After breakfast, Hermione cheerfully took the soul lantern back from Blake. Cassandra sat nearby, speaking softly to her moonflower.
Her experiments had revealed something fascinating—the flower didn't just respond to basic commands; it fully understood her words. When she complimented its beauty, the moonflower trembled with delight, glowing softly.
Unlike Cassandra's excitement, Blake was sprawled in an armchair, rubbing his stomach and groaning. He had once again overestimated himself at the breakfast table. To avoid wasting food, he'd forced himself to eat nearly everything, and now he was suffering for it.
Groaning, Blake pulled out a piece of parchment, scribbled down a potion recipe, and handed it to Cassandra, who was still fussing over her flower.
"Make me a digestion potion," he muttered.
"Don't you have one already?" Cassandra asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I never needed one before," Blake replied with a hint of pride.
Times had changed. His appetite was shrinking again—but his physical strength hadn't declined. In fact, it seemed the side effects of his last evolution were finally fading.
He reached into his pocket and, through his system's warehouse, pulled out a handful of potion ingredients, making it look like he'd drawn them straight from his robes.
"You just made up this formula?" Cassandra asked, scanning the parchment.
"Nope," Blake replied lazily. "That was your dean's work. The old bat might be grouchy, but he knows his potions. Why reinvent the wheel?"
He slumped deeper into the armchair, playing dead.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. It wasn't that Blake couldn't invent potions—it was that he couldn't be bothered when a solution already existed.
She quickly set up the cauldron. The recipe wasn't difficult, and her potion skills were solid. With occasional tips from Blake, the brew came together swiftly.
Soon, she kicked a bowl of thick, reddish-brown potion toward him.
Blake frowned. "Just looking at this, I know I didn't write this recipe."
Cassandra giggled, covering her mouth. "Well, maybe you shouldn't be so lazy."
"Come on, Blake. Time for your medicine," she teased.
"Huh?" Blake blinked. The way she said it felt strangely familiar, like some kind of daily ritual.
He eyed the potion with suspicion. The color and smell were downright unpleasant. It wasn't that he didn't trust Cassandra—it's just that Snape, the original creator, never cared for taste or aroma. Efficacy was all that mattered to him.
Still, did it have to look this revolting?
Too late to revise the formula, Blake sighed, pulled out his wishful wand, and pointed it at the bowl.
"Let this taste like brown sugar water."
He'd tested this spell back when his potion shop opened. Now, it was his only salvation.
Setting the wand down, he sniffed the potion again. The odor was gone.
One sip—and it tasted sweet!
Long live the wishful wand.
Snape's potion worked like a charm. Minutes later, Blake's stomach gave a loud rumble and then settled completely. He even felt a little hungry.
"Hiccup~" he burped, pleased.
Standing up, he turned to Cassandra. "Got any plans for today?"
She shook her head. "Not really… I finished all my homework last night while you were in the library."
"Great. Then help me out."
"With what?" she asked, eyeing him cautiously.
"Nothing shady," Blake said. "Just tidying up."
He gestured toward the sprawling magical plants in the Room of Requirement.
"These are done. No more useful mutations, so I'm removing them."
Cassandra blinked. "Are you… sad to let them go?"
Blake nodded. "Yeah, kind of."
"Where are you moving them? Don't tell me—" she glanced toward Hermione and stopped herself from saying more.
Blake smirked, knowing she meant the secret mountaintop base.
He shook his head. "Nope. Right here."
He pulled out a freshly crafted satchel.
Cassandra stared. "You're putting all of these… in that bag?"
Transplanting plants wasn't as simple as shoving them in a sack. If anyone else had suggested it, she'd have laughed in their face.
But this was Blake.
"I know what you're thinking," he said. "This isn't a regular Extension Charm bag. It's a plant collection bag."
Hermione was too absorbed in her own studies to notice their conversation, so Blake continued.
"I made it last night. It adjusts its interior to match the preferred environment of any magical plant inside. So they'll be just fine."
He handed her the smaller, earlier prototype—rewarded by the system.
"I used this one before. Now it's yours. Perfect for your moonflower. It can hold up to twenty magical plants."
"In fact, I picked nineteen others for you. Plants that will suit your style. If you're ever in danger—release them. They'll protect you."
With his new large-capacity collection bag in hand, Blake no longer needed the old one. It was ideal for Cassandra.
She clutched the bag in awe, tracing the rune-etched pattern on its surface.
"These nineteen plants… like the ones here?" she asked.
Blake nodded. "Exactly."
"But how do I avoid getting hurt by them?"
Blake grinned. "Remember what your moonflower can do?"
Cassandra tilted her head. "You don't mean… they're all intelligent?"
"Let's just say your moonflower isn't the only one I taught to recognize people. These plants won't hurt you—only your enemies."
Stunned, Cassandra grabbed Blake's hand and dragged him through a side door into the Room of Requirement's magical animal space.
Once inside, she shut the door tightly. All the magical creatures had already been relocated, leaving just the two of them.
"Uh… Cassandra? What are you doing?" Blake asked, bewildered.
Her cheeks flushed pink. "You've given me so much… I have to find a way to thank you."
Her hand explored gently.
Blake froze. "Wait—Hermione's right outside—"
"That just makes it more thrilling, doesn't it?" Cassandra whispered into his ear.
"If you're chasing excitement…" she teased, her breath hot on his skin, "then go all the way."
Blake blinked. "Wait—why do those words sound so familiar—hey—hiss—just now—"