"I saw you weren't used to using a quill, so... this is for you."
Hermione handed Blake a small gift box. Inside was a luxurious Montblanc pen—clearly expensive. She must've saved up for it, probably through a group purchase.
"Thank you, Hermione... I love it," Blake said, happily running his fingers over the pen.
"As long as you like it," Hermione murmured. "My owl's sick, so... I had to give it to you in person. I didn't forget your birthday..."
She glanced away, nervously fiddling with the corners of her sleeves.
"Then... I'll get going," she said, turning to leave.
"-T... wait," Blake called out. "Can't you stay a little longer?"
Hermione hesitated, eyes drifting to Cassandra, who didn't look pleased. Conflict flickered across her face.
"Forget it. Looks like I came at the wrong time. I should go."
"No! You came at the perfect time," Blake said, gently taking her hand.
Hermione tugged to free herself, but Blake didn't let go.
"You really are a troublemaker..."
At Chaos Wish, Agatha handed a bloodstained card to the house elf at the front desk. The elf studied it and muttered, "You're with the Fourth Natural Disaster..."
He marked a cross on the parchment and nodded.
"Congratulations. You've passed our test. We don't let clients take risks without reward—here's fifty thousand Galleons for your trouble."
He handed her a sack of gold. "To offset any losses. By the way, how many casualties did your team suffer?"
Agatha's eyes narrowed. "None."
"Ah... I see. I'll report your status to my master," he said, marking another note on the parchment.
"From today forward, your organization will receive a 10% increase in commission rewards—taken from Chaos Wish's cut, of course. A show of goodwill."
As Agatha stepped outside, she looked back at the door to Chaos Plain. That house elf had called himself I—a sign of dangerous autonomy. Dobby, for example, always referred to himself in the third person.
Clearly, this elf was no ordinary servant.
Agatha had noticed the parchment too. Organization names were listed in two columns. The one crossed out had been the rival group to the Fourth Natural Disaster—the same group that ambushed them at the fake ruins. Which meant...
The attackers weren't from Chaos Wish at all. They were just another group taking the same test. A group now completely wiped out.
There were more names on that list. Which meant the test wasn't over yet.
Agatha returned to the mountain base and reported everything to Old Lepp, who immediately sent an owl to Blake.
Blake's response was brief: "Business as usual."
Accept commissions as usual. Enjoy the sun as usual. And as for Chaos...
If you want to know what something is—let it move on its own.
The last two weeks of vacation passed peacefully for Blake. Though tension remained between Hermione and Cassandra, things had improved. Thanks, of course, to Blake, the ever-needed buffer.
Soon enough, September 1st arrived.
Blake got to King's Cross Station early. As he looked at the familiar Hogwarts Express, he mused about contradictions in magical law. The Ministry banned flying carpets as Muggle artifacts, yet allowed heavily modified brooms and trains. Carpets and brooms were both Muggle inventions—was Quidditch the only reason brooms were legal?
Even Arthur Weasley, who wrote the Muggle Protection Act, secretly tinkered with Muggle cars. So what was the point?
As he pondered this, more people filled the station.
A pale, thin, middle-aged man caught his attention. The man clutched a battered suitcase and walked with his head low, trying to blend into the crowd.
Blake watched curiously as the man boarded the Hogwarts Express.
Professors didn't usually take the train—except for one.
Blake followed.
Remus John Lupin entered an empty compartment and closed the door, relieved not to have been noticed. He heaved his suitcase onto the table, then collapsed into a seat, pale and weak.
He'd only recently undergone a werewolf transformation and was still recovering.
When he received Dumbledore's invitation to teach, he thought it was a dream. A werewolf—universally scorned—offered a professor's post at Hogwarts?
He couldn't refuse. He desperately needed the job. But if his identity got out, the parents would revolt. Even Dumbledore might be forced to let him go.
Thankfully, in human form, he looked like any other tired man. Except for the paleness and fatigue, he passed as normal.
Still... Snape was now the Potions Master. And they had a history.
Both had gone too far during their school days. They bullied each other—cruelly.
Now, Snape would be the one brewing his Wolfsbane Potion.
Lupin sighed. He'd have to be cautious. No one could know what he was.
He stared out the window at the arriving students, lost in old memories. Sleep crept in.
He pulled out a worn but clean coat to use as a blanket and prepared to nap.
Just then, a knock sounded at the door.
"Excuse me, is this seat taken?"
Lupin looked up, startled. A light-blond boy in Hufflepuff robes stood at the door.
"Oh... no. Please, come in."
The boy—Blake—entered, sat opposite Lupin, and stared out the window, sneaking glances at the professor.
He'd never seen a werewolf in person before.
Werewolves were like AIDS patients in the Muggle world—deeply stigmatized. But in truth, the virus wasn't contagious in human form. Only blood and saliva during a transformation posed danger.
Lupin didn't notice the stares. He was too tired.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to nap," Lupin said politely.
"Of course, go ahead," Blake smiled.
"Thank you," Lupin murmured, closing his eyes.
Hufflepuff kids are so polite...
But then Blake spoke again.
"You don't look well, Doctor..."
Lupin opened his eyes again. "I've been ill... Still recovering."
"Ah. Are you cured now?"
"Recently. I'm still a bit tired."
Blake nodded seriously. "Recovering from illness takes time. You need supplements. Didn't St. Mungo's give you any?"
Lupin smiled bitterly. As a werewolf, he couldn't just show up at St. Mungo's. And he couldn't afford potions like that anyway.
"The healer must've forgotten."
"It's fine—I have some with me."
Blake reached into his pouch and pulled out two glowing green bottles—nutritional supplements. Snape's old stash, which Blake had looted. Snape had been furious.
He pushed the bottles to Lupin, who blinked in disbelief.
These were high-quality—and expensive—supplements. Just one sip would help immensely.
"I can't accept this," Lupin said, pushing them back. "They're too valuable."
"Is it precious? I have loads!" Blake reached for more bottles.
Lupin stopped him. "Child, don't waste them. Potions like these cost a fortune."
Blake looked serious. "Potions are valuable when used by those who need them. Letting them gather dust is the real waste."
[Snape: Why don't you give me your Gringotts vault while you're at it?]
Lupin faltered, hearing truth in the boy's words.
Blake handed him a bottle. "You're still recovering. You need this. Otherwise, how will you have the strength to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Remus John Lupin?"
Lupin froze.
"How do you know my name? Or that I'm a professor?"
Blake pointed at the suitcase. "Your name's written on it. And we all know we're getting a new DADA professor this year. It wasn't hard to guess."
Lupin rubbed the potion bottle, stunned. "You're a smart kid. What's your name?"
"I'm a Hufflepuff, entering third year. You can call me Blake."
Lupin flinched at the name. Blake—like another he once knew. A traitor he still didn't understand.
"Child, what's your full name?" Lupin asked quietly.
"My real surname is Dumbledore, Professor."
"...What?" Lupin's eyes widened. "Dumbledore—as in Professor Dumbledore?"
"Yes. He's actually my father."
Lupin: !!!
[Ding! An unusually shocking emotion has been detected!]
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining the Golden Treasure Chest!]