HP: Bad Intentions

Knockturn Alley remained as dark and oppressive as ever.

Even under bright daylight, no sunbeam reached this cursed corner of wizarding London.

Cloaked figures lurked in shadows, faces hidden. So when Blake entered with Agatha and Snape, no one paid them any mind.

Agatha didn't acknowledge her brothers. She simply led them through the twisting alleyway, heading deep into its heart. Though Knockturn Alley was known for its lawlessness, there were still plenty of people about—until they passed a certain threshold. The deeper they went, the fewer pedestrians there were. Shops gave way to decrepit, empty buildings. In time, they saw no other soul.

Blake eyed the structures warily. Though they looked like common residences, his Eye of Truth pierced their façades, revealing vicious black magic woven through the walls. Some were cursed so heavily that touching them could mean a fate worse than death.

His lips curled into a grin.

Yes. This was it. The unmistakable flavor of true dark magic. Blake felt a wild urge to light a fire here—not out of malice, but because he was certain: if anything burned, it wouldn't be the innocent.

Agatha gestured toward a rotting wooden hut ahead. "All these buildings are decoys," she whispered. "This is the real entrance."

The foul odor made it seem like an abandoned public toilet. Blake blinked. That was it?

She turned to Snape. "You've been here before?"

Snape shook his head. "Only the outer alley. I came for rare ingredients... never this far in."

Agatha smirked. "Then this'll be a first for both of you."

Blake's curiosity surged. "You mean this isn't even the real Knockturn Alley yet?"

"You'll see," Agatha said cryptically.

Blake's excitement bubbled over. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Agatha held up a hand. "Not yet."

"Why not?"

She gave them both a knowing look. "Because right now, you don't look like dark wizards."

Blake and Snape exchanged a glance. Dressed in heavy cloaks, their appearances were discreet.

"How can you tell?" Blake asked. "And why does it matter?"

"It's not about appearance alone," she said. "If you don't have any dark magic protecting you—if you look weak—you're prey. The people in there don't take prisoners. If you walk in looking like a lamb... you'll be slaughtered."

Blake's eyes gleamed. "Interesting. So how do we look less like lambs?"

"At minimum, you need some defensive black magic on you. Like me." Agatha loosened her cloak, revealing tendrils of thick, corrosive black energy coiling from the seams.

The magic was toxic, potent—and expertly contained.

"This shows them I'm not an easy target," she said, tightening the cloak again but allowing some of the darkness to seep out.

"Got it," Blake said, already pulling out his wand.

A few moments later, his cloak shimmered and turned green—steeped in layers of corrupt enchantments. "Rotten Bone Curse... Rotten Blood Curse... this thing's practically anti-armor now!"

Agatha and Snape instinctively stepped away. Blake's cloak wasn't just warded—it radiated lethal intent. He had layered it with seven or eight dangerous curses.

"If the fabric were stronger, I'd add more," Blake mused, admiring his handiwork.

Snape raised an eyebrow, a mixture of respect and alarm on his face.

Agatha turned to the Potions Master. "Need help, Professor?"

Snape opened his mouth to decline, but Blake cut in.

"He doesn't need help. Former Death Eater. Married into dark magic research. He's probably better at this than you."

[Ding! Angry emotion detected!]

[Ding! Congratulations to the host for getting a golden treasure chest!]

Snape growled. "If you don't shut up..."

He raised his wand and cloaked himself in a sickly black aura—though his hand trembled slightly. The black magic stirred too eagerly under his control.

"Alright," Agatha said. "Now we're ready."

She pushed open the door to the disgusting shack.

Instead of a cramped interior, a vast hidden alley lay beyond. Unlike the bleak exterior, this passage was lively—bustling with dark-robed figures and market stalls.

It almost resembled Diagon Alley—if Diagon Alley had been built by lunatics and death cultists.

Blake followed Agatha down the street, drinking in the sights. Booths lined both sides, hawking illegal magical items with no attempt at subtlety.

"Fresh unicorn blood! Still warm! Only twenty thousand Galleons an ounce!"

"Genuine meringue dragon eggs! A thousand apiece!"

"A tamed wild Veela—five thousand Galleons!"

"Live vampire for sale! Great for experiments!"

"Black magic tomes from ancient Greece! Five thousand Galleons!"

Even Snape's eyes lit up with curiosity. But as the two veered toward a suspicious stone-bound book, Agatha grabbed their arms.

"Most of these are fake," she whispered. "And even the real ones may carry hidden curses."

Snape immediately backed off. Blake, on the other hand, only grew more intrigued.

He approached the stone book—its cover cracked, the title barely legible. His Eye of Truth activated.

A few others were already examining it. None looked easy to mess with. The seller, a wiry wizard bundled in layer upon layer of cloth, began his pitch.

"This treasure came from deep Greek ruins. I've already transcribed the contents. Five thousand Galleons gets you the original."

Blake turned and walked away.

"Last week's junk, dressed up as ancient magic," he said loud enough for everyone to hear.

The others glanced at each other, reconsidering.

"No one's Galleons grow on trees," someone muttered.

The vendor's eyes flared with rage. "You dare call this fake? Know nothing little brat! You want to die?"

He pulled his wand.

Blake calmly turned, eyeing the thin stick pointed his way. "You're not completely wrong. The cover might be real. Worth a few hundred Galleons—as an antique."

Now the nearby customers were glaring at the seller.

"You lying cheat—!"

The vendor, realizing the sale was lost and panic settling in, screamed, "Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of green light surged toward Blake—but his cursed cloak absorbed it, the spell vanishing into a swirl of malevolent smoke.

The crowd froze.

Only fools carried seven or eight black curses on their bodies.

"You fired first," Blake said flatly.

The vendor opened his mouth to beg—too late. A ball of flame engulfed him. In seconds, nothing remained but a scorch mark.

Blake examined the site, then looked at Snape. "No soul ashes."

Snape stared at the burned spot, horror creeping up his spine. Blake had killed that wizard without blinking.

Cold. Efficient. Merciless.

This wasn't just a brilliant boy.

This was a demon wrapped in school robes.

Snape wiped the sweat from his brow and wondered—for the first time—if antagonizing this child had been a mistake.

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