"Blake, didn't I say I have no appetite? I don't..."
Before Hermione could finish, Blake grabbed her hand and pulled her through the dimensional door, yanking her away from the library. She barely had time to process what was happening.
She assumed he was taking her to a barbecue.
Although Blake's skewers were delicious, Hermione wasn't in the mood to eat right now.
However, before she could protest further, she realized something startling.
She was no longer in Hogwarts.
She was standing on clouds.
"Ah!"
A startled cry escaped her lips. Panic surged through her as she quickly glanced around. Only then did she realize she wasn't actually floating in the sky but standing at the peak of a towering mountain.
Blake stood beside her, holding a sunflower that radiated a warm, golden light.
With this magical flower, the wintery mountain peak felt as warm as a spring afternoon.
Blake pressed the sunflower into her hands.
"What do you think? Beautiful, isn't it?"
The mountaintop was small, barely a few square meters, and uneven. The wind howled around them, but Blake seemed entirely at peace, gazing at the sea of clouds below with a look of pure admiration.
Hermione, however, felt her legs go weak.
"I won't comment on whether it's beautiful or not," she said helplessly. "But right now, my legs feel like jelly... and breathing feels a little difficult."
Blake quickly reacted. "Sorry, I should've thought of that."
A Head-Bubble Charm landed gently on Hermione's head, instantly making it easier for her to breathe. The dizziness faded, though a slight lightheadedness remained.
"Um... I just wanted to show you something breathtaking," Blake admitted, his voice quieter. "But I... I didn't think about how you might feel."
Hermione blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly. Something about his words struck her as odd.
Did he figure it out?
Otherwise, why would he suddenly be so aware of her feelings?
She studied him quietly as he stared at the rolling sea of clouds below, lost in thought.
Silently, Hermione placed the sunflower on a nearby rock. Then, pulling out her wand, she attempted to transfigure a stone into a proper seat.
Usually, such a spell would be effortless for her.
But today, for some reason, her magic felt clumsy. The rock twisted and warped, turning into an uneven, ugly excuse for a stone bench.
She frowned, clearly displeased with the result.
Then, to her surprise, the misshapen bench suddenly morphed again.
This time, it became an elegant armchair, covered in deep velvet cushions.
Hermione turned in time to see Blake lowering his wand.
"Sometimes, I'm really jealous of your talent," she muttered through clenched teeth.
She struggled just to transfigure the stone into something functional.
And yet Blake—without effort—had turned it into something entirely new.
Hermione knew she could never match his raw magical talent, no matter how much she studied.
Her comment seemed to make Blake uneasy.
"I just... I just wanted you to sit more comfortably," he stammered, rubbing the back of his head. "You know, stone benches are kind of cold in this weather..."
His flustered reaction amused Hermione.
This guy really did care about her.
And, strangely enough, that simple realization made her feel lighter.
She smirked. "If you only conjured one chair, does that mean it's just for me? Where are you planning to sit?"
"I... uh... I wasn't planning to sit, but—"
She raised an eyebrow.
Blake coughed and quickly added, "But I guess I could conjure another."
"I saw you put away your wand," Hermione teased.
Blake frowned, then muttered, "Fine. I'll do it wandlessly."
A second armchair appeared, identical to the first. He even smoothed the ground so they could sit comfortably.
Clearing his throat, he sat beside her.
The sea of clouds below stretched endlessly, the sun bathing the world in golden light. The lonely mountain peak felt like an island in the sky, silent and undisturbed.
Hermione finally understood why Blake liked this place.
It was serene.
Blake waved his wand again, conjuring a stone table. Then, with a flick of his wrist, a shimmering portal of sparks appeared beside him. He reached through and pulled out a pot of hot tea and two cups, placing them on the table.
They sat there in comfortable silence, sipping tea and watching the clouds roll beneath them.
No words were necessary.
For once, Hermione didn't feel the need to talk. She simply enjoyed the moment.
Time slipped away. The sun dipped lower, casting hues of orange and pink across the sky.
Blake finally broke the silence. "Do you like it here?"
"I do."
She didn't know why, but after sitting there for so long—watching the clouds, the sunset—she felt lighter.
The self-doubt and frustration that had weighed on her earlier seemed to dissolve into the vast sky.
This place was like magic.
"If you like it, you can come back anytime," Blake said softly.
Hermione smiled, then hesitated. "But... I can't get up here by myself."
Blake's eyes flickered. "What if I teach you my dimensional gate spell? That way, you can come anytime."
Hermione looked at him.
Then, to Blake's surprise, she shook her head. "I don't want to learn it."
"Why?" he asked, genuinely confused.
Most people would jump at the chance to learn his magic.
Hermione's gaze drifted away, her cheeks tinged with the warm glow of sunset. "Because... if I learned it, you wouldn't have to bring me here yourself."
Blake stared at her.
She avoided his eyes, instead watching the distant horizon.
The sunlight painted her face in soft, warm colors, making her look almost ethereal.
Meanwhile, at Nurmengard, Grindelwald sat at a table, knocking his knuckles against its surface with a puzzled frown.
"Damn it... Did I make tea at noon?"
He tried to remember. "I swear I did... Wizards can get Alzheimer's too?!"
At St. Mungo's, Alastor Moody was leaning against the wall, looking incredibly uncomfortable.
Tonks stood beside him, casually munching on Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans while whispering to Tris.
Moody had received a letter from Dumbledore and, trusting him, had come straight to the hospital instead of returning to the Ministry of Magic. Now, he was regretting it.
Apparently, there was a new spell capable of restoring lost limbs and injuries.
And it had been invented by a kid.
It sounded ridiculous.
Moody had suffered for years. If healing was that easy, why had no one done it before?
So, his paranoia kicked in. He refused treatment until Dumbledore arrived.
When Dumbledore finally appeared, Moody didn't greet him.
Instead, he threw a Disarming Charm at him.
Dumbledore vanished instantly, reappearing in front of him.
The spell missed, leaving a small crater in the wall.
Dumbledore sighed. "Alastor, must you always—"
"Ha! It's really you!" Moody grinned. "Only the real Dumbledore could dodge like that."
Later, as Dean Bohan prepared to heal Moody, he warned, "It might hurt a little."
Moody scoffed. "I've endured the Cruciatus Curse. How bad can—"
Blue light flashed.
"AAAAAH!"
The entire hospital heard his scream.
Back at Hogwarts, Dumbledore found Blake and Hermione sneaking around in the Forbidden Forest and told Blake about Moody's ordeal.
Blake paled. "I forgot to teach Dean Bohan the anesthetic spell..."
Hermione stared at him. "You're telling me... you just let him feel all of that pain?!"
Dumbledore sighed.
Blake: "Well... maybe they could've just stunned him first..."
Silence.
Hermione: "...Are you kidding me?!"
=============
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