the diary now.
How would he handle homework next term...
In the Common Room, everyone was discussing how to celebrate their final night.
Some suggested sneaking out for Quidditch, others proposed an all-night tea party to board the train tomorrow in a sleep-deprived daze.
Everyone wanted to make some noise before leaving school.
"I think Wizard's Chess would be better," Toby said, producing his treasured Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. "Loser eats ten beans."
"Piss off!"
Multiple voices shouted simultaneously, with Hannah and Susan being particularly loud.
They'd suffered the most from playing chess with Toby.
Having studied chess in the Muggle world and won community trophies, Toby had quickly mastered Wizard's Chess too - no one in their year could beat him.
Unless Wayne stepped in with his shameless swarm tactics.
"How about a makeover class?"
Senior Grace suggested with a smile: "Any boys volunteering as models? Big sister will make you absolutely gorgeous."
Now it was Toby and Norman's turn to pale, recalling the terror of being dominated by this senior student.
"Ahem!"
Wayne feigned a cough twice, drawing everyone's attention.
Wotley's eyes lit up: "Another blind Slytherin pissed you off? Let's go block their common room!"
"What nonsense." Wayne gave him a deadpan look. "Why so aggressive? You're like a honey badger."
"I have a proposal."
Wayne stood up, and the common room habitually fell into silence during his speeches.
"I remember quite a few of our classmates can cook, right?"
Many little badgers nodded. Hufflepuff's food magic was indeed a renowned hallmark—Madam Hufflepuff herself had once used the House Cup to serve magically prepared delicacies.
Out of ten Hufflepuffs, eight were food enthusiasts, and the other two were super food enthusiasts.
And among ten food lovers, it wasn't unusual for one or two young wizards to take an interest in cooking.
"How about this?" Wayne announced loudly. "Let's hold a Hufflepuff Culinary Championship!"
"Tonight, we'll decide who's the best cook in Hufflepuff!"
The crowd's eyes lit up, and the common room buzzed with renewed chatter.
"Brilliant idea! I can make my signature German pork knuckle!"
"I can smoke sausages—no, wait, one night's too short. Wayne, you should've told us earlier so we could prepare!"
"I... I don't know how to cook, but I can eat!"
"Same here!"
Everyone was excited. Those who could cook wanted to show off their skills, while those who couldn't were eager for a free meal. A bright future awaited them all.
Thus, Wayne's proposal was unanimously approved.
Let's do it!
[Ding! System Event—'Hufflepuff Cooking Championship' generating... Event generation successful!]
[A foodie who doesn't aspire to be a chef isn't a good wizard. Final rewards will be determined based on the championship's influence and completion.]
Wayne hadn't expected this pleasant surprise.
But with dinner approaching, he regretted not planning it days earlier—it could've been a school-wide spectacle.
Oh well, Wayne shook his head.
Even at its best, this event's ceiling wasn't high. Might as well let things unfold naturally...
Still, to stoke everyone's enthusiasm, he decided to add fuel to the fire.
"Everyone!" Wayne called out. "The winner of this competition will receive a protective item engraved with the Shield Spell!"
Whoa—!
The excitement surged.
Wayne's enchanted items usually sold for two to three hundred Galleons apiece.
Even if they didn't use it themselves, selling it would fetch a tidy sum.
"What about second place?" Cedric jumped in, eyes gleaming with anticipation.
The boy shot him a sidelong glance. "If you take second, your debt's forgiven."
The common room erupted in laughter. Everyone knew Cedric owed Wayne a small fortune for his Nimbus 2001.
"Deal!" Cedric brushed off the teasing.
After two years of hanging around Wayne, his skin had thickened considerably.
"If you actually manage it, I'll honour my word," Wayne chuckled. "If someone else takes second place... they'll get a dose of Felix Felicis!"
With a flick of his wrist, Wayne produced a thumb-sized phial containing a mesmerising swirl of golden liquid.
Felix Felicis typically sold for 2,500 to 3,000 Galleons per vial, with each vial containing roughly ten doses.
Wayne's single-dose offering was still incredibly valuable—almost on par with his own crafted items.
The badgers gasped at his generosity.
Those with hidden culinary talents were already rolling up their sleeves, itching to begin.
"Third place..." Wayne scratched his head, pondering the third prize, then finally declared: "The third-place winner will receive a hundred Galleons voucher for Celia Store, and those who don't place will get a consolation prize – a signed copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them."
"Now, anyone who wants to sign up, step forward!"
The common room descended into further chaos as a crowd of chattering young wizards clamoured to register, giving Wayne a splitting headache.
He pulled aside the six Prefects.
"You lot handle the registrations – one male and one female contestant from each year. I'm off to recruit the judges."
"Where will you find judges?" Grace asked curiously.
"You'll see. I'm out of here," Wayne said before slipping out through the barrel entrance.
The senior students exchanged glances before reluctantly beginning the selection process. Two spots per year seemed woefully inadequate given the enthusiastic turnout – even ten slots wouldn't have satisfied demand.
...
Meanwhile, Wayne headed straight for the eighth floor after leaving the common room.
The gargoyle sprang to life upon seeing him, but before it could speak, Wayne cut straight to the chase: "Is the Headmaster in?"
"You've changed, Lawrence boy." The gargoyle's stone face fell dramatically. "You used to chat with me before seeing Dumbledore. Have I lost my charm?"
Wayne's mouth twitched. This creature had clearly been reading questionable literature – that tone reeked of melodramatic romance novels.
"Genuine emergency with the Headmaster. Next time, I'll chat with you for a whole Galleon's worth."
"That half-hearted promise? Forget it," the gargoyle sighed mournfully, stepping aside. "Dumbledore's inside."
"Cheers." Wayne gave it an appreciative pat and cast a Scouring Charm for good measure.
Poking his head back through the doorway, he added, "Tell you what – I'll find you a female gargoyle companion. How's that sound?"
"Really?" The gargoyle's mournful expression vanished instantly, replaced by excitement. Few stone statues could convey such an emotional range.
"When have I ever lied to you?" Wayne vowed. "You two can flank the entrance, and when I visit the Headmaster, you can both call out 'Come play with us, handsome!'"
"Deal! I'll say whatever you want!" The gargoyle agreed without hesitation.
"You're a good sort," it said approvingly. "Those old codgers and Dumbledore never cared how lonely gatekeeping gets."
"Lawrence boy, I'm rooting for you to become Headmaster."
"Don't worry," Wayne thumped his chest. "When I'm Headmaster, I'll get you eight or ten companions."
"Great!" The gargoyle nodded fervently, practically willing Wayne to stage a coup immediately.
"Ahem..." Dumbledore's dry voice floated from within.
"Technically, this is still my office. Isn't it somewhat improper to loudly conspire about my overthrow?"