HP: Bad Intentions

Blake stood silently, his sharp eyes fixed on Harry as they talked. His expression was neutral, but Harry could sense the gravity in his words.

"Do you think Dumbledore was behind it all?" Harry asked, curiosity lining his voice.

Blake shook his head subtly, a small grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not quite."

Blake's tone softened as he continued, "Dumbledore's a very interesting man, Harry. I think he just wanted to give you the opportunity."

He paused for a moment as if choosing his next words carefully. "As the headmaster, he knows everything that happens within those castle walls. He knew what you were up to, what you were trying to accomplish, and instead of stopping you, he gave you an invisibility cloak. He gave you the tools you needed because he believes you can stand up to Voldemort."

Harry, processing this revelation, remained silent. What Blake said made sense. Dumbledore hadn't directly instructed him to investigate the Philosopher's Stone or to dig into Snape's actions. Dumbledore simply provided support—whether it was through the cloak or other small acts—allowing Harry to make his own choices.

After a moment of quiet contemplation, Blake broke the silence again, standing from his seat. "I know you have your doubts about me, Harry, but I don't really care about that," he admitted with an air of nonchalance.

"Like you, I thought through all the possibilities before making my decisions. If I had the chance to choose again, I'd still make the same choices."

He turned to leave, but before walking out, he handed Harry a book with a beautifully crafted cover. "Almost forgot. Hagrid asked me to give you this," he said, his tone lightening.

"The poor guy still beats himself up for nearly getting you killed over that dragon egg."

Harry took the book and nodded, watching Blake head toward the door. As he opened the book, he was hit with a wave of emotion. Inside, he found photos of his parents—James and Lily Potter—smiling and waving at him. Tears welled up in his eyes, a silent acknowledgement of the family he never truly knew.

Madam Pomfrey entered the room then, a large glass of potion in hand. She noticed Harry's tear-streaked face and sighed.

"Poor child," she said softly. "But you should be in good spirits now. Drink this, and get some rest."

Blake, catching the scent of the potion, wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I'm off while you drink that vile stuff," he said, chuckling lightly. "But maybe throw in some chocolate to make it taste better."

As he stepped out of the room, Blake ran into none other than Snape. The Potions Master, ever the sour-faced figure, sneered at him.

"Dumbledore claims you're proficient in Potions," Snape spat. "But judging by your suggestion to add chocolate to that concoction, I have my doubts."

Blake smirked. "Oh, I'm aware of what would happen if he did. Harry would get a nice bout of diarrhea." He shrugged. "But, let's be honest, he'd prefer that to drinking a potion that tastes like troll vomit."

Snape's glare deepened. "You may think you're clever, but I doubt your little tricks would work in my class. You ought to know better."

Blake brushed off the insult with a laugh. "Oh, I do. A little liquorice would have done the trick, but Harry offended me earlier. Consider it a lesson."

Snape, though furious, managed to keep his temper in check. "A lesson? You call that a lesson? I'd say it's more childish than anything," he muttered darkly.

Blake simply smirked and walked past him. "Maybe. But next time, Snape, try being a bit more pleasant. Otherwise, I won't guarantee what's in the next potion I brew for you."

Snape's face paled as he tried to compose himself, but Blake's parting words lingered. After a moment, the Potions Master growled, "I... I apologize."

With his duties to Dumbledore fulfilled, Blake was finally free to handle some personal business. He had accumulated several treasure chests from his recent adventures—one Supreme Treasure Chest, two Diamond, and seven Golden.

He had been saving them all, waiting for the right moment, as the luck potion he had brewed in the Room of Requirement was nearing completion. Timing, after all, was everything when it came to treasure.

Just as he began to ascend the stairs, a familiar figure appeared—Beck, his house-elf.

"The old master requests your presence, young master," Beck said, his tone respectful but urgent.

"He heard that you are finally free."

Blake rubbed the bridge of his nose in mild frustration. He knew this moment would come. After all, Grindelwald had been out of the picture for a while now. Still, he wasn't in a hurry to meet the legendary Dark Lord.

"Very well," Blake said with a resigned sigh. "Take me to him."

With a quick nod, Beck reached out, and Blake took the house-elf's hand. Apparating with a house-elf was much smoother than with a wizard, and Blake barely felt the transition as they blinked into a new location.

Looking around, Blake found himself in a grand mansion, its opulence striking even to him. Everything gleamed with wealth and power.

In the middle of the lavish living room, a man with grey hair, slightly dishevelled, sat on a plush sofa. Grindelwald.

The Dark Lord rose to greet Blake, a proud smile playing on his lips. "Welcome home, boy."

"Home?" Blake repeated, looking around at the extravagant surroundings.

 "This mansion?" He chuckled. "I didn't think you'd be so concerned with appearances at your age."

Grindelwald flushed slightly, but his smile remained. "Is it so wrong to want to impress? After all, you're living at Dumbledore's place. I couldn't have you thinking he's better than me, now could I?"

Blake dropped onto the soft sofa with a laugh. "So, this is all just to show off?"

Grindelwald waved off the comment with a chuckle of his own, though his eyes betrayed a hint of pride. "Perhaps. But we both know that home is where the people are, not the grandeur of the place."

Blake raised an eyebrow, amused. "Competing with Dumbledore even after all these years?"

"Maybe a little," Grindelwald admitted, sitting down across from Blake. "I had this place built just for this meeting. I wanted to show you...well, I wanted to show you that I'm still someone to be reckoned with."

A steaming cup of tea floated over to Blake, who caught it mid-air, taking a sip. The warmth spread through him, though he kept his focus on the older wizard.

Grindelwald sighed. "You know, this is the first time we've met face-to-face."

Blake nodded. Their past interactions had been through letters, notes, and enchanted objects. This meeting was a new experience, though not entirely unexpected.

Grindelwald, sensing the shift in the conversation, leaned forward. "Did I disappoint you?"

Blake shook his head, setting his teacup down. "Not disappointed, just...it's different from what I imagined. You seem...less intimidating than I thought you'd be."

Grindelwald laughed. "Well, after decades in a cage, anyone would change."

Blake chuckled, too, feeling more at ease. Despite Grindelwald's history, there was something oddly comforting about this interaction, as though they were two old friends catching up after years apart.

The conversation shifted again, this time to more practical matters. Blake, curious about his location, asked, "We're not far from Hogwarts, are we?"

Grindelwald nodded. "Not far at all. I bought this place specifically for this occasion. It's one of the few properties I still own here. The Ministry took most of my assets after...well, you know. But they didn't touch my Muggle holdings."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "So, you're telling me that after all these years, you're still loaded?"

Grindelwald grinned mischievously. "Time may have taken my health, but yes, I'm still quite wealthy."

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