HP: Bad Intentions

Hagrid feared the worst for Aragog, his lifelong friend, believing the end was near. However, Blake offered hope.

"Really, Blake? If you can save Aragog, I..." Hagrid, towering over three meters tall, was already in tears.

Blake scratched his head, understanding Hagrid's emotions. As a half-giant, Blake knew what it felt like to be treated as an outcast. Memories of being called a freak or the lack of support, when framed by Tom Riddle, reminded him how society alienated those deemed different. Dumbledore had been the only one to stand by Hagrid back then.

Hagrid's only solace came from creatures like Aragog, who didn't judge him. For over fifty years, the Acromantula had been Hagrid's closest confidant in the Forbidden Forest, sharing countless moments of companionship.

Blake interrupted Hagrid's sobbing. "What do you want, Hagrid? What's your ultimate goal for Aragog?"

Hagrid hesitated before replying, "I just want the fighting to stop..."

Blake shook his head. "That's not possible. This is about survival—there's no truce in the forest. It's kill or be killed."

Deflated, Hagrid lowered his expectations. "Then can we at least save him? I can't bear the thought of him being torn apart."

Blake nodded. "If it's just to save him, there's a way—have him step down and live in peace elsewhere."

Hagrid looked troubled. "Step down? You don't understand, Blake. Aragog isn't just another spider. He's the king of the Acromantulas in the forest. Every spider here is his descendant. Asking him to give that up is cruel."

Blake sighed, unimpressed. "You know, there weren't any Acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest before you brought him here. And you didn't stop there—you found him a mate, and now their offspring dominate the forest. Their poison has killed off other creatures, even withering the centaurs' settlements. It's destruction, Hagrid."

Blake continued, "The forest follows one rule—the strong survive. Aragog is old. Without challengers, he could have died in peace. But now, a younger, stronger Acromantula, not one of his descendants, has risen to take his place. That's how it works. The only way to save him is to get him out before he's defeated."

Hagrid wept, his sobs echoing like a train whistle. "Alright... I'll find a way to bring him back. I'll speak to Dumbledore. Aragog is blind and frail. He's no threat to anyone now. Maybe Dumbledore will let me keep him safe."

Blake wasn't sure what Dumbledore would decide, but that wasn't his concern. Soon, control over the Acromantulas would shift, and that was enough for him.

Later, Blake wandered through the halls of Hogwarts, absorbed in a book on soul magic.

"The soul is the most mysterious part of a being," he murmured, engrossed in theories about the interaction between soul bodies.

"Hey!" someone called, but Blake, lost in thought, didn't notice. A familiar presence jolted him, and he looked up to see Ginny Weasley pass by. Her face was pale, her steps robotic.

Blake's eyes narrowed. The stench surrounding her was unmistakable—identical to the malevolent aura from Ravenclaw's diadem.

He realized Ginny was under Tom's control, her soul manipulated. Was she even aware of herself anymore? Determined to intervene, Blake began to follow her when he felt a sharp pain in his leg.

Looking down, he found Cassandra Malfoy clutching her calf in pain.

"You... you brute! Why are your legs so hard?" she accused, tears welling in her green eyes.

Blake closed his book, exasperated. "Why are you kicking people and blaming their legs?"

"I called you, but you ignored me!"

"Sorry, I was reading. Why'd you kick me, though?"

Cassandra glared. "I wasn't going to, but then you looked up the moment Ginny passed by! You ignored me but stared at her! How dare you?"

Blake sighed, realizing her jealousy. "I had a reason," he said, bending to inspect her leg.

"What are you doing?" she yelped as he rolled down her stocking, revealing a nasty bruise.

Ignoring her protests, Blake muttered, "Nothing broken... Hold still, or it'll scar."

Cassandra froze at the mention of scars, allowing Blake to heal the bruise with his wand. Her calf returned to its pale, flawless state.

"Next time, don't kick with your calves. Use the front of your foot—less painful, even against an iron plate," Blake advised.

Cassandra's cheeks flushed as she hastily pulled up her sock. Her embarrassment turned to irritation, and she suddenly kicked him again.

"Ow! You liar—it still hurts!" she cried, clutching her foot.

"Why are you kicking me again?" Blake sighed.

Cassandra's teary eyes sparkled with frustration. "You said it wouldn't hurt if I used my foot!"

"On someone else, not me! Do you know how tough I am?"

Blake crouched to heal her again, but Cassandra panicked, pulling her robes tightly.

"Not here! What if someone sees?" she pleaded, her voice trembling with mortification.

Blake rolled his eyes. "Fine, but stop kicking me if you don't want this to keep happening!"

As he finished, Cassandra muttered under her breath, "You're impossible..."

Blake shook his head, still thinking about Ginny. He had more pressing matters to handle than Cassandra's antics.

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