HP: Bad Intentions

[Ding! Two shocked emotions detected!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for getting two silver treasure chests!]

Blake gently patted the Whomping Willow's trunk. The notorious tree, known for its violent tendencies, did not attack him. Instead, a thin branch extended toward him, resting lightly on his shoulder. At the tip of the twig, a red flower slowly bloomed, as though expressing gratitude for Blake's help.

Professor Sprout stood nearby, staring at the scene in disbelief. The Whomping Willow was intact and calm, an unusual state for the temperamental tree. She silently tucked away the bandages she had brought, realizing they were no longer needed. Her gaze shifted to Lockhart, who lay sprawled on the ground, his face a mixture of pain and disbelief. Noticing her eyes on him, he forced a strained smile.

"Look… the spell I cast actually worked," he said, feigning confidence. "It must be one of those delayed effects… individual differences, you know."

Professor Sprout frowned. Lockhart's shamelessness was astounding. It was obvious that Blake had healed the Whomping Willow, yet Lockhart was taking credit for it. Shaking her head, she rolled her eyes and approached Blake, determined to uncover the mystery of his method.

"Ahem… Pomona, could you lend me a hand first?" Lockhart called weakly from the ground. Every movement sent sharp pains through his body, and his left arm hung limply, clearly broken.

Professor Sprout turned to him with a saccharine smile. "A legendary adventurer like you doesn't need help from others, right?" she quipped before walking away, leaving Lockhart speechless. Attempting to shift his position, he winced and paled as pain shot through him.

Meanwhile, Professor Sprout cautiously neared the Whomping Willow. Remarkably, it remained docile. "Blake, how did you manage this?" she asked, placing her hand on one of the branches. "I've never seen the Whomping Willow so… peaceful."

Blake smiled modestly. "Magic works in mysterious ways," he said.

Professor Sprout's curiosity deepened. "Indeed it does," she murmured. "But this… this is extraordinary. You're quite the magical prodigy, Blake." Her thoughts drifted to Blake's unique background, attributing his ability to a natural magical affinity. Little did she know, the druidic mana enhancing his healing magic was unparalleled in this world.

Their conversation was interrupted by Lockhart's groans. Turning toward him, they saw his left arm swinging unnaturally, as though it were made of rubber. "He's lost all the bones in his arm!" Professor Sprout exclaimed, her mouth agape. Blake stifled a laugh, recognizing the infamous Bone-Removal Curse, which had inadvertently affected Lockhart himself.

Blake approached with feigned curiosity. "Professor, what spell is this? Can you teach me?" he asked earnestly.

Lockhart hesitated, unsure of Blake's intentions. "You want to learn this?" he asked cautiously.

"Of course!" Blake said, his face lighting up. "It could be so useful in the kitchen—removing fish bones or deboning chicken, for example."

Lockhart stared at him in disbelief. "Cooking?" he muttered, feeling both insulted and bewildered. Unaware of Blake's genuine interest, he reluctantly explained the spell. Blake's mind raced with possibilities. Unlike darker spells he knew, this one was precise and painless, making it perfect for culinary applications.

As Professor Sprout completed her inspection of the Whomping Willow, she rejoined them. "Lockhart, you should visit the school hospital," she advised. "Madam Pomfrey will likely need to use Skele-Gro, and that'll require some recovery time."

Blake, however, had other plans. Placing a hand on Lockhart's arm, he channeled his druidic mana. Warmth spread through Lockhart's body, followed by a sharp but fleeting pain. Moments later, Lockhart's arm was fully restored. "It's… healed?" he stammered, moving his arm tentatively.

Professor Sprout looked at Blake in awe. "Your healing abilities extend to people as well?"

Blake nodded modestly. "I've mostly treated animals before, like my dog, Erha," he explained. Lockhart's expression soured, but he couldn't deny the results. He decided to focus on his upcoming Defense Against the Dark Arts class, eager to regain some dignity.

Blake returned to the castle after the commotion. Dinner had ended, and he missed dessert. On the way back, he overheard students murmuring about Professor Dumbledore's unusually somber mood. The headmaster's final speech was brief, and the school song had been skipped entirely. Blake suspected the cause: Nurmengard Academy of Magic. Grindelwald's new school had attracted several Hogwarts students, leaving noticeable gaps in the Great Hall.

That night, Blake slept soundly. The next morning, he awoke refreshed and headed to breakfast. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall mirrored the morning sky, while the tables overflowed with food. Blake, however, had little appetite for pickled herring and bread. He conjured a plate of cream puffs, savoring the sweet treat.

Cedric Diggory, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow. "Puffs for breakfast? Aren't you worried about gaining weight?" he teased.

Blake grinned. "Not at all. If I can't enjoy dessert, what's the point of breakfast?"

Their banter was interrupted by the arrival of the post. Owls swooped into the hall, dropping letters and newspapers. Blake skillfully shielded his food from stray feathers and other mishaps. A copy of the Daily Prophet landed in his hands. Opening it, he was greeted by Grindelwald's charismatic visage. The front page was dominated by news of Nurmengard's grand opening. Articles praised the new academy and subtly criticized Hogwarts, much to Blake's amusement.

He scanned the articles further. One piece detailed Nurmengard's curriculum, emphasizing practical magic over traditional theory. Another featured interviews with parents who had chosen to send their children to the new academy. A subtle jab at Dumbledore's leadership was nestled between the lines, insinuating that Hogwarts had grown complacent.

Across the Gryffindor table, a commotion drew everyone's attention. Mrs. Weasley's Howler echoed through the hall, berating Ron and Harry for their reckless use of the enchanted car. Ron turned crimson, shrinking in his seat, while Harry looked equally mortified. Blake chuckled at the scene before returning to his breakfast.

Ginny Weasley approached him timidly. "Thank you, Blake. Dad told me you spoke up for him. If it weren't for you, he might have lost his job."

Blake smiled warmly. "It was nothing, Ginny. Your dad's a good man."

She hesitated, then handed him a small, wrapped package. "Mum wanted me to give you this. She said it's a token of our thanks."

Blake unwrapped the package to find a hand-knitted scarf in Gryffindor colors. "Tell your mum I'll wear it proudly," he said, draping it around his neck. Ginny beamed before hurrying back to her seat.

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