HP: Bad Intentions

Blake carefully lifted the One Ring from the treasure chest, feeling a thrill of anticipation. He slid it onto his left index finger, observing how the band, initially slightly loose, began to resize itself, moulding perfectly to fit.

The initial sensation of cold was almost soothing. But as the ring settled, a frigid chill surged through him, intensifying in an instant. It was as if he'd stepped from a warm room into the harshest winter night. The mirror space around him vanished abruptly, leaving him in an unfamiliar, icy realm.

The new surroundings felt like an exposed platform, high above the ground. The bitter cold whipped around him, with frost glistening across the stone floor beneath his feet. The temperature was so low that each breath came out as a visible puff of vapor.

Blake barely had a moment to take in the scene before a sound reached his ears—a metallic clinking, as if something heavy and armored were shifting behind him. He turned slowly, taking in the sight of a towering figure clad in dark, intimidating armor.

"I knew you wouldn't give in so easily," Blake said, his voice steady as he addressed the armored figure, who appeared to be an incarnation of the ring's dark will—almost like a spectral Sauron.

Despite the eerie setting and the figure's menacing stance, Blake felt no fear. If anything, he felt a rush of determination. He'd prepared himself thoroughly, understanding that mastery over the ring would require subduing its lingering consciousness.

The dark figure remained silent, gripping a massive sword in its hand. It took a step forward, the sound of armor clanging and echoing through the cold air. With a hollow growl, it raised the sword, preparing to strike.

Blake smirked. "Hmm, can't even talk? Or perhaps…" He tilted his head, studying the dark consciousness more closely. "Maybe my undead magic wasn't entirely useless after all."

As he suspected, the entity's movements were slightly hindered. His earlier use of necromantic spells hadn't subdued it completely, but it had left a mark. The consciousness was damaged, its former power reduced. Blake's senses sharpened as he prepared to engage, and the entity's every movement became clear to him—almost as though he were watching it in slow motion.

The armored figure lunged forward, swinging the enormous sword downward in a powerful arc. Blake shifted effortlessly to the side, dodging with ease.

"Too slow…" he murmured, calmly slipping away from each heavy swing. The dark entity continued to attack with relentless aggression, but Blake remained unfazed, sidestepping every strike with precision.

A flicker of irritation crossed Blake's face. "If my undead magic won't fully bind you, and killing you would reduce the ring's power…" he trailed off, thinking aloud, considering his next move.

Ending this dark consciousness outright would compromise the ring's potential. No, he'd need a way to subjugate it entirely, ensuring it was bound to his will without eroding the ring's potency.

Blake raised his wand, his face showing a hint of satisfaction as he made his decision. The dark consciousness, noticing the wand, seemed to grow even more enraged. It tightened its grip on the sword, lifting it high and swinging it down with all its might.

But this time, Blake didn't dodge. Instead, he raised his left hand, and a small but powerful magic circle appeared in his palm, blocking the sword's descent with a loud clang. It was a simple shield charm, but strong enough to withstand the strike.

For a moment, the dark entity hesitated, evidently surprised that Blake, despite his smaller frame, could deflect the massive sword. Seizing the opportunity, Blake pointed his wand directly at the armored figure, his expression unwavering.

He spoke softly, his voice laced with power. "Forget everything!"

The spell took effect immediately, washing over the consciousness like a powerful wave. The sword clattered to the ground as the figure staggered backward.

"No… what have you done to me? Sauron… who… who is Sauron?" Its voice sounded confused, weakened, as though key pieces of its identity were slipping away.

Blake stepped forward, taking control as he watched the dark consciousness struggle.

"You shouldn't have tried to bring me here. Now, I won't hold back."

With one final crash, the consciousness fell to its knees, its once fierce gaze now softened and submissive. Blake approached, standing over it with a sense of triumph.

"It was I who made you, One Ring. Now, you will serve me—faithfully."

The consciousness murmured a response, its tone filled with resignation. "As… you wish… my master…" In an instant, the surroundings began to blur, and Blake felt himself being pulled back to the mirror space from where he had started.

He looked down to find the One Ring still on his finger, but something was different. The ring now fully recognized him as its true master, its will completely aligned with his.

Blake lifted his hand, examining the ring's shimmering surface with satisfaction. With the dark consciousness subdued, he could finally inspect the ring's abilities. To his surprise, the system had customized them, and each one was more impressive than he had imagined.

The first change was immediate; his strength and magical power surged, flooding his senses with energy. His abilities felt sharper, his senses keener. With this power, he could face twice as many opponents with ease.

"Wow," he murmured, marveling at the enhancement. "This is a bit outrageous… and this is just one feature?"

Blake continued his inspection. "It has a corruptive influence, but since I'm the master, it can't affect me. Instead, it could be useful for persuading others, especially those with weaker minds." He grinned. "Brainwashing has never sounded so appealing."

He moved on to another feature, intrigued.

"Longevity, huh?" he mused. "It's not the most impressive, but it's certainly useful."

His mind drifted back to Dumbledore's discussions on alchemical longevity, a trait Blake already had access to, given his potion mastery and alchemical skills. But the ring's assistance would make it that much easier.

Then he noticed something especially exciting. "It strengthens my undead magic, and I'm immune to its backlash?" He chuckled to himself. "This truly is a dark treasure. No wonder Voldemort wanted it so badly." Each feature seemed to build upon the last, forming a seamless, powerful whole.

The ring even offered Blake a means to monitor and influence anyone who wore a lesser ring. "No doubt Voldemort would have loved this, but…" Blake's voice turned cold. "It's mine now."

As he continued, he discovered that the ring enhanced his senses and amplified his spellcasting abilities. His five senses were now heightened, and the magic he channeled through the ring became noticeably stronger.

"Well, this really isn't bad at all," he murmured, feeling the immense potential in his grasp.

Time passed, and as Blake's understanding deepened, he felt the mirror-space around him begin to crack. The reflections shattered into fragments, and he stepped back into reality, feeling more powerful than ever. This newfound strength brought a sense of purpose, making the future prospects of treasure-hunting even more exciting.

Blake walked toward the door, thinking he might indulge in a celebratory late-night snack. Just as he reached the threshold, his sharpened hearing picked up a faint sound from the next room. It was the gentle breathing of Nagini, his loyal companion.

A surge of affection washed over him. Having Nagini by his side reminded him that he wasn't truly alone. Unlike Dumbledore, who seemed to wander through life in solitude, Blake felt grateful for his connections. Nagini, his allies, even his rivals—they grounded him, reminding him of his purpose.

Then, an idea struck him, inspired by his newly augmented necromantic abilities. He now knew exactly whom he would summon next.

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