NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 169: Flourish And Blotts
The crowd thickened near Flourish and Blotts, witches and wizards spilling onto the cobbled street, their chatter loud with excitement. A bright banner hung above the shop's windows:
GILDEROY LOCKHART—AUTHOR OF THE YEAR—BOOK SIGNING TODAY!
Cael groaned inwardly as they approached, spotting the nauseatingly perfect smile of Gilderoy Lockhart plastered across posters, book covers, and even a floating, enchanted banner that sparkled every few seconds.
Hermione, predictably, looked like she might faint from excitement.
"I can't believe it's really him," she whispered, gripping her bag so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Fred and George exchanged pained expressions while Cael suppressed a smirk. Before they could slip away, a sudden burst of camera flashes blinded half the street.
"There he is—the young Harry Potter!" Lockhart's voice rang out, overly loud and dripping with self-importance.
The crowd parted as Lockhart himself swept forward, pristine robes billowing dramatically, teeth gleaming unnaturally white under enchanted lighting. His blonde curls were perfectly styled, and his bright blue eyes sparkled with that insufferable mix of vanity and practiced charm.
"Ladies and gentlemen, fortune has smiled upon us today!" Lockhart declared, grabbing Harry by the shoulder without hesitation. "The Boy Who Lived, come to celebrate my little book signing—how utterly perfect!"
Harry recoiled instantly, wriggling free with a sharp glare. "I don't need your teaching—and don't touch me, that's gross."
The crowd erupted in awkward chuckles, some gasping at Harry's bluntness, while others looked vaguely horrified.
Lockhart's smile faltered for a split second, but he recovered with ease, tossing his hair dramatically. "Ah, youth! Full of fire, full of opinions—disrespectful as they may be," he added loudly, ignoring Harry's deepening scowl. "But fear not, dear boy, for your saviour has arrived!"
He turned to the crowd, voice rising as he posed beside Harry like a proud uncle. "Alas, my heart couldn't bear it—the great Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, practically begging me to accept the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. His poor school, plagued by incompetence—"
Cael arched an eyebrow. Fred audibly snorted. Hermione, still starstruck, didn't even notice the insult woven into Lockhart's theatrics.
"And so," Lockhart continued grandly, placing a hand theatrically over his chest, "how could I refuse? I, Gilderoy Lockhart, author of Magical Me, Break with a Banshee, and Wanderings with Werewolves, have come to teach the next generation—including this promising, if slightly impolite, young man—how to survive the real dangers of our world!"
At the far end of the table, James Potter was visibly struggling not to burst out laughing, his lips twitching, eyes sparkling with amused disbelief as he leaned against a bookshelf.
Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed. "You'll teach me better than anyone else? Doubtful."
Lockhart beamed, utterly unfazed. "Oh, Harry, Harry, Harry… even you can't resist my lessons for long. A touch of fame, a sprinkle of charisma—why, I'll have you charming banshees and banishing boggarts in no time."
"Or charming yourself into the hospital wing," Cael muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Fred and George to snicker beside him.
The photo session dragged on as Lockhart posed dramatically with fans, signed books with exaggerated flair, and spouted tales of his supposed heroics.
But Cael's focus drifted elsewhere—sharp eyes scanning the crowd. He'd been expecting it: the infamous scene between Lucius Malfoy and Arthur Weasley. Lucius slipping Tom Riddle's diary into Ginny's cauldron, Arthur throwing fists—it was meant to happen now.
But… nothing.
Cael's brows furrowed. His perfect memory recalled every detail—the Ministry was supposed to be cracking down on Dark families, raiding homes for cursed artefacts, spurring Lucius to offload the diary at this very event.
But as he watched, Lucius Malfoy merely strolled past the shop, cold and composed, his sharp eyes indifferent. Narcissa walked beside him, flawless as ever, and behind them, Draco trailed, sulking as usual.
But no confrontation. No diary. No tension.
Cael's pulse quickened, unease settling deep in his chest.
I didn't miss it, he thought, mind racing. The Ministry—there haven't been raids. I haven't read a single article about pure-blood estates getting searched.
A cold realization crept in.
If Lucius didn't plant the diary… the Chamber won't open. No attacks. No petrified students…
On the surface, that sounded like good news. But to Cael, who lived and breathed preparation—the timeline shifting without warning sent a ripple of sharp confusion through him, unsettling everything he thought he understood that yet again the plot was starting from different angles .
"It seems the timeline is shifting — let's see where it leads us. But the real question is, where is the diary now, and who has it?"
He barely heard Lockhart droning on about his vampire encounters. His mind was elsewhere, calculations whirring like gears. If Riddle's Horcrux wasn't making its way to Hogwarts today, something—or someone—had interfered.
Cael looked at Lockhart as he waved another book in Harry's direction.
"Mark my words!" the pompous professor declared. "This year at Hogwarts will be one for the history books!"
Cael's eyes narrowed as the crowd laughed.
You've got no idea, he thought grimly.