Blake sat in the Room of Requirement, idly twirling the Wand of Wishful Thinking between his fingers. He wanted to create a powerful spell—something groundbreaking.
But he knew his own strength.
And he didn't want to blow up the Room of Requirement.
Standing up, he stretched. "Guess I'll have to take this to the Forbidden Forest."
After all, if something exploded in the Forbidden Forest, it wouldn't seem too out of place, right?
Just as he was about to leave, his house-elf, Baker, appeared, supporting another elf who looked frail and weak.
It was Dobby—freshly expelled from the Malfoy family.
The sickly house-elf clutched his apron tightly, as if it were his lifeline. Blake lowered his hand, abandoning his plan to open a dimensional door. Just one look, and he understood the situation.
Because, in truth, he was the cause of it.
Baker's expression was filled with contempt—not at Dobby's illness, but at his sheer joy after being freed. House-elves weren't supposed to act this way. Their devotion to servitude was ingrained deeply, making Dobby's happiness seem unnatural.
Even though Baker had followed Blake's instructions to rescue Dobby, he didn't look pleased about it.
"Baker, you can go now. I'll handle this."
"Yes…" Baker placed Dobby on the ground, snapped his fingers, and disappeared.
Blake sighed. "Dobby, seems like you made your choice."
Struggling, Dobby tied his apron around his waist—a symbol of his newfound freedom. His large, round eyes blinked up at Blake, brimming with gratitude.
"Dobby… Dobby thanks the great Mr. Blake Green for setting him free." His voice was weak, but filled with sincerity.
Blake waved a hand dismissively. "It was just luck. If things had gone differently, you could've died in Malfoy Manor. I just gave you an opportunity—your freedom was something you risked your life for."
The potion Blake had given him didn't truly cause a terminal illness. It merely mimicked its symptoms, rendering Dobby unable to work—a fatal condition for house-elves. Many pure-blood families wouldn't bother releasing an elf who could no longer serve; they would simply execute them and mount their heads on the wall.
Dobby had gambled his life when he drank that potion. Lucius Malfoy might have left him to rot in a corner. He could have flown into a rage and killed him outright. Or, as luck would have it, he might have cast him out to avoid spreading the "disease."
Fortunately, it was the last scenario that played out.
Now, Dobby had the freedom he had always dreamed of.
Blake pressed another potion into Dobby's hands—the antidote to the illness. "Cherish your freedom, Dobby. You can do whatever you want now."
With that, he turned, opened a dimensional door, and disappeared from the Room of Requirement.
He had merely set things right. If his presence in this world changed events, he had to ensure that Dobby, who should have been freed by Harry, still achieved his destiny.
Now that it was settled, his mind was clear again. As for whether a free Dobby would incite a war between elves and wizards?
Blake wasn't concerned. Dobby had been free in the original story as well, and no such war had occurred. House-elves, including Dobby, saw his desire for freedom as an anomaly. He had no grand vision of leading a rebellion.
As Dobby watched Blake disappear, he uncorked the potion and drank it.
At once, his strength and magic surged back. He looked at his restored body in amazement. "Dobby… Dobby is a healthy, free elf now!"
He clasped his apron tighter. "O… Dobby wishes the great Blake Greene well!"
Blake arrived in the depths of the Forbidden Forest—his favorite spot for testing magic. It was the Acromantulas' territory, teeming with monstrous spiders.
"Bata! Bata!"
A massive Acromantula, as large as two of Hagrid's huts, scuttled forward.
"Xiao Cai, you've grown even bigger," Blake mused.
The spider clicked its fangs excitedly.
"Oh, you've become the boss of the Acromantulas? So, the food's better now?"
Xiao Cai chattered in agreement.
Blake nodded. "Good. Keep them in line. Don't let the numbers get out of control—I'll need them at the right time."
Just as he was about to leave, Xiao Cai clicked rapidly.
"Hm? A problem? Fine, bring it here."
Xiao Cai disappeared for a moment and returned, dragging another Acromantula behind him. This one was nearly as large, but four of its eight legs were broken.
Blake didn't need an explanation. This spider had challenged Xiao Cai's authority and lost—badly. However, Xiao Cai saw potential in it and wanted Blake to heal it.
Blake examined the severed legs. Regenerating limbs was complex, but...
He raised the Wand of Wishful Thinking and cast a spell.
A brilliant blue light flashed.
The injured Acromantula shrieked in pain, writhing as something sprouted from its wounds.
New legs.
Moments later, the spider stood, testing its limbs before bowing to Xiao Cai in submission.
Xiao Cai clicked in thanks before leading its new subordinate away.
Blake smirked, twirling his wand. A new spell had taken form in his mind.
"The Rebirth Curse for Severed Limbs… I'll classify it under healing magic."
This was groundbreaking. The spell could revolutionize healing, rivaling even the most potent life-extending potions.
Of course, it didn't render potions obsolete—this spell required immense magical expertise, whereas a potion only needed to be consumed.
Blake grinned. "Not bad. Not bad at all."
He flicked his wand again. "I wonder if this could work on… a damaged soul?"
Meanwhile, Lucius Malfoy was having the worst time of his life.
Arthur Weasley had been relentlessly searching Malfoy Manor, convinced he would find cursed Muggle artifacts.
Though Arthur found nothing of the sort, he did uncover a collection of Dark artifacts.
A lesser wizard would've been thrown into Azkaban.
Lucius, however, was no lesser wizard.
Still, the hefty fines Arthur's actions had incurred left him seething.
"Curse that blood-traitor!" he growled, storming into the dining hall—only for his mood to plummet further.
His dinner, prepared by Narcissa, was an abomination. Without Dobby, she had taken over cooking duties, and… she was terrible at it.
Lucius picked up a piece of burnt toast, took a bite, and immediately regretted it.
The taste was unbearable. His dignity cracked as he spat it out in shock.
He glanced at his wife, but Narcissa was already glaring at him. "I knew it! You think my cooking is horrible, don't you?"
Before he could protest, she took a bite herself.
A second later, she spit it out too.
Her irritation turned to fury. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't beaten Dobby so much, we wouldn't be in this situation!"
Lucius sighed heavily.
"…Perhaps we should hire a servant."
Black magic artifacts? What did they matter now? If he had to endure another meal like this, he might just curse himself.
Maybe, just maybe, he regretted mistreating Dobby after all.
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