I’m doomed

As Blake's druidic magic seeped in, the mass of flesh and blood trembled. Even without the Eye of Truth, Blake could sense its fear. The creature was intelligent—pretending to be inert to avoid detection while showing just enough vitality to prevent others from assuming it was dead. Any other researcher might have moved on, giving it time to develop and eventually rebel. But Blake was no ordinary researcher.

Blake believed in striking while the enemy was weak. Without hesitation, he acted, his magic overwhelming the still-developing entity. It had no defense against his druidic brainwashing.

[Ding...]

A system notification rang in his mind. A new entry appeared on the panel—"Unknown Creature"—with all attributes marked by question marks. Blake, intrigued, tapped the glass of the petri dish.

"Show me your true form," he murmured.

The mass of flesh shuddered, then bloomed like a flower. In the clear culture fluid, it transformed into something akin to a jellyfish, its translucent body glowing with a crystalline white light. Blake studied its flocculent core and suddenly realized—it was an egg. The petri dish itself acted as its shell.

Blake placed his hand on the glass and whispered, "Grow well, little one. I want to see what you become." The creature responded, pressing its flocculent appendage against the glass, mirroring his gesture.

The Hogwarts Great Hall, morning.

Blake, missing for days, suddenly appeared at the Hufflepuff table, casually drinking cereal. His housemates bombarded him with questions about his absence, but he simply smiled and said he had taken leave for some personal matters. As for being chased down three corridors by Snape the previous day? Well, that was just the new advisor of the Duelling Club testing him, its president. No one dared question Snape for confirmation.

As Blake prepared to leave, he spotted Lockhart entering the hall, looking as radiant as ever. The professor greeted him warmly before heading to the staff table, completely unbothered by their previous conversation. Blake frowned. Had Lockhart used a Forgetting Charm on himself? How could he remain so composed when his biggest secret was on the verge of collapse?

His answer arrived soon enough. As he exited the Great Hall, a blushing girl handed him a rolled parchment before scurrying away. Hermione, witnessing the scene, narrowed her eyes.

Blake, assuming it was a love letter, opened it with mild anticipation—only for his expression to drop.

It was a detailed plan from Lockhart on how to make Blake famous.

Clearly, Lockhart had misread the situation. He believed Blake was blackmailing him not out of morality but to leverage his fame. Seeing Blake pocket the parchment, Hermione huffed and turned away, fuming.

"Ahem… it's not what you think. Want to take a look?" Blake offered.

"I'm not interested in your business!" Hermione snapped, clutching her books and storming off.

"Eh? Why are you angry?" Blake called after her, utterly baffled.

Meanwhile, the girl who delivered the parchment reported back to Lockhart.

"He read it and put it away?"

"Yes… he rolled it up and tucked it into his pocket," she confirmed, still blushing.

Lockhart beamed. "Aha! Excellent!"

This confirmed his suspicions—Blake truly wanted fame. Since Blake had chosen to keep the plan, it meant he was willing to follow it. Their fates were now intertwined; Blake wouldn't dare expose him if he, too, depended on Lockhart for his rise to prominence. The advantage was his.

Lockhart gleefully signed an autograph for the girl before heading off for class, completely assured of his own brilliance.

After Transfiguration, students flooded out of the classroom. Hermione walked quickly, but Blake caught up. "Hey, you misunderstood. That thing this morning wasn't a love letter—it was just Lockhart's nonsense."

"What does that have to do with me?" Hermione huffed.

Blake feigned disappointment. "Oh… so it doesn't matter to you? I see… I was overthinking it."

WHACK! Hermione smacked him with her water pad. "You—! Why do you enjoy acting so much?"

Blake grinned. "Ha! I knew it! You already knew it wasn't a love letter and ignored me on purpose!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and continued walking.

"Where are you going?" Blake asked.

"Class, obviously," Hermione snapped.

Blake glanced at his schedule. "Oh, you mean Lockhart's Defense Against the Dark Arts class?" He scoffed. "That's a joke. If you know, it's a DADA class. If you don't, you'd think it was the drama club. I'm not wasting my time."

Ever since the disastrous pixie incident, Lockhart had abandoned practical lessons. His classes were now live performances of his books, complete with student reenactments of his "heroic" deeds. Blake had long since decided skipping was a better use of his time.

Even Hermione, the most studious student in Hogwarts, hesitated at Blake's logic.

"…We can't skip class," she mumbled, though her conviction wavered.

"Suit yourself. I've got things to do." Blake turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" she called after him.

Blake waved a hand. "Oh, Cassandra mentioned something. Thought I'd discuss it with her."

Hermione's grip on her book tightened. Discuss something with Cassandra? More like an excuse to see her!

Blake's figure was disappearing down the hall when Hermione, grinding her teeth, resolved to follow—

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione froze as Professor McGonagall approached, holding a parchment. "If you have free time in the library, could you fetch these books for me? I cannot leave at the moment."

Hermione glanced between McGonagall and Blake's retreating form.

"…I'm sorry, Professor! I—I have something urgent to do!" she stammered before running off.

McGonagall blinked, then chuckled. "Ah… youth."

Spotting Ron, she promptly handed him the list. "Mr. Weasley, since Miss Granger is unavailable, could you fetch these books?"

Ron gawked at her, then at Harry. "Why me? She always asks Hermione! When have I ever been to the library?"

Harry thought for a moment. "When copying Neville's homework?"

Ron paled. "Wait. The Potions homework you gave me… was Neville's?"

Harry nodded solemnly. "What else? You think Hermione would let you copy hers?"

"Oh no… I'm doomed…" Ron groaned as he stared at his Potions essay in horror.

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