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They had barely stepped into Diagon Alley when a familiar voice called out.
"Richie!"
"I knew you'd show up!"
Hermione waved at them, already clutching a small stack of books.
"Oh, hi, Mr. Harland."
"Great to see you, Hermione. Where are your parents?" Denton asked cheerfully.
"They're already inside Flourish and Blotts," she said. "Today's Gilderoy Lockhart's autograph signing!"
Denton's eyes went wide. "Your parents are Lockhart fans too?"
Hermione blinked, then glanced at the books tucked under Denton's arm and Richie's resigned expression. "Actually… it's me."
Denton suddenly quoted in a dramatic voice, "The secret to breaking with a banshee isn't how hard you swing your wand…"
Hermione's eyes lit up and she finished the line instantly: "It's all in the angle of your smile!"
"Page ninety-eight of Breaking with Banshees!" Denton nodded, looking genuinely impressed. "That man's courage is something I've always admired."
Hermione leaned in, excited. "Oh, you've read him too? Then you must know—"
The two of them launched into a full-blown Lockhart discussion, trading favorite passages like old friends. Richie was left standing there, completely forgotten.
He just rolled his eyes.
That was when a small, dusty-looking wizard appeared in front of them, followed by a massive figure that blocked half the street.
"Hey, Richie! Hermione!"
The dusty kid was Harry, obviously. The giant shadow behind him was Hagrid.
"Harry! Good to see you," Hermione said, then immediately frowned at his glasses. "What happened to your lenses again?"
She shrugged. "Why do I even say 'again'?"
She raised her wand. "Oculus Reparo!"
Harry watched, amazed, as the cracks in his glasses vanished.
"I really need to remember that one," he said seriously.
"Well, since you're all here, I'll head off," Hagrid rumbled, giving them a wave. "School's starting soon and I've still got loads to do."
"Professor Hagrid really is a busy man," Denton said with a sigh once the half-giant had lumbered away.
"Professor Hagrid?" Harry and Hermione echoed at the same time, turning to look at him.
Denton tilted his head. "Isn't he?" His eyes settled on Harry's messy hair and lightning scar. "Oh—Mr. Harry Potter?"
"We met a month ago, right?"
Harry gave a polite nod.
"Come on, the signing's about to start!" Hermione broke the slightly awkward moment, grabbing Harry's arm and dragging him toward the bookstore.
Denton hurried after them, then remembered his son. "Hurry up, Richie—keep up!"
Richie watched his dad practically sprint off and couldn't help rolling his eyes again.
Who's the kid here, exactly?
He felt weirdly like the tired parent in this situation. Shaking his head, he jogged to catch up.
As if on cue, half the witches and wizards in Diagon Alley suddenly started running too.
---
"Harry!"
"Where have you been? We were worried sick!"
Molly Weasley brushed the dust off Harry's robes the second he ran up. At that exact moment, a Flourish and Blotts employee called out:
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Gilderoy Lockhart!"
Ginny, standing right in front of Molly, bounced on her toes and stared between the counter and Harry. "He's here!"
Molly turned toward the counter. The crowd surged forward, but the Weasleys had managed to claim a spot near the front, and their large family helped hold the line. Richie and Hermione slipped in behind them, borrowing a bit of that Weasley population advantage.
A side door opened.
Out stepped a handsome wizard in flowing blue robes, his golden wavy hair perfectly styled. He flashed a dazzling smile—exactly eight flawless white teeth, no more, no less.
The moment he appeared, the witches near the counter screamed.
"Ahhh!"
"Gilderoy Lockhart!"
"I'm your biggest fan!"
Lockhart drank it in, his ego visibly swelling. He was about to speak when a reporter pushed through the crowd and started snapping pictures.
Lockhart's smile widened. He tilted his head just so, making sure his perfect profile caught the light.
Then his eyes landed on a small, scruffy wizard in the front row—specifically on the lightning-bolt scar.
"Well, well, who do we have here?"
"Harry Potter!"
Lockhart's eyes sparkled.
The crowd buzzed. "Harry Potter?" "The Boy Who Lived is here?" "Where?"
The sharp-eyed reporter spotted Harry beside Mrs. Weasley and didn't hesitate. He grabbed Harry's arm and shoved him right up to the counter.
Lockhart smoothly pulled the boy behind the counter and draped a friendly arm around his shoulders, posing like they were old pals.
"Smile, Harry. It's basic celebrity etiquette," Lockhart murmured, still beaming. "The two of us together? We're guaranteed the front page."
Camera flashes popped nonstop.
Then Lockhart's gaze drifted across the crowd again and landed on another young wizard. His eyebrow rose.
"Oh, it seems I'm even more popular than I thought."
He called out loudly, "Richie Harland?"
"Richie Harland—the young hero of the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, youngest-ever recipient of the Golden Flame Medal?"
"You must have read my banshee stories. You already know the power of a perfect smile!"
Compared to Harry, Richie's name drew far fewer gasps, but the same diligent reporter spotted him, grabbed his arm, and pushed him up beside Lockhart.
Lockhart's other arm looped warmly around Richie's shoulders.
"Hey, I like the hair. Did you style it just for me?"
"It's a little too fluffy and curly, though."
Richie's mouth twitched. He had no idea how he'd ended up here.
"No," he said flatly. "It's natural."