One minute. A piece of parchment. A pen.
Then, the potion recipe was written.
People were stunned, but it somehow felt… plausible.
After all, whether it's one minute or an hour, creating a completely new potion is something most couldn't do in a lifetime. So when Blake said he'd previously researched dragon pox, it made the feat easier to accept. He wasn't starting from nothing—he had a foundation.
"This is cheating!" Shafiq leapt from his chair.
"How did I cheat?" Blake pointed to the hourglass, still turning. "I wrote it within an hour."
"But—but you already researched this before! It wasn't created in this hour!"
Blake smirked. "Mr. Shafiq, I disagree. Prior research is just part of my knowledge reserve. By your logic, I'd have to relearn spelling just to count this. I didn't learn how to spell in the last hour either, did I?"
Shafiq sputtered but had no rebuttal.
Maybe Blake had gotten lucky—but it didn't change the fact: the recipe was written in one hour. It counted.
"Don't get cocky! How do we know it even works? Maybe you made it up!"
"Relax," Blake waved dismissively. "Let me brew it and we'll see."
Shafiq went pale with fury.
Blake turned to Fudge, who waved a hand. The useless hourglass was removed. In came potion ingredients, laid out neatly, along with a full set of brand-new brewing equipment.
"If you need anything else, let us know," Fudge offered.
Even if he wasn't on great terms with Dumbledore, Fudge had a grudging admiration for Blake. Once upon a time, he'd tried to blaze trails too… but lacked the talent. Blake clearly didn't.
"Thank you, Minister."
Blake approached the newly arranged table, inspected the setup, and nodded.
"Blake, do you need help?" Dorje asked kindly.
"Objection! No one's allowed to help!" Shafiq yelled.
Dorje glared. "The agreement was that he had to write the recipe. Nothing said others couldn't brew it for him."
Blake raised a hand. "It's alright, Mr. Dorje. I'll do it myself—convincingly."
Dorje sat back down. The hardest part, the recipe, was done. Brewing it shouldn't be a problem now.
Blake glanced at the fuming Shafiq and grinned. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleepy-eyed Niffler.
"Dabao, wake up. Help me process these ingredients."
Dabao blinked. A knife somehow appeared in his paw.
"Zhizhizhi! (You evil boss!)"
Ignoring the protest, Blake rummaged again.
"Ah, Jibao, you help too."
He pulled out a Bowtruckle.
"Can you sort and clean those ingredients for me?"
Jibao gently patted Blake's finger, then got to work with astonishing speed.
Soon, a pile of perfectly prepared materials sat in front of Dabao.
"Dabao, keep up! Look at Jibao!"
"Squeak squeak squeak!"
Everyone watched in stunned silence. Magical creatures assisting in brewing? They'd seen beasts tested with potions—not helping make them!
How was Blake getting them to obey so precisely?
As Shafiq opened his mouth again, Blake interjected smoothly:
"Mr. Shafiq, I said I'd do it alone. My helpers aren't people, after all."
Shafiq turned red. He couldn't argue with that. The Niffler even helped write the recipe—Blake wasn't breaking any rules.
Meanwhile, Blake began the brewing process. With Jibao and Dabao's help, he didn't waste time on prep.
The process moved quickly. Soon, a fragrant aroma wafted through the air—refreshing and clean.
Unlike Snape's utilitarian potions, Blake's had a pleasing scent. Snape focused on function alone. Blake, however, aimed for both efficacy and user experience. He had the skill to do it.
Dabao tossed a bundle of finely sliced aconite. Blake added it to the crucible.
The reddish-brown liquid bubbled. Then—
"Gurgle..."
It cleared.
Now the potion shimmered like a mountain spring.
Dorje, who'd watched closely, blinked in surprise. A potion that looked and smelled pleasant while retaining full magical function? Nearly unheard of.
This wasn't cooking. It was alchemical art.
Blake waved his wand. The clear potion floated into neatly arranged vials.
Gasps filled the room.
Even without testing, it was the most beautiful potion they'd ever seen.
"Buzz..."
Dean Bohan appeared, Apparating to Dumbledore's side via a marked point.
"The patient's agreed to try it," Bohan said.
No one was shocked. When you're terminally ill and a new potion offers hope—especially for free—you take it.
Blake nodded and handed over the potion vials.
"Dosage?" Bohan asked.
"One ounce."
"That's all?"
"Yes. Too much causes… issues. Oh, and expect diarrhea. That's the detox working. Be careful to avoid spreading it."
Bohan nodded and vanished again.
Shafiq eyed Bohan's departure nervously. Dragon pox wasn't something he wanted to mess with.
Fudge asked, "How long before we see results?"
Blake shrugged. "Depends. If they're not constipated, five minutes."
Fudge blinked. That wasn't the answer he expected—but it made sense.
A reporter approached Blake, who answered every question thoroughly.
He wanted the Daily Prophet to publish this. He was testing more than just a potion.
Suddenly, the portal flared.
Dean Bohan returned, face flushed with excitement. He seized Blake's hand.
Shafiq blurted, "Well? Is it ineffective? Is the patient dead?!"
Bohan glared. Then, to the room, he declared:
"Of course it worked! It's miraculous!"
Blake raised an eyebrow. "So the potion worked?"
"Yes! If the patients weren't so weak, they'd be here thanking you themselves!"
Blake turned to Shafiq.
Shafiq stumbled backward. "Impossible! Bohan's lying! He's helping you!"
Bohan scoffed. "Which is why I brought proof."
He handed photos to Fudge.
The first few showed pox-covered patients writhing in bed.
The next set showed the same people, same rooms—but the pox was gone. They looked weak, but alive and recovering.
Then Bohan passed one final photo.
"Minister, look at this."
It showed a patient mid-recovery—the sores visibly vanishing.
Fudge passed the photos around. When Shafiq saw them, all color drained from his face.
Blake had done it. The one-minute recipe worked.
"I believe," Fudge said, "the outcome of this round is clear."
"Even without the life-extending potion or limb-regeneration spell, this is enough to earn Blake an Order of Merlin, First Class," Bohan said.
Everyone nodded.
Fudge sighed. "Congratulations, Blake. Another First Class medal..."
He grumbled internally. Most people earned one in a lifetime. Blake? He was collecting them like chocolate frogs.
Blake turned to Shafiq. "Mr. Shafiq?"
Shafiq trembled. "D-Don't get smug. You still have to create a new spell!"
Dumbledore stood, eyes cold.
"Isn't this potion alone enough to prove his talent?"
Shafiq shrank under the Headmaster's gaze.
For Blake, who held a Ruyi Wand, spell creation would be easy. The wand helped him craft and refine magic naturally.
This bet was as good as over.
Shafiq looked toward his supposed ally—the ordinary wizard who'd instigated all this.
But he was gone. Vanished.
Meanwhile, Dabao yawned and collapsed atop a pile of ingredients.
"Zhizhizhi? (You said you spent ten days experimenting? Since when? I don't remember that!)"
Blake gave the Niffler a playful thump on the head.
('Quiet, you. Don't let them know I didn't spend ten days. I made the recipe in a minute.')
=============
Want to read more?
Join my Patreon
patreon.com/Max1mus
Also Please vote for this work with your Powerstones
And don't forget to leave a review