After escaping from Knockturn Alley with Hagrid and explaining to the very worried Weasley family, Harry went "alone" to Ollivanders Wand Shop and approached the counter.
"Good morning, Mr. Ollivander."
"Good morning."
The old man gave a gentle greeting, then asked with a somewhat strange expression. "Harry Potter? I remember you already own a wand. Has it been damaged?"
"No, Mr. Ollivander. I'm here to collect a wand that Professor Kahn ordered in advance," Harry explained.
Hearing Harry's words, the old man was first stunned, then very decisively shook his head.
"Ordered? Ollivander's shop has never accepted custom wand orders... Wait, you're talking about that small wand Evans wanted?"
Mr. Ollivander suddenly understood. "Has its owner come?"
Confirming he had found the right place, Harry finally breathed a sigh of relief.
"Right here."
He reached toward the top of his head, scooped down what looked like empty air, and placed it on the counter.
Then, the air twisted, and a little black cat appeared on the counter, looking somewhat nervously at the gentle-faced old man before it.
"H-hello."
"Hello, little one."
Chuckling softly, Mr. Ollivander turned to look at the rows of boxes reaching to the ceiling behind him. Without much searching, he picked up a small wooden box, walked over, and gently opened it on the counter.
An extremely small wand lay quietly in the centre of the box, only one-third the size of an ordinary wand, gleaming with a dark lustre.
"Cherry wood, dragon heartstring, four inches long."
Stroking the wand in the box, Mr. Ollivander said softly. "It's not exactly custom-made. Back when goblins and house-elves could still use wands, this was specially prepared for them."
"Unfortunately, no one has needed such wands for a very long time. Even in my shop, this is the only one left as a collector's item."
"I thought it would remain on my shelf until it completely lost its magic. I never expected there would still be a creature that could use such a wand."
Saying this, he took out the small wand from the box and handed it to the bipedal black cat before him, his face showing anticipation.
"Come, try it. Cherry wood wands always belong to natural-born leaders!"
"Break it up, break it up! Gentlemen, please..."
At Flourish and Blotts, two middle-aged wizards were exchanging punches, fighting among the bookshelves.
Draco nearby wanted to help, but he wasn't skilled in this kind of physical combat and couldn't get involved.
Perhaps he could secretly use some minor hexes? In a place like this, even if he cast spells, they probably wouldn't be detected by the Trace.
But just as Draco was about to take action, he suddenly noticed that during the fight, his father had accidentally slipped a somewhat worn notebook into the book bag of that little witch named Ginny.
That notebook seemed to be the one he had seen on the bookshelf before?
Quick-witted, Draco rushed forward and pulled out the notebook, planning to return it to his father.
But his father seemed to be enjoying his fight with that Weasley and couldn't spare his hands.
Never mind, he'd return it to his father when they got home.
Putting the book in his bag, Draco clenched his fist and cheered for his father.
"Go, Dad! Don't lose to these pure-blood disgraces!"
Then he was pushed aside by a tall figure.
The hasty fight ended in a hasty manner. Lucius finally made some threats, looked venomously at the little girl's book bag in the distance, and left Flourish and Blotts with Draco to buy other school supplies.
A few hours later, carrying his own broomstick and new books, Draco followed contentedly behind his father. The two stepped through the fireplace from Gringotts' main hall and returned to Malfoy Manor.
Although he had fought with that Weasley, his father seemed to be in a good mood today, as if he had thrown off some burden.
Unlike the past few months, when he would go out from time to time, then come home and lose his temper, muttering strange things about some damned Smith.
It looked like tonight would be a warm dinner.
Arriving at the study, Draco took out the newly bought Slughorn's Potions notes from his bag, sat at the desk, and began reading with concentration.
Only Potions and Quidditch remained where he hadn't surpassed Potter. Just a little more effort and he could completely crush Potter!
Pages kept turning as Draco took notes line by line, gradually becoming absorbed.
When his notebook used up its last page, Draco, who was enjoying his studies, casually grabbed a somewhat worn notebook from nearby and continued recording his newly learnt knowledge.
But after writing just two lines, Draco suddenly realised this notebook wasn't one of the new ones his father had bought him. It seemed to be the one he had seen on the bookshelf before?
His expression became somewhat panicked. The books in his father's study were generally very precious collections. Although this notebook was blank inside, if this T.M. Riddle was someone important, just a signature would be enough for his father to collect it. What should he do?
But just as Draco was thinking about how to erase these marks, he suddenly discovered that the two lines he had just written were continuously disappearing.
What was happening?
The ink seemed to be absorbed into the paper. In just a few seconds it completely vanished, and then a new line of writing appeared on the paper.
Potions notes? Hmm, it seems you're a very studious young wizard?
"Hmm?"
Looking at that newly appeared line of writing, Draco's eyes showed a trace of surprise.
So it wasn't an ordinary blank notebook after all?
But would this kind of notebook with magic attached be dangerous?
After hesitating for a moment, Draco shook his head.
This book had been placed on the bookshelf before and was later carried by his father. It shouldn't be too dangerous.
If it were a very dangerous book, his father would definitely have someone place restrictions on it, not simply leave it on the bookshelf.
After analysing this, Draco gripped his pen again and wrote a line in the notebook.
"Who are you? What is this diary?"
The writing slowly disappeared, and after a while, that handwriting appeared again, writing out a line.
My name is Tom Riddle. As for this notebook, it was once my diary. For some special reasons, I gave it a bit of magic.
As a studious young wizard, you might need some mysterious knowledge? I can help you.
Help me?
Draco's eyes lit up as he eagerly wrote:
"Can you help me defeat Potter?"
Defeat? No problem. Do you want to learn combat magic? Perhaps catching some interesting words, the handwriting appeared much faster.
"No, I want to defeat him in studies!"
Tom Riddle in the diary: "..."
What did he mean by defeating him in studies?
What this child wrote should be second-year Potions knowledge, right? Were Hogwarts second-year students already competing with each other in learning?
Making second-year students love studying to the point of crazy competition... what kind of terrifying level of brainwashing was this?
Dumbledore, you've turned people into ghosts!