Blake had now nearly ruled out the time turner as the cause of his time travel.
Not after spending so much time with Hermione in the Room of Requirement. He hadn't been idle while she was immersed in books—his True Eye had gone to work.
With a glance, he scanned Hermione's shirt, analyzing the time turner.
It resembled a pocket watch within a ring. But instead of a dial and hands, a miniature hourglass with fine, sand-like particles spun within. These grains were the key to its function.
After thorough observation, Blake confirmed the sand's weight couldn't possibly send someone decades—or even days—into the past. The most it could do was rewind about five hours.
Clearly, the Ministry had issued Hermione the safest, most limited time turner. Understandable—no matter her grades, Hermione was still a student. Letting young witches tamper with serious time magic would be reckless.
Time travel doesn't just affect the traveler. One small change can ripple through the world. The Ministry had tragic precedents to remind them why unrestricted time travel was forbidden.
That's why they wouldn't allow unstable or unregulated devices in student hands. This was no powerful relic—just a safe, limited-use tool.
Blake found it absurd regardless. Giving this to a thirteen-year-old was like handing a government-issued pistol to a Muggle student for self-defense.
So he reconsidered the possible causes of his own time travel.
He dismissed the time turner.
That left only one suspect:
The Eye of Agamotto—still being restored by Nicolas Flamel.
Blake had long suspected the Eye might be involved. Now, his instincts aligned.
He planned to visit Flamel once ready—perhaps that visit would be the moment his time travel began.
With the likely cause understood, Blake felt calmer.
Especially after receiving a letter from Flamel, explaining the Eye's blueprints were still incomplete. It might be a while before the artifact was functional.
Good. Blake now had time—time to tie up loose ends and prepare.
He didn't want to return to a world transformed.
The next major event? The Wizengamot hearing for Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
With Dumbledore now holding authority over the court, and with ample evidence available, Sirius's innocence was nearly guaranteed.
And once that was confirmed, Blake—who had led the effort—would gain not only thanks but powerful connections. And treasure chests, of course.
Those who opposed Sirius's exoneration—Fudge, perhaps—might try something underhanded. But with Blake present, sabotage was unlikely.
After all, Blake's dimensional gate would transport Sirius and Peter directly into the courtroom before Dumbledore.
Any ambush would come up empty-handed.
All Blake needed to do was open the door.
But then, a concern hit him—Ariana had once mentioned that Supreme Magic only worked in its proper time and space. If Blake time-traveled, Cassandra and the others wouldn't be able to use the dimensional gate.
He'd need to build a replacement.
Blake turned his attention to Ancient Runes.
Monday marked the first elective class in Ancient Runes.
Professor Babbling stood at the podium, her voice echoing through the classroom.
"Perhaps you think Ancient Runes are only useful for translation or curse-breaking. But you're wrong."
She paused, eyes flashing.
"Even the Ministry doesn't understand this subject fully. But today, I'll show you the true magic of ancient runes."
Her words stunned the class. Even Hermione, well-read as she was, hadn't grasped the full potential of runes.
Blake smiled and nodded at the flushed professor. She returned the look with a subtle grin, bolstered by his encouragement.
The truth? Most "authorities" in the field had resisted Babbling's ideas—not from ignorance, but laziness.
They knew her demonstrations were legitimate. But accepting them meant upheaval—abandoning decades of academic ease.
Many professors treated Ancient Runes like a dead language. An easy class. A place for idle scholars to coast.
Reform meant work. Retesting. Relearning. Losing status.
So they denied her.
Babbling didn't quiet the student murmurs. She let them chatter, knowing many had chosen her class only for easy credits. Under the old curriculum, all they had to do was memorize symbols and definitions.
It was like taking Muggle Studies as a Muggle-born.
Now, she told them this was a magical subject. As if their English class had suddenly turned into spellwork.
"Professor," one student asked skeptically, "what magic could these old symbols possibly have?"
The room hushed.
Babbling smiled. She had waited for this.
"Mr. Finnigan," she said, "my conclusion comes from many demonstrations."
She turned to Blake.
"Mr. Green, would you come up here?"
Blake blinked. "Me?"
She nodded firmly.
Hogwarts students adored Blake. His name carried weight. His presence would add credibility.
"I heard your runes are excellent. You even discovered their magical use?"
Blake gave her a knowing look. She knew exactly how skilled he was—he'd taught her half of what she now taught!
But he nodded politely.
"Would you show the class what you've found?" she asked, eyes twinkling.
Blake sighed but obliged. He picked up a piece of chalk.
Babbling knew what she was doing—if the students saw him cast rune-based magic, they'd believe. They wouldn't question her motives or suspect trickery.
After last year's incident with an imposter professor, trust was in short supply.
She gestured toward the blackboard.
Blake stepped forward.
He didn't mind being in the spotlight—not when treasure chests were on the line.
"Hmm… anyone know the first rune in our textbook?" Blake asked.
Hermione's hand shot up.
"Oh, Hermione, I'm not the professor. I can't give you points," Blake teased.
She blushed. "I… I'm used to it!"
Professor Babbling chuckled. "Go ahead, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor."
Hermione straightened. "It's water. The first rune symbolizes water."
"Correct," Babbling said. "Well done."
She turned to Blake. "Now it's your turn. If you succeed, I'll give you points."
Blake shrugged and turned to the board.
"Alright, here's the symbol…"
He quickly wrote the rune for water.
It looked just like the textbook image.
But as he finished the final stroke, something incredible happened—
A trickle of water seeped from the symbol.
Then, the rune shifted, forming a spout.
Water poured from the blackboard like a faucet.
The class gasped.
"Blake, how—how did you do that?" Harry asked.
Blake turned. "It's simple. I treat writing the rune like reciting a spell. The strokes complete the casting."
Babbling began to applaud. The students followed, amazed.
"It's a new casting technique," she said excitedly. "With proper design, we may not even need wands."
Her excitement was contagious—and physically obvious.
"Mr. Green, can you show us more?" she asked, striking while the iron was hot.
Blake nodded and wrote the runes for wind, fire, and ice.
A breeze swept the classroom. The board caught fire, then cooled. He drew a rune on a water glass, and the liquid froze solid.
The students stared in wonder.
They scrambled for parchment and quills, eager to try.
Blake turned to Professor Babbling and whispered, "Professor, I helped you. Think you could do me a favour too?"
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