Blake made a rare appearance in the library at night. Under Hermione's surprised gaze, he actually completed his homework by himself—a truly unprecedented event.
She even checked his work three or four times just to make sure he wasn't playing some kind of trick.
In truth, Hermione had finished her own assignments much earlier and had been eager to return to the Gryffindor dormitory to rest. Yet, for some reason, Blake was determined to stay. He seemed to be stalling, deliberately stretching out their study session. The worst part? He was dragging Hermione into his strange behaviour, forcing her to endure it alongside him.
By now, she could barely keep her eyes open. And still, Blake wouldn't let her leave.
Finally, the library closed for the night, and Madam Pince unceremoniously kicked them out.
"Are you getting revenge on me for not letting you copy my homework before?" Hermione huffed, adjusting the strap of her schoolbag with annoyance.
"No... I just... wanted to see more of you."
Hermione blinked. "Huh?"
His sudden bluntness caught her completely off guard. There was definitely something off about him tonight. Could it be…
Was he finally going to confess? Would she finally beat Cassandra?
Her heart pounded as she averted her gaze, suddenly unsure where to look.
"I don't understand…" Blake muttered.
"Ah? What don't you understand?" she asked, snapping out of her daze.
Blake glanced at her and sighed. "You're a great girl. Why do you like her?" Then he shook his head. "Forget it. I'm sorry for keeping you up. I'll leave now."
Before Hermione could process his words, he had already walked away, disappearing into the night.
She stood frozen, replaying the conversation in her mind.
"Wait, what? What just happened? What's wrong with this guy?! I thought…" She clenched her fists, her frustration bubbling over.
Unaware that Hermione was fuming behind him, Blake made his way straight to Room 277, deciding to spend the night there.
Whoever wanted to return to the dormitory could do so. He, for one, had no intention of going back, not after what he had just discovered about his roommate.
Besides, at least he got to enjoy Hermione's company for a while—his eyes had been blessed with her presence all night. That alone made his efforts worthwhile.
Before settling in, he checked on the mysterious creature growing in his biological petri dish. By now, it had stopped hiding from him, freely floating in the liquid as if showing off its form. It no longer resembled a lump of flesh but had evolved into something more jellyfish-like.
Once he confirmed that everything was stable, Blake left the lab and headed to the small cabin. With a flick of his wand, the simple wooden bed transformed into a luxurious, velvet-covered masterpiece.
The Ruyi Wand was proving quite useful.
As he lay back on the soft bed, the familiar sound of the system's notifications echoed in his mind, signalling that another treasure chest had arrived. The impact of today's Daily Prophet article was still going strong.
He could already imagine the chaos that would unfold once his store officially opened the day after tomorrow. The sheer number of treasure chests waiting to be collected…
And that was just the beginning.
Once people actually tried the magic potion for themselves, they would truly understand its value.
As sleep finally started to take hold, elsewhere in the castle, Gilderoy Lockhart was having a very different night.
Just days ago, he had been smug and confident. Now, he couldn't stop tossing and turning, his mind filled with jealousy and resentment.
He had read today's Daily Prophet.
The youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin, Second Class?
Lockhart clenched his jaw. "If it weren't for my plan, he wouldn't be famous at all…"
But a Second-Class Order of Merlin? Higher than his own?
"Hah! Having Dumbledore as a backer really does wonders…"
Still, he couldn't understand why Blake had left him out of the limelight. His original plan had been brilliant: manufacture some buzz, help Blake gain fame, then capitalize on it himself. He had intended to use his connections to arrange interviews, spread Blake's name through the newspapers, and bask in the reflected glory.
And yet…
Blake had done it all himself.
The fame, the medals, the potions, the article written by Rita Skeeter… all of it, in Lockhart's mind, was thanks to Dumbledore's influence.
As far as he was concerned, there was no way Blake had invented the potion on his own. It had to be Snape's work, conveniently placed under Blake's name with Dumbledore's approval.
Thanks to Hagrid's loose lips, Lockhart had learned about the connection between Blake and Dumbledore long ago.
So in his mind, it was obvious: Blake had stolen his plan, left him behind, and used Dumbledore's influence to rise to fame.
Lockhart's hands trembled with frustration.
"No! I have to fix this. I'll contact a reporter and make it clear that it was my guidance—my inspiration—that led a student to create such a potion!"
Without hesitation, he grabbed a piece of parchment and began drafting his letter, determined to reclaim the recognition he believed was rightfully his.
The next morning, the new edition of The Daily Prophet was released, once again featuring news about the life-extending potion.
The front-page headline read: Life-Extending Potion to Officially Launch in Diagon Alley!
Just that single announcement sent the crowds in Diagon Alley into a frenzy. The foot traffic surged exponentially, forcing Blake to hastily instruct Old Rep and his team to arrange enough manpower for the grand opening.
After handling that, he went straight to find Snape.
The moment Snape saw him, he didn't say a word. Instead, he silently pulled out five iron buckets, each filled nearly to the brim.
The corners of Blake's mouth twitched.
The last time he had seen these particular buckets, they had been used to store frog guts…
"Be honest," Blake said. "How thoroughly did you wash these?"
Snape scoffed. "It won't affect the potion's efficacy. And trust me, when it comes to potions, the more unpleasant they taste, the more people believe in their effects."
Blake blinked. "What kind of nonsense logic is that…"
"Is that why you deliberately make all your potions taste horrible?"
Snape was silent for a long moment. Then he admitted, "Not quite… but for you, I did make them a little worse on purpose."
Blake's face darkened. "What the hell?!"
With an exasperated sigh, he flicked his wand, transforming the rough iron buckets into sleek, elegant containers.
He turned to leave, but Snape—ever the opportunist—immediately jotted down something in his ledger.
"Five iron buckets, each worth five Galleons."
Blake's eyes widened. "Five Galleons each?! Are they inlaid with gold? Why don't you just rob me instead?!"
Snape calmly closed the book. "I've used them for years. They have sentimental value. Naturally, they're more expensive."
Blake almost laughed in disbelief. "Wow. I admire how shameless you've become."
Snape remained expressionless. "I think you're failing to respect me as your professor."
Blake smirked. "Respect? Oh, absolutely. But… now that I think about it…"
Snape's expression stiffened. "What?"
Blake gave a dramatic sigh. "If raising a daughter is so expensive, maybe I should reconsider…"
With a snap, Snape grabbed Blake's wrist. "Actually… you must've misheard. What I meant to say was, you respect me immensely as a professor."
=============
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