HP: Bad Intentions

In the stands, Ginny, who had come to watch the training out of curiosity, tugged at Hermione's sleeve.

"Um... I might be hallucinating, but did Blake just win a tug-of-war against seven or eight people on his own?"

Hermione rubbed her face, still stiff from shock. "You're not hallucinating, and no, you didn't misread that."

"Oh…" Ginny trailed off.

"I remember Blake mentioning once that he was born with supernatural strength," Hermione added, her voice tinged with disbelief.

The second week of the term brought surprising news to Blake through Ginny. Her father, Mr. Weasley, had concluded his review at the Ministry. Not only was he neither suspended nor fined, but he'd also escaped with nothing more than a warning letter, basically a slap on the wrist. This was almost unbelievable, given Mr. Weasley's own expectations.

According to the letter he sent Ginny, he had anticipated a gruelling review process, with the best-case scenario being a fine and a deduction from his salary.

Instead, his days at the Ministry's Censorship Office were spent drinking tea, reading newspapers, and returning home at his usual time. Nobody even seemed to be checking him. After a week of this leisurely routine, the review concluded with a smiling official handing him a warning letter and sending him on his way after some token scolding.

Ginny immediately suspected Blake's involvement. She remembered the letter Blake had sent her father and was certain it had played a role. Without some intervention, there was no way her father could have escaped unscathed. Her father had no influential connections at the Ministry, but Blake's network was another matter.

And Ginny was right. Blake had indeed pulled some strings. While Mr. Weasley's mistake wasn't severe enough to warrant harsh punishment, Blake ensured an easier outcome by asking Grindelwald to put in a few kind words on his behalf.

The result was a swift and painless resolution. Blake's motive? To earn Ginny's trust while reinforcing his "making friends" philosophy. His plan worked perfectly, as Ginny now felt firmly integrated into Blake's circle of friends.

That same night, after learning of Mr. Weasley's good fortune, Blake quietly slipped into the Forbidden Forest to claim another payment after helping Mr. Weasley. What he had in mind was: the enchanted Ford Anglia.

The car had intrigued him ever since it began exhibiting signs of self-awareness. As a researcher of alchemical golems, Blake saw its potential for advancing his studies.

The forest was as eerie as ever, its darkness filled with rustling leaves and distant howls. But for Blake, a skilled druid, the forest held no fear. It was a second home, its secrets laid bare by the whispers of the plants around him. Guided by tyre tracks, he soon arrived at a dense bush. Hidden within was the Ford Anglia.

"Found you," Blake muttered, a satisfied smile forming on his lips.

The car's choice to hide itself only confirmed his suspicions: it was intelligent. As he approached, a loud engine roar shattered the stillness, and two headlights flared to life, illuminating him. Blake stood his ground, curious. The car seemed to be sizing him up.

"Fascinating," Blake said. "A car with self-awareness."

The engine roared again, and the car lunged forward, aiming to ram him. Blake sidestepped effortlessly, casting Dimension Gate to teleport several meters away. The car barreled past, vanishing deeper into the forest without hesitation.

"Oh, you want to run?" Blake chuckled darkly. "Let's see you try."

He disappeared in a flash of sparks and reappeared in the driver's seat of the speeding car. Startled, the car screeched to a halt, attempting to fling him off with a violent jerk.

But Blake, using his necromancer-taught flight magic, courtesy of Voldemort, turned into a column of black smoke and reformed in front of the car, unharmed.

Frustrated, the car began reversing, clearly trying to escape again. Blake, however, was done playing.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he intoned, his wand raised.

The car's engine roared in protest, but it was no use. Blake's levitation spell hoisted the vehicle into the air, its tires spinning helplessly like a turtle flipped on its back. For all its attempts at resistance, it was immobilized.

Blake stepped closer, sensing emotions radiating from the car: fear, anger, and even a hint of grievance. He spoke softly, trying to soothe it. "Don't be afraid. I'm not here to hurt you."

The car's frantic spinning gradually slowed, but its headlights still glared at him warily. Blake, deciding to earn its trust, cast a Reparo spell. With a series of metallic clinks and groans, the car's damaged parts began mending. Its cracked windshield fused back together, and its battered frame straightened out.

The car's mood shifted noticeably. The fear ebbed, replaced by cautious curiosity. Its headlights dimmed, switching to low beams—a far friendlier gesture than the blinding high beams from earlier.

"See? I told you, I'm not your enemy," Blake said, patting the hood gently.

Encouraged by its calmer demeanor, Blake placed a hand on the engine and was immediately struck by a startling discovery. Within the car was a faint but unmistakable presence of soul-like energy. It was unlike anything he'd encountered before.

"A soul? In a car?" Blake murmured, amazed. "Mr. Weasley, what kind of miracle have you accidentally created?"

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