Sirius was happy now.
The Marauder's Map, which he and the others had created during their school years, had originally been confiscated by the school administrators before their graduation. They had deliberately allowed this to happen, hoping to leave it behind as a legacy for the next generation.
Only someone as peculiar and mischievous as they were could unlock the map's true magic. To anyone else, it appeared to be nothing more than a scrap of worn-out parchment. But Blake had managed to get the map—and had even found himself on it.
To Sirius, that meant the legacy he and James left behind had found a worthy successor. A test set long ago had finally been passed. The prank, years in the making, had succeeded. And better yet, it was Blake who now held the map—Blake, who had saved him. That made it even more satisfying.
"Uh... No, I'm not, I don't. We are not the same people, thank you," Blake said, trying to brush off the connection.
"Aha! I understand! I understand everything! I will keep your secret," Sirius replied with a knowing grin. "After all, this map is a good thing, and we can't let the professors discover it."
Sirius had that familiar glint in his eye—he truly believed Blake was like him. That thought made him feel oddly connected to the boy.
"Okay, okay, do you have anything else? If not, I'll leave," Blake said, clearly eager to get going. It was dinner time, after all.
"Thank you for waking me up that day, Blake. And for helping Harry." Sirius's voice shifted. This time, his gratitude was genuine.
The sincerity in his tone triggered a response in Blake's system: a golden treasure chest appeared.
Blake waved off the thanks. "No need for that. You owe me a favor. When I call it in, don't refuse."
"Of course!" Sirius said cheerfully. A weight had lifted from his shoulders, and some of his old carefreeness returned. Still, Blake hoped Sirius would act more maturely in the future. So many of his past mistakes stemmed from acting on impulse.
After dinner, Blake headed to the library with a roll of parchment.
Despite his reputation for laziness and frequent absences, he always did his homework. Not because the professors demanded it, but because his work was consistently innovative and exceptional. His papers often earned him treasure chests from the professors—usually gold-level or higher.
With such rewards, why not do the homework?
When Blake arrived, the library was nearly full. Most students would head back to the common room at this hour, but Blake was never short on seating. As he walked in, several young witches began tidying their belongings, discreetly freeing up a seat near him.
He scanned the room and spotted a towering pile of books in the corner. Barely visible behind them was a head of frizzy brown hair. Hermione.
Blake hesitated. He wasn't eager to sit next to her. But then he caught sight of a pair of green eyes glaring at him from across the room.
Cassandra.
Her look was a challenge: "Sit next to her and see what happens."
Grinning, Blake turned and deliberately sat down beside Hermione.
The rebel in him couldn't resist.
Cassandra huffed and stomped her foot. Mrs. Pince shot her a stern look, and she quickly sat down, not wanting to be ejected by the fearsome librarian.
Blake settled next to Hermione, and a collective sigh rippled through the room. Many witches glanced at the mountain of books with jealousy. Hermione, oblivious, was immersed in her studies.
She turned slightly, surprised to see Blake. But he didn't speak. He simply tore a piece of parchment, pulled out the pen Hermione had given him, and began writing furiously.
It was Snape's Potions essay.
Hermione noted that Blake had no reference books with him. Yet he wrote with no hesitation. She'd long suspected that Blake had an uncanny memory. He never needed to look anything up. He could recall entire passages—titles, authors, even page numbers.
It was like he had a library in his mind.
She watched him, eyes sparkling with admiration. She had always been a top student, but compared to Blake, she felt like a novice.
Suddenly, Blake's system pinged. He glanced up and caught Hermione staring.
She quickly looked away, her face turning bright red.
Amused, Blake didn't say anything. Knowing Hermione's shy nature, he turned back to his essay.
Hermione peeked at him again. She had expected him to tease her, but he remained silent. Just the sound of his pen filled the quiet space. Relieved and flustered, she tried to focus again.
But when she finally allowed herself a short break, she noticed that Blake had already finished.
Several sheets of parchment were neatly stacked. A bottle of water sat beside them. He was now reading The Quibbler.
He caught her glance. "Are you done?" he whispered.
She shook her head and frowned. "You...waiting for me?"
Blake nodded. "You still have a lot left. Need help?"
"No... I need to do it myself," she said, rubbing her eyes. Then she took a pill from the small bottle Blake had given her. The fatigue vanished almost instantly.
"I'm fine... you don't have to wait."
She looked toward Cassandra.
"Why not go talk to her?"
Cassandra, still watching, ducked behind a book.
"I'm not in a rush. We rarely get to spend time together. Nighttime in the library is the only time I really see you."
Hermione blushed again. This guy and his words...
"But I have a lot left."
"The library is closing soon. You won't finish it in time. Do it tomorrow."
"I'm not tired. The pill helped."
"Sometimes it's not about being physically tired, but mentally drained. Working like that, you'll just burn out."
Hermione glanced at the clock and sighed. "I'll go to the common room to continue."
"Come to the Room of Requirement. I'll make coffee."
Blake packed up and left. Cassandra noticed and followed.
Hermione looked at the books in front of her, exhausted.
"Is Granger insane?" Cassandra grumbled as they walked. "She actually signed up for all the electives? How is she in two classes at once?"
Unlike Blake the slacker, Hermione had chosen every elective—despite schedule overlaps. Cassandra was baffled.
"She did something secret," Blake said.
"What is it? Tell me."
Blake smirked. "If you weren't slacking off with me, you might have learned about it from McGonagall."
Cassandra huffed. If she hadn't been following Blake around, her grades would probably rival Hermione's.
"Whatever... just don't tell me."
"Rocher from Nurmengard sent some quality coffee beans today. Want to try them?"
"Yes!" Cassandra brightened instantly.
In the Room of Requirement, Blake was awkwardly grinding coffee beans. Cassandra took over immediately.
"I'll do it."
Blake sat back in a comfy chair, watching the stars projected on the ceiling.
Moments later, Hermione entered with the enchanted schoolbag Blake had given her.
"You made it," Blake said, pulling out a chair.
Cassandra wrinkled her nose at the sight of Hermione.
Blake gave her a look, and she shot one back: "What, you want me to serve her coffee?"
Blake stood to make it himself.
Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Sit down. I'll do it."
She reluctantly poured Hermione a cup. Hermione, unfazed, unpacked her books.
"Thank you, Warley," Hermione said softly.
Cassandra blinked. "Did... did she just thank me?"