Chapter 25: Intervention at Flourish and Blotts
Diagon Alley was a sea of hysteria. Timothy moved through it with the calm of a predator in a pen. Officially, his purpose was mundane: buying new ink and high-quality parchment for his upcoming second year; a logical errand. 'Although', he thought, his mind buzzing with an analytical amusement, 'the real event is here'.
A massive crowd, composed mostly of middle-aged witches fanning themselves enthusiastically and a swarm of younger students, was jostling outside Flourish and Blotts. A giant gold sign in the window announced the reason: GILDEROY LOCKHART would be signing copies of his autobiography, Magical Me.
For Timothy, this was not a simple book signing; it was an anthropological experiment. And, more importantly, it was a key plot point that his mental Archive, based on his memories of the original story, had marked on the calendar.
His eyes scanned the front row and found her instantly. Hermione Granger. She was practically vibrating in place, clutching a stack of Lockhart books against her chest, her face lit up with an almost painful adoration. Timothy had to suppress a cynical smile. The brightest mind of her generation, completely deluded by a photogenic fraud.
He had no intention of joining the herd. That was inefficient. He needed a tactical view.
Dodging a witch holding a heart-shaped sign, Timothy slipped inside the bookstore. The heat and noise were oppressive. He ignored the main shelves, which he had already archived during the summer, and headed straight for the second-floor staircase. He found a quiet corner in the upper gallery, a spot with perfect views of the golden podium where the show was about to begin.
He rested a hand on the stone wall. Wandless and without words, he cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself. He didn't become invisible; that would be an unnecessary waste of energy for this distracted crowd. He simply became... ignorable. A blur in the corner of the eye, a shadow the mind would overlook. Perfect. He leaned back against the wall, with his arms crossed, a ghost in the theater. The shop manager came out to quell the crowd just as a roar of applause and cheers erupted from the ground floor, so loud it made the wooden floor vibrate beneath Timothy's feet.
Gilderoy Lockhart had arrived.
From the second-floor railing, hidden by his charm, Timothy watched the spectacle with the amusement of a zoologist. Lockhart was a vision in forget-me-not blue robes, his blond hair waving perfectly, and his smile was so bright it was almost a Lumos spell on its own. The camera flashes from the Prophet photographers exploded, illuminating the shop.
Below, he saw Hermione practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, her face flushed with pure excitement. 'Incredible', thought Timothy, his analytical mind observing the mass hysteria. 'The brightest mind of my generation, completely nullified by a good haircut and a practiced smile'.
As Lockhart sat down, beginning to pose and tell a clearly embellished story about a Yeti, Timothy saw his opportunity. The real prize wasn't the man; it was his complete works, stacked in a precarious tower on the main counter.
'What a waste of Galleons', he muttered to himself. He had no intention of buying that trash. But knowledge, even false knowledge, deserved to be archived. He raised his hand discreetly, palm extended toward the stack of books thirty meters away. He didn't need to touch them. Not since his breakthrough over the summer.
"Archive Aspectus".
There was no sound, no flash of light. But to Timothy's mind, it was as if a pale blue beam of light had shot from his palm, scanning the books at an impossible speed. The optical spell he had designed worked perfectly. The information poured into his mental library. It wasn't the tactile torrent, but a cleaner, more precise flow of data. Year with the Yeti... Wandering with Werewolves... Gadding with Ghouls...
His subconscious mind, the analysis engine of his Archive, went to work immediately. It was a data processing machine that worked in parallel to his consciousness. As he watched Lockhart wink at the crowd, his Archive was already cross-referencing.
Alert: Timeline Conflict. Wandering with Werewolves (Chapter 4) claims to be in Tibet throughout 1985. Gadding with Ghouls (Chapter 9) claims to be in Scotland during the spring and summer of 1985. Alert: Spell Conflict. The description of the 'Freezing Charm' used against the Yeti contradicts the fundamental principles of magical thermodynamics archived in 'The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6'.
The analysis took less than fifteen seconds. When it finished, his mental Archive applied a clear and concise label to the entire Gilderoy Lockhart collection: FICTION. INCONSISTENT. SOURCE: FRAUD.
Timothy almost laughed out loud. It was perfect. The hero adored by Hermione Granger was an incompetent liar. The irony was delicious. He looked away from Lockhart, having taken everything of value the man possessed (his published knowledge) without spending a single Knut. His attention drifted to the crowd. He saw the rest of the Weasleys arrive, followed by an uncomfortable-looking Harry Potter. And then, he saw the tall, pale figure of Lucius Malfoy gliding through the shadows of the shop.
'Ah', thought Timothy, his amusement sharpening. 'The fraud is over. Now the real plot begins'.
The roar of the crowd intensified when Gilderoy Lockhart finally spotted his prey.
"It can't be!", he exclaimed, his voice booming magically over the hubbub. "Harry Potter!".
The sea of witches parted, and Timothy watched from his gallery as Lockhart lunged at a clearly mortified Harry Potter. With a firm arm, Lockhart dragged him to the front, placing him under the hot lights of the Prophet photographers. The flash exploded, capturing Lockhart's thousand-watt smile and Harry's grimace of pure misery.
Timothy watched the drama with a clinical, almost bored interest. 'Just like in the script', he thought, his Archive mind cataloging the event under "Narrative - Key Points". 'The protagonist is dragged onto the stage. Predictable'.
Harry, red to the ears, finally managed to break free after being gifted the entire stack of books. He retreated hastily toward the corner where the Weasley family was waiting. It was then that the real tension erupted.
"Well, well. The famous Harry Potter", said a sneering voice that could only belong to Draco Malfoy. "Bet you love this, Potter. You can't even buy a book without hogging the front page, can you?".
"Leave him alone", said Ginny Weasley, her voice barely a whisper.
"Oh, look, Potter. You've got yourself a girlfriend", sneered Draco.
A cold, gloved hand landed on Draco's shoulder, silencing him instantly. "Silence, Draco". Lucius Malfoy had materialized from the crowd, his cold gray eyes sweeping over the group with palpable disdain. His presence was cold and condescending.
"Mr. Weasley", said Lucius, his voice a silky hiss as Arthur Weasley approached, his face tense. "Busy time at the Ministry, Arthur? Do they pay you overtime so you can afford... this?". With the tip of his snake-headed cane, he touched the rim of Ginny's second-hand cauldron.
"We have a different idea of what is a disgrace, Malfoy", snapped Arthur, his face turning a deep red.
"Clearly", said Lucius. He pulled a battered First Year Transfiguration book from Ginny's cauldron. "Second hand... I suppose it's the best you can afford".
The tension broke. With a shout of rage, Arthur Weasley lunged at Lucius Malfoy.
The bookstore exploded into chaos. The two patriarchs fell to the floor in a tangle of black robes and worn tweed. Books flew. The shelves wobbled. People screamed and backed away. It was a clumsy, desperate, and wonderfully human fight. Timothy, from his elevated position, watched the brawl with a cold, analytical smile. He wasn't interested in the outcome. He was interested in the distraction.
'Perfect', he thought, his gaze sweeping the shop. Every eye, every wand, every ounce of attention in the room was fixed on the spectacle of the two men rolling on the floor amidst a destroyed pile of Wandering with Werewolves. 'Wonderfully chaotic'.
His gaze shifted away from the fight and fixed on Lucius Malfoy, specifically on his hands... and on Ginny Weasley's cauldron, which had fallen to the side. The chaos was a perfect cloak. While Hagrid, with his booming voice, separated Arthur and Lucius, and the shop employees frantically tried to rescue the trampled books, Timothy's attention sharpened like a scalpel. He ignored the fight itself; it was unimportant background noise. His gaze, cold and analytical, was fixed solely on Lucius Malfoy.
He saw it.
Amidst the tumult, as Lucius retrieved his cane and pretended to straighten his robes with offended dignity, his free hand moved with the speed of a snake. It slipped inside his robes and pulled out a small black-covered book, worn and titleless. No one was looking at him. All eyes were following Arthur Weasley, who was being scolded by his wife.
With a sneer of absolute disdain, Lucius Malfoy approached Ginny Weasley's overturned cauldron, picked up one of Lockhart's books from the floor and, as he put it back into the cauldron, slipped the small black diary in along with it, burying it under the weight of Year with the Yeti.
Timothy, from his elevated position, felt no fear. He didn't feel the urge to shout a warning. He felt a surge of euphoria so pure and cold that it almost made him smile.
'There it is', he thought, his Archive mind cataloging the event instantly. 'A Horcrux. Tom Riddle's memory. The key to the Chamber of Secrets'.
The greatest threat to Hogwarts of the entire second year had just been delivered, unknowingly, into the hands of a first-year girl. He saw Lucius Malfoy walk away with his son, his mission accomplished. He saw Hagrid help the Weasleys pick up their things. He saw Ginny, oblivious to the dark object that now lay at the bottom of her cauldron, follow her family out of the shop.
Timothy remained motionless in the gallery, his Disillusionment Charm hiding him as the crowd dispersed. His plan for the second year had just changed drastically. Dumbledore's advice to "relax and live a little" was still valid, but a priority had just emerged. He had no intention of telling Dumbledore, or Flitwick, or even Harry.
Why involve adults in what was, essentially, a priceless acquisition opportunity?
The diary was not a threat. It was a treasure. It was the chance to archive the consciousness of a Dark Lord, to learn Parseltongue, and to obtain private access to the Chamber of Secrets. The most peaceful year at Hogwarts, the one Dumbledore fea
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