That evening, the mood had returned back to normal quickly, and the group engaged as they always did. It was fun, Blake noted. More enjoyable than any time he'd ever spent with his Muggle 'friends', but why was that? Is it because I'm a wizard, just like them? Or is it because they're my friends?
Either way, Blake was grateful. His letters to his mother and brother often detailed the interactions he had with them, and his relationships with them, in all honesty - apart from Greengrass. She's a bit too much. Blake also made sure to mention Professor McGonagall and what a massive help she was, much to his mother's satisfaction.
'I told you that lady was nice!' she had written in so many of her letters, boasting about 'a mother's intuition'. Such a mum, Blake always thought. One thing he made sure never to mention, however, was the blatant discrimination he faced so regularly - knowing his mother, she'd be sure to pull him out of Hogwarts straight away, but he knew he could defend himself.
She had no reason to worry.
But that night, as he tried to sleep, Greengrass's words haunted him.
"There's always a far greater price."
What had the Sorting Hat said?
"You will suffer."
And Ollivander?
"Sacrifices will be made, regardless of if you want to or not."
Was that conversation a sign? Sacrifice? Suffering? But-
Blake forced the thoughts out of his mind. Of course he would have to sacrifice. Of course he would have to suffer. After all, nothing worth anything comes without a price. But Blake was ready. He'd meant what he told the Sorting Hat - he would provide and protect for his family, 'no matter the cost'.
Whatever it is, I can handle it. There's nothing I won't do - nothing I won't sacrifice - for them.
/
The next morning after breakfast, Blake was trying his best to continue his project, but there was an issue. He didn't have anywhere to do it. The common room was out of the question, considering the obvious, and Zabini was always in the dorm room - if not the whole group.
For that reason, Blake found himself wandering the halls of Hogwarts on a cold Sunday morning, growing more and more frustrated by the second. In this massive, magical castle, there's not a single free room that I can use?
As he was grumbling to himself, a voice rang out from behind him.
"Is that you, Blake?" The boy instantly turned around and held up his wand, ready to fight, but to his relief, it was just Hagrid, holding a bucket of what appeared to look and smell like dead animals.
"Hagrid!" he said, with a smile that he didn't have to fake. "How've you been? It's been a while."
"It has, hasn't it? Well, y'know me, just stayin busy! Gotta feed the Hippogriffs. What're yer up to anyway? A bit early to be out an' about for a Sunday!" The giant chortled.
"Not much, not much, just looking around y'know," Blake replied casually.
"If that's the case, why don't yer come on down with me? I'll show yer my house and the pets!"
Uh oh. Blake had already heard plenty about Hagrid's pets, and wasn't very eager to find out first hand. That being said, Hagrid was an ally, and Blake had no intention of jeopardising that relationship. That, and the fact that Hagrid seemed so happy to show him that Blake couldn't find it in his heart to say no to the gentle giant.
The pair made their way down and out of the castle, while Hagrid spoke for a while about his Hippogriffs and their feeding habits, which explained the bucket of corpses.
As they entered the Forbidden Forest, Blake grew more alert and gripped his wand tighter - he hadn't heard much about the Forbidden Forest apart from the fact that it was… well, forbidden. Probably for good reason too. Seeing his wariness, however, Hagrid just laughed.
"Don't yer worry, Blake. Nothin can hurt yer in the Forest with me around!" Hagrid's enthusiasm did little to soothe Blake, but he smiled and loosened up anyway.
To be fair, there's next to nothing crazy here, on the outskirts, apart from a couple of spiders and other small weird stuff - it's safe here. Wait - it's safe and discreet, isn't it? That means…
"We're here!" Hagrid announced proudly, as they arrived at a small shack. The boy wasn't really surprised by the hut - it was pretty Hagrid, and Blake continued to talk to Hagrid and engage with his many pets until lunch. I like Hagrid, Blake thought for the umpteenth time, before he bade his farewells to Hagrid and Fang, who had apparently taken a liking to him, and went back to the castle, memorizing the route.
During lunch, Zabini questioned his whereabouts, surprising Blake. For the past weeks, despite Blake disappearing after lessons ended and frequently, Zabini had never once questioned where he was before.
"I was in the library," Blake said dismissively. "I have 4 essays to finish on top of my own, remember?"
Zabini looked at him strangely for a moment, before shrugging his shoulders and continuing his meal. Meanwhile, Tracey and Charlotte walked in, both of them in their pyjamas.
"Shameless as always, Davis," Zabini said, to which Tracey muttered a half hearted "Shut up" back, yawning. Where's Greengrass? Blake thought, before realising his opportunity - she's definitely sneaking around or something - or in her dorm room doing whatever the hell she's doing. Should I ask Tracey? Ultimately, Blake decided against it - after all, he was busy enough right now. After I get this quill down, he vowed, I'll find it out.
Blake quickly finished his food, before excusing himself, saying he was going to the library and then maybe on a walk - or the other way around, hoping to confuse Zabini if he tried looking for him (or at the very least have a plausible alibi for his disappearance). The boy rushed back to his dorm room to grab his equipment, then made his way to the edge of the Forbidden Forest discreetly, sufficiently away from Hagrid's hut that the giant, or any other visitors, wouldn't notice him, but also close enough that in the case of emergency, he could run to Hagrid's hut for safety.
Blake took out all of his things, and laid them on the flattest tree stump he could find.
This time, I'm not leaving until I get it right.
/
Blake hadn't gotten it right.
I hate magic.
The Slytherin had been there from noon to almost sunset now. Dinner had probably already started, and Blake's stomach was rumbling. He looked down at his spell-tracking scroll. The latest attempt was number 49. Each time, he had tweaked at least one thing: the incantation, the wand movement, the intention - something. But something was still missing.
Maybe it's pointless. I should give up for now so I can at least do the essays by hand for the customers, Blake reasoned. That probably was the sensible option too - but unfortunately, whether it was due to his Slytherin pride, ambition, or whatever less - he refused to leave before getting the spell.
Blake racked his brain, thinking for options. Hmm. What could it be? The incantation has to be fine - I've tried all the applicable variations I can think of. The intent is fine too - I know I'm good and clear at that. So that leaves the wandwork - but there's so many stupid combinations possible! How the hell am I going to get the right one? Blake thought, his frustration growing, as his stomach rumbled again.
"Okay," he said aloud to himself. "Y'know what - what if it has to like, feel right, and kinda make sense?"
Wait - that might be it! So far, everything's felt mechanical - forced. McGonagall said that magic flows - I can't force it to do what I what just by waving my wand - I need to channelit.
Now, think. What would make sense for the actual use of the spell? What would feel right?
Blake waved his wand about for a few minutes, feeling out random ideas that came to mind. Suddenly, one came. Writing with a quill - that's basically sort of shaking the wrist, right? What if I try to mimic that, but more controlled?
Blake took a deep breath again. This has to be it.
"Scriptum Exordia!"
As if Fate itself willed it, the quill rose, and seamlessly dipped into the ink, and moved back to hover just above the empty scroll, as if waiting.
Blake almost screamed in happiness - he'd done it! But wait - I need to check.
"Write me an essay on the importance of ashwood in Potions." As soon as he finished speaking, the quill began to write, and Blake's heart soared. It moved fast too, finishing a page and a half long essay in under a minute, and when the boy went to read it, his happiness only increased - the essay was good - as good as he could've written it.
Perfect, Blake thought, as he rushed back to his dorm. There's definitely room for improvement, yes, but for now, this'll do just fine.
Don't worry, Mum - by the end of this academic year, I can finally do something useful for you.
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