In the wizarding world, there is no official nobility—only wealthy families who live like aristocrats. The Worley family is one such example, as is Mr. Delacour, who now stands outside the Worley manor.
Mr. Delacour's unexpected visit catches Mr. Worley off guard. Once seated in the living room, Worley, still puzzled, asks, "I wrote in my letter that I would bring the raw materials to France. Why have you come here in person?"
Delacour responds, "I originally intended to buy a few bottles of life-extending potion and then meet you for business."
"And now?"
Delacour clenches his fists. "Now... I came without the potion, just to ask a question."
"What question?"
"What did Blake give you?"
Worley blinks in confusion. "Why do you ask?"
He hesitates, not particularly inclined to answer. Their cooperation doesn't extend to such inquiries.
Realizing his intensity, Delacour relaxes his grip and takes a sip of coffee. "Blake gave me the formula for the life-extending potion."
Worley's eyes widen in shock. The formula? That's a golden goose! Blake actually handed it over to the Delacour family?
"Now that I've told you, can you tell me what Blake gave you?"
Worley, still processing, asks, "Why are you so sure he gave us something?"
Delacour smirks. "Because... you have a daughter, don't you?"
Worley's expression darkens. He understands now.
Delacour continues, "Maybe I got the better deal because I have two daughters, while you have just one."
"So..."
Crash! Worley's cup falls, shattering.
"If they interact normally, fine. But if that boy thinks he can string along multiple ships, I won't allow it!"
Meanwhile, Blake sneezes.
"Huh... Even with my enhanced body, I still sneeze? Must be too much cumin," he mutters, adding another handful of chili powder to the skewers.
The aroma intensifies as Hagrid steps out of his hut, carrying fresh meat skewers.
"Aha, Blake, your skills are brilliant!"
Grilling in the snow is an excellent way to enjoy winter.
"Hagrid, why all meat? Where are the vegetables?" Blake asks, placing freshly grilled skewers on a plate and using a Bubble Charm to keep them warm.
Hagrid scratches his head. "Winter, Blake. Hard to find vegetables... Potatoes, maybe?"
Blake rolls his eyes. "I'm barbecuing because I got sick of eating meat all the time. Even Muggles have winter vegetables! Don't tell me wizards can't?"
He pulls out a sack and hands it to Hagrid, who opens it to reveal fresh vegetables. "Aha! Prepared as always!" Hagrid grins and heads inside.
As Blake continues grilling, his mind drifts to recent events.
At St. Mungo's, he had just taught healers the limb-regeneration spell. Dumbledore had asked if he could cure the Longbottoms, to which Blake had replied, "Not yet."
But in truth, he could.
Using the Wishful Wand, he could likely restore them. But he held back for several reasons.
First, the spell would come with a curse, likely tied to the soul. Unlike the limb-regeneration spell, this would be a whole new level of magic—possibly even beyond what had been seen before.
Even with Blake's established genius, casting two groundbreaking spells in one day would make Dumbledore deeply suspicious.
Second, he had already exhausted many resources with the limb-regeneration spell. If he used the soul-repairing spell now, he would reach the limit of what he could gain from the Longbottoms.
Thus, he let them wait a little longer.
Just then, Hannah Abbott approaches, her eyes lighting up at the skewers in Blake's hand.
"Blake! Why does your barbecue smell so good? Teach me!"
Blake hands her half the skewers. "Where's Hermione?"
Hannah shrugs. "She's finishing a Potions paper."
Blake frowns. "Didn't she finish that Friday night?"
Hannah brushes oil on the grill. "Maybe she doesn't want to see you."
Blake looks at her in surprise. "Why?"
"I heard her muttering that she was the only one who couldn't help."
Blake's mind races. Cassandra's family helped. Fleur's family helped. But Hermione? Her Muggle dentist parents couldn't.
Had he neglected her feelings?
Sighing, he watches Hannah happily munch on skewers. Sometimes, he wished Hermione could be as carefree as her.
Blake stands and looks toward the castle. Activating his Reality Eyes, he peers into the library.
There, Hermione sits by a window, a thick Potions book open before her. But she isn't reading—her eyes remain unfocused, the pages unmoved for hours.
Blake raises a hand to touch his nose but stops, remembering the chili powder. Hannah, stuffing her cheeks like a hamster, notices his distraction.
"Something bothering you?"
Blake glances at her. Maybe she wasn't so careless after all.
"Thanks for telling me about Hermione."
Hannah smiles. "I hesitated to tell you, but I figured you should know."
Blake nods. "You're thoughtful."
"Not really. I just knew you'd find out anyway, so why not hear it from me and think I'm considerate?"
Blake laughs. "Clever."
Hannah grins. "And now you also think I'm sincere."
Blake shakes his head, amused. Hannah's approach gave him the answer—he needed to be honest with Hermione.
Hagrid returns, holding a plate of vegetable skewers.
"Blake, go sort out your business. Hannah and I have this handled."
Blake nods. "Thanks."
In the library, Hermione stares at her book, lost in thought. Cassandra wasn't just her rival in academics—Blake had sought her help, revealing a gap Hermione hadn't considered.
Cassandra's and Fleur's families could support Blake's ambitions.
But she? A Muggle-born daughter of dentists?
"I'm not worthy..."
"Forget it," she whispers.
"Forget what?" Blake's voice startles her.
She looks up, seeing his familiar grin.
"Nothing."
Blake glances at her finished paper. "You're free now, right? Come with me."
Before Hermione can respond, sparks fly, and the two vanish from the library.
Nearby, the house-elf Beck appears. With a snap, Hermione's belongings neatly pack themselves into a box before he, too, vanishes.
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