HP: Bad Intentions

"I… I didn't expect it at first," Hermione said, looking a bit embarrassed.

Indeed, a simple cleansing spell would have sufficed, but she was still thinking about going back to take a shower. It was a habit she couldn't shake, one tied to her Muggle-born upbringing. Magic could solve a lot of problems, but for some, like Hermione, adapting to it entirely took time. The more magic is used, the more proficient one becomes, yet she still preferred old habits for certain tasks.

"If you don't use it regularly, you'll become rusty," Blake commented, a thought sparked in his mind as he recalled Gilderoy Lockhart. Lockhart, once a top student at Ravenclaw, had turned into a perfect example of someone whose skills diminished due to lack of use. His magical abilities had become mediocre, save for the memory charms he often employed.

Their second class of the day was Transfiguration, one of the most challenging subjects at Hogwarts, even for the brilliant Hermione Granger. But Blake seemed to have a natural knack for it. He effortlessly transformed a small beetle into a gleaming button on his first try, earning twenty points for Gryffindor from a visibly impressed Professor McGonagall. She had rarely seen such skill in her class, and her praise filled Blake with quiet pride.

After lunch, everyone rushed to their next lesson: Defense Against the Dark Arts, taught by none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. Blake had initially hoped that Gryffindors would share this class with Slytherins, allowing him to avoid the chaos he expected. But to his surprise, the class was a joint session with Hufflepuff.

Hermione took a seat next to Blake, spreading out Lockhart's books on the desk. Blake noticed that her schedule wasn't littered with hearts around Lockhart's classes, unlike what some other girls did. Turning to her, he remarked, "What are you looking at me for?"

Hermione snapped, "How do you know I'm looking at you if you're not looking at me?"

"You're so cute that I can't help but glance your way," Blake teased with a grin. Hermione blushed furiously, using her copy of "Walking with Trolls" to swat at him. "Stop saying such things!"

"Alright, if not cute, then...ugly?" Blake said mischievously. Another swat landed on his shoulder.

Blake laughed softly before asking, "So, tell me, Hermione. Who's more handsome: me or Lockhart?"

"I think you're losing your mind," Hermione replied, but her tone betrayed the flicker of joy she felt. She couldn't deny the faint jealousy bubbling within her at the thought of Blake comparing himself to Lockhart.

Just then, Lockhart entered the classroom, dragging Harry Potter by the arm. Poor Harry looked thoroughly miserable, clearly having endured an awkward conversation with the professor. Once inside, Harry bolted to his seat beside Ron, leaving Lockhart to begin his signature introduction.

Holding up a copy of "Walking with Trolls," Lockhart declared, "I, Gilderoy Lockhart, third-class recipient of the Order of Merlin, honorary member of the Dark Force Defense League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award..." He paused dramatically, adding, "But I don't boast about these things."

His words, met with awkward silence, made him visibly uncomfortable.

Lockhart quickly moved on. "Since you all have my books, let's begin with a little quiz to test how well you've read them. Don't worry; it's just for fun."

Hermione's eyes lit up at the mention of a quiz, while Blake, having anticipated this nonsense, groaned and slumped in his seat. When the test papers were handed out, Blake reluctantly glanced at the questions, which had nothing to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"What is Lockhart's favorite color?"

"What's his greatest achievement?"

Blake scribbled absurd answers: "Favorite color? Green, like his ridiculous hat. Greatest achievement? Selling shampoo." Hermione, meanwhile, was furiously jotting down answers, thoroughly prepared from reading all of Lockhart's books.

"Psst, Hermione. Share your answers?" Blake whispered.

"Absolutely not," Hermione replied, shielding her paper. Blake rolled his eyes, returning to his own creative answers, muttering under his breath about February having thirty-one days.

When the quiz ended, Lockhart eagerly reviewed the results. Predictably, Hermione scored a perfect 100. Lockhart beamed at her. "Wonderful! Ten points to Gryffindor!" he announced, prompting Blake to scoff under his breath.

Lockhart then unveiled a cage covered with cloth, claiming it contained something terrifying. With dramatic flair, he lifted the cover to reveal—Cornish pixies. The class burst into laughter, their terror dissolving into disbelief.

"Don't underestimate them!" Lockhart said as he released the pixies into the classroom. Chaos erupted instantly. The mischievous creatures flew around, yanking ears and pulling at hair. Neville found himself dangling from the chandelier, while Hermione swatted at one with her book.

"Use your wand, Hermione," Blake advised calmly. Hermione quickly cast spells, but the pixies were too fast. Seeing the mayhem unfold, Blake took matters into his own hands.

"Whirlwind Sweeps Away!" he commanded. A gust of wind blew the pixies toward the blackboard.

"Stupefy!" With precision, Blake stunned the pixies one by one until they fell unconscious to the ground. A stray pixie struck Lockhart on the head, much to the amusement of the class. Even Harry couldn't hide his admiration for Blake's impressive spellwork.

In the days that followed, Lockhart steered clear of Blake, wary of the student's skill. Meanwhile, Blake remained focused on more pressing matters. He kept an eye on Ginny Weasley, who appeared untroubled for now. The mysterious diary had yet to exert its sinister influence.

Sunday arrived, and Blake's plans for a relaxing morning in Hogsmeade were thwarted by Cedric Diggory. As captain of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, Blake had responsibilities to uphold.

"You're the captain," Cedric reminded him sternly.

"Fine," Blake grumbled, chugging an energy-boosting potion. "But don't regret this."

Half an hour later, the Quidditch pitch buzzed with activity. Blake had the team jogging laps and performing rigorous drills. His relentless training methods left the players groaning, but he was determined to build their stamina and resolve. At one point, he summoned his large dog, Erha, to chase after anyone slacking. The sight of the energetic dog spurred the team into action, much to Cedric's dismay.

"I take it back," Cedric muttered under his breath. "You're a tyrant."

By the end of the session, the team was utterly exhausted, sprawled on the grass as Blake grinned triumphantly. Despite their complaints, he knew they'd thank him when their training paid off during matches. For now, though, he let them rest, satisfied with their progress.

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