Snape had just finished speaking when the blazing fire in the sky vanished without a trace, as though it had never existed. A cool breeze brushed his face, but his expression remained grim. He was still worried about the soul ashes—and with good reason. Gubulai's Immortal Fire was no less destructive than the Fiendfyre Curse.
The campsite had been enormous, but now nothing remained. Not even ruins. Only scorched earth and thick ashes.
Snape stepped into the charred zone, his boots sinking into the deep ash. A few steps in, he spotted Blake crouched on the ground, holding three glowing clumps of shimmering white light.
"Pretty good haul," Blake said casually. He pulled out three bottles and stored the glowing wisps inside.
"How many soul ashes are left?" Snape asked, frowning. The acrid stench of burnt matter was unpleasant. He was eager to leave.
"Technically, one is enough," Blake replied. "But for safety's sake, it's best to collect more. You never know."
Snape's scowl deepened. "Your experiment has a success rate?"
Blake smirked. "Kidding. Does potion-making have a guaranteed success rate? The key is to keep increasing the odds."
"You think creating life is simple? This is a deal with death." His tone turned serious.
Snape didn't press further. Blake had a point.
"That magic you just did," Agatha suddenly cut in, unable to contain herself any longer. "How did you do it?"
She'd been dying to ask, but waited until Blake and Snape were done talking. The sheer power of Blake's spell had astonished her.
"It's just the Gubulai Immortal Fire," Blake replied simply.
"But I saw a ball of light like the sun! And the entire camp was destroyed in an instant. Even Gubulai's fire shouldn't be that destructive, right?"
Blake nodded thoughtfully. "True, ordinary Gubulai fire—or even Fiendfyre—wouldn't level a camp that size instantly. The trick is compression. You compress the fire and let it explode all at once."
He demonstrated with a casual gesture. "Watch."
He held out his left hand, and with a soft boom, a blazing Gubulai flame hovered gently in his palm. Both Snape and Agatha instinctively stepped back. The flame could incinerate anything it touched, yet it floated like a harmless candle.
"Now... compress it."
He covered the flame with his right hand, and the fireball shrank, tightening into a dense sphere.
"Then... throw it."
He tossed the tiny fireball at a distant hillside. BOOM! A massive explosion engulfed the hill in flames, followed by silence.
"Receive."
With a simple wave, Blake made the fire vanish.
Snape and Agatha stared at the blackened crater where the hill had been.
It wasn't burned. It was blasted apart.
Blake turned back, amused at their stunned expressions. "Understand now?"
They shook their heads simultaneously.
Understand a hammer, Snape thought bitterly. This was just like Blake's potion lectures—vague, fast, and maddening.
Blake chuckled. "Honestly, it's not surprising you don't get it."
"Professor Dumbledore taught me the magic of love a long time ago. I've only recently understood its essence."
Agatha leaned in, eyes gleaming. "What's the essence?"
"Wish," Blake said. "Your wish."
"What do you mean?"
"Love magic is driven by intense emotion. Like the Killing Curse—it requires true hatred. The Patronus Charm needs happiness and hope. Opposite feelings, but both are desires, intentions."
"The stronger your desire, the stronger your magic. That's the power of your heart, of your will."
He raised his hand, and a compressed Gubulai fireball formed in his palm.
"I had no spell, no chant, no technique. Just a wish—for this fire to appear, for it to obey, for it to compress."
"That's what I've come to understand: the essence of magic is desire."
"If you still don't get it... think of it this way: you make a wish, and magic does the rest."
Snape and Agatha fell into thoughtful silence. Blake's words shook their understanding of magic.
If he was right... then spells and gestures weren't necessary. You just needed to wish.
"No," Snape broke in firmly. "If that were true, what's the point of incantations and gestures? They matter."
Blake smiled. "You've seen Dumbledore and Voldemort cast spells. Do they use fancy moves?"
Snape paused. Voldemort never used gestures with the Killing Curse. He raised his wand and cast it silently, often without even mouthing the words.
Dumbledore went even further—he often cast spells without his wand at all.
Snape thought of wandless and silent casting. No wand, no gesture. No chant, no spell.
His eyes narrowed. "Then... we use spells and gestures to reinforce our desire..."
"Exactly," Blake said. "Some wizards don't need that boost. But this is what I've learned through practice."
"You don't have to agree. This is just how I use magic now."
Snape had no response. Agatha, on the other hand, looked exhilarated.
"I think you're right, Blake," she said. "Your words have given me so many new ideas. I can't wait to test them."
She glanced at the sky. "But it's getting late. Shouldn't we finish the commission?"
Blake smiled. "Of course."
He had no doubt Agatha's strength would increase from this. Maybe one day she'd even earn a Ring of Power, like old Lepp.
As for Snape... if he grew stronger too, all the better. Especially if Blake ended up with a little Lily to dangle over him for life.
The trio didn't linger. After cleaning up, Blake opened a dimensional portal.
Their next destination was another stronghold—ironically commissioned by the victim of the last job. The two enemy factions were constantly reporting each other.
But to Blake's team, it didn't matter. They were hired to kill.
As the new camp came into view, Snape raised his wand, flames flickering at its tip—Fiendfyre.
He was ready to burn it all again.
Blake stopped him.
"Why?" Snape frowned. "You weren't this cautious earlier."
"That camp was full of Dark Wizards," Blake replied. "This one has innocents."
Snape squinted at the perimeter. All he saw were guards and barrier spells.
"In the third tent from the entrance," Blake said. "Over ten prisoners."
He didn't explain how he knew—just stated it.
Snape wasn't convinced, but Agatha grinned.
"So no mass fire? That means I get to join in?"
"As long as you don't kill them right away," Blake warned. "Knock them out first. Dead ones don't drop soul ashes."
Snape shivered slightly. Blake was going to gather them—then burn them.
All to help him make a daughter?
Well... fine. Burn them all.
Agatha and Snape moved in first, tearing through the camp's barriers and wards.
"Divine Edge is Shadowless!" Snape muttered as his spell shredded the camp's gate.
"Enemy attack!"
Shouts erupted. Then—silence.
Blake joined them, and once again demonstrated his raw magical power.
While Snape and Agatha fired Stunning Spells one at a time, Blake swept through the enemies as if casting spells with a water hose.
Snape's jaw tightened. The last time he'd seen someone wield magic like this was Dumbledore.
Blake noticed his expression. "I just wish for my Stunning Spell to fire like a water gun—and it does."
He grinned. "Wanna try, Snape?"
Snape stared blankly.
Corpse.
=============
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