From the Slytherins' Perspective…
Ravenclaw was supposed to be a weak team.
At least, that's what everyone thought—until their match against Slytherin.
Perhaps it was the shock of losing to Hufflepuff before, but the Slytherin team abandoned their usual tactic of overpowering their opponents physically. Without that edge, they gave Ravenclaw—who struggled with physical play—a surprising opportunity.
To everyone's amazement, the score between the two teams stayed neck and neck. After a grueling thirty minutes, Slytherin held a slight lead: 80 to 70.
Then it happened—both Seekers, Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy, spotted the Golden Snitch.
They were equidistant from it, speeding forward in a dramatic chase.
And then the unbelievable happened.
Cho's Silver Arrow broom surged ahead, outpacing Malfoy's supposedly superior Nimbus 2001.
She caught the Snitch.
Final score: 220 to 80.
Ravenclaw—widely seen as the weakest team—defeated Slytherin.
In the locker room, Malfoy sat like he'd seen a ghost as Marcus Flint shouted at him.
Finally, Draco snapped.
"Shut up, Flint! Since when does a Silver Arrow outrun a Nimbus 2001?!"
Flint blinked, regaining a fraction of composure. He couldn't deny it—Draco was right. The Silver Arrow wasn't even the newest model in its series, let alone a match for the Nimbus line.
How had it beaten a Nimbus 2001?
Still fuming as he exited the locker room, Flint grumbled, "That broom has to be rigged. I'm reporting this!"
Then, he saw a familiar face—one he really didn't want to see.
Cho Chang stood with a shy smile. "Blake, thank you! Thank you for helping me modify the broom!"
Across from her, Blake beamed. "Of course. Friends help each other. You wanted me to fix it—I couldn't say no. The little upgrade was just a bonus."
Flint and Malfoy exchanged horrified looks. Like they'd swallowed dungbombs.
Mystery solved.
Blake turned and caught them staring. "Surprised? Didn't see that coming, did you? Still me!"
"Are you shocked? Surprised?" he teased, grinning.
Flint clenched his fists, dying to punch Blake in the face and wipe away that smug expression. But deep down, something kept whispering:
"Don't. You can't beat him…"
The worst part? It was true. He couldn't win. Not in a duel, not in Quidditch, not even in a shouting match.
And the humiliation stung worse every time.
As the Slytherin players walked past Blake, barely containing their anger, several treasure chests materialized in front of him—bronze and even a silver one.
Blake looked unimpressed.
But wait… why didn't Malfoy drop a treasure chest?
Simple. He was too scared to feel angry. Not frightened enough to trigger the chest drop… just stunned enough to be speechless.
Then Cho turned to Blake again, her tone hopeful.
"We're having a celebration in the Ravenclaw common room tonight. Will you come?"
Blake hesitated. "Isn't that… kinda inappropriate? I'm in Hufflepuff…"
Cho quickly shook her head. "It doesn't matter. You know, anyone who answers the bronze eagle door knocker correctly can come in. And I don't think those riddles will be hard for you."
"Besides," she added shyly, "Professor Flitwick will be there. He thinks really highly of you. I know he'd be thrilled."
Before Blake could answer, Luna Lovegood floated over, holding a copy of The Quibbler. Her eagle-themed hat wobbled slightly on her head.
Blake smiled. "Nice hat!"
Luna's face lit up. "Really? You're the first one to say that today!"
"Would you design a badger hat for me next time?" Blake asked eagerly. "I want to give them to all the Hufflepuff supporters!"
"You mean it?" Luna beamed.
"Of course."
"Then yes!" she grinned. "Oh, and Cho's right—you should definitely come tonight. Professor Flitwick says you're his favorite student! And… we'd be happy too."
Blake laughed. "Now that you've all said that, I'd be rude not to come! I'll even bring some food I made myself. You can all taste my cooking."
He turned to both girls. "Luna, what do you want? Pudding? Cho, what's your favorite?"
Meanwhile, in a nearby corridor, Cedric and a gang of Hufflepuff boys were furiously scribbling in notebooks.
"Genius…" Cedric whispered in awe. "Look at them! Those girls are so happy just from a few words!"
His hand didn't stop writing. He was more focused now than in McGonagall's class.
"I've got it! I'll try this on Angelina tonight!" someone whispered excitedly—probably one of the Weasley twins.
"What?! You're planning to talk to Angelina too?"
His twin glared at him. "Wait—YOU were planning to—?"
"You're the worst!"
And they were suddenly wrestling on the floor.
"Oi! Go fight elsewhere—we're still taking notes!" someone yelled.
As for Blake, he enjoyed the rest of the day in peace.
And peaceful days passed quickly.
Soon, the semester drew to a close.
Hufflepuff won the House Cup without suspense.
They also clinched the Quidditch Cup—again, without contest.
With Blake on the team, Hufflepuff was unstoppable. They weren't naturally the strongest fighters, but other houses had given up on resisting. Even Slytherin's last desperate claim of broom cheating had gone nowhere.
Instead, the allegedly weakened Hufflepuff team soundly beat them.
Final exams followed.
Once again, Blake was first in his year.
Hermione and Cassandra Worley tied for second place—but only because the exam's full score was capped.
Blake's Transfiguration essay impressed Professor McGonagall so much, she submitted it to Transfiguration Today.
Some students achieved perfect marks because they maxed out the test.
Blake did because the test couldn't score him higher.
After the obligatory year-end feast, house-elves neatly packed everyone's belongings overnight.
By morning, the Hogwarts Express was ready to take them home.
Blake—ever conscious of appearances—carried a suitcase like everyone else.
He spotted Hermione struggling in the corridor and offered to carry her luggage.
"Not waiting for the Woley heiress?" Hermione asked casually.
"Oh, come on. If Cassandra hears that, she'll be furious."
"You're afraid of her being angry?" Hermione smirked.
"Isn't that her over there?" Blake nodded toward a girl in green.
Cassandra stood with one hand on her suitcase, scanning the crowd like she was searching for someone.
Blake dragged Hermione's luggage toward her. "Cassandra, are you waiting for me?"
"Wha—no! I'm waiting for a friend!" she stammered, turning her face away with a blush.
Blake grinned. "Really? Congrats!"
"For what?" she asked suspiciously.
"For making a new friend besides me. That's progress!"
"You—you…" Cassandra sputtered, cheeks red with frustration.
Hermione watched with glee. At last! The haughty Cassandra was flustered—and Blake was the only one who could do it.
Most days, Cassandra acted like queen of the castle. But here? Reduced to a bashful schoolgirl.
Cassandra muttered, "It has nothing to do with you…"
Blake froze.
"Nothing to do with me? I see. You've got a new friend now…" he turned, visibly hurt, and walked away.
Cassandra panicked.
Why did I say that?!
Watching him leave, she nearly cried.
"I… that's not what I meant…"
"Okay! Fine! I don't have a new friend. I… I was waiting for you," she finally admitted, face burning.
Blake turned back with exaggerated disappointment.
"That's too bad. I was really hoping you'd made one."
Her guilt skyrocketed.
He wasn't even mad—just genuinely supportive.
I'm the worst, she thought miserably.
From the side, Hermione shook her head. She had figured everything out.
Ugh. This is what happens when a cold, proud heiress meets a sweet-talking disaster like him.
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