The compartment in the Hogwarts Express was already theirs before even Blake got on. He sat down, dropped his bag, and looked around. Tracey, Zabini, Charlotte and Daphne had already arrived, and, to Blake's surprise, the mood was much more pleasant than he'd anticipated.
Charlotte looked up when he sat down. Ever since she'd ran off after the World Cup, he knew that she would want space, and Blake had respected it and not pushed, as had the others.
"Hey," she said, with a small smile.
"Hey."
She was quiet for a second, before putting her newspaper down, and turning to face him properly. This is going to be a real conversation. The others seemed to think so too, as their conversation quickly fizzled out.
"I'm sorry," she said seriously. "For running off. After the attack."
"Charlotte-" Blake tried to interject, but she cut him off.
"I want to say it." She held his gaze. "And I'm sorry for what she did - to you and Connor. For all of it."
She paused, and looked down.
"I know she's not - I've never thought she was a good person. But I'm still sorry."
"You've got nothing to apologise for," Blake assured her.
"I know," she said quietly. "I still wanted to say it."
He nodded, and Charlotte smiled, pulling the mood of the compartment back up - that was, until the compartment door opened.
Malfoy, Blake thought, his nose crinkling. Crabbe and Goyle stood behind him, arranged in their usual formation. Malfoy was sneering triumphantly, and Blake wondered, for the third time in his life, where the blonde slick-back boy kept getting his confidence renewed from. Malfoy's eyes went to Charlotte first.
"Rosier," he sniggered cruelly. "Didn't think you'd show your face after everything that happened at the World Cup. Though I suppose your mother showed hers, didn't she? At least she's a proper pureblood, even if her daughter's a-"
Charlotte's wand was already out.
"Oppugno," she said through gritted teeth, and the book that Daphne had been holding zoomed at his face, smashing into it repeatedly.
"ARGHHHH!" he screamed loudly.
Four wands came out before Crabbe and Goyle had processed what had just happened.
"Furnunculus."
"Entomorphis."
"Tarantallegra."
"Locomotor Wibbly!"
Crabbe hit the corridor wall. Goyle hit it a second later. Between them, they had boils forming across their faces, feelers sprouting from their face, legs dancing without permission, and an inability to move their lower body. Malfoy managed to finally get his wand and cancel Charlotte's spell, but not before the book had left noticeable bruises on his face and hands.
Good spell work, Charlotte, Blake couldn't help but praise.
"If you, or any of your little fools, decide to tell anyone about this, we will end you, Malfoy."
Daphne spoke in a low, threatening voice, holding her wand directly towards his face. Blake looked at her, surprised. Her usual composure was cracked, and he could almost her teeth gnashing in anger.
"Nod if you understand."
Malfoy nodded, very carefully.
"Wonderful. Off you go."
The door slid shut, and they all sat back down.
"Decent start to fourth year, I'd say," Tracey quipped, with enormous satisfaction.
Blake looked at Daphne again. She was smoothing her robes, expression composed once more, but there was something underneath it that he couldn't put his finger on - she was sharper than the situation needed - colder.
He almost asked what was wrong - he didn't. It probably wasn't the right moment, and besides, it was weird. I would've thought she would've asked me what was wrong properly, he thought, before pushing that type of thinking back down. He didn't need to be victimising himself right now. There was no denying anymore that he knew he felt upset about what had happened at the World Cup, but at the same time, he couldn't bring himself to bring it up. How can I? he thought to himself dryly.
Yeah, sorry, Daphne, I was upset you didn't come to help me, even though I know you probably knew I could handle it, and you might've been focused on protecting your own family.
Don't stupid, another voice from the back of his mind chimed suddenly. You were protecting yours too, but you still considered her and the rest of your friends.
Shut up.
It was just that he didn't know how to be normal with her yet, and asking pointed questions wasn't going to help.
He looked back out the window instead.
/
A couple of hours later, all the students had filed into the Great Hall, waiting for the Headmaster's speech. It began eccentric and weird as always, but eventually, something was mentioned that seized Blake's attention fully.
"This year," Dumbledore said, "Hogwarts will have the honour of hosting the Triwizard Tournament."
Blake sat up straight as the crowd erupted into a mixture of cheers, confusion, excitement and anticipation.
He listened to the full explanation - three champions, one from each school, tasks of dangerous magical skill, a thousand Galleons prize money, endless prestige -
A thousand Galleons. Endless prestige.
Blake thought back to his conversation with the Greengrasses - how he knew he needed to prove himself, make a name for himself.
This is perfect.
He was already thinking about the entry process - what he'd need to prepare, how long he had, his competitors-
"To be eligible to enter, a student must be of age - seventeen years or older-"
Blake slumped back in his seat.
"We're fourth year, by the way" Zabini said, from beside him, seemingly amused at his reaction.
"I know what year I'm in," Blake snapped.
He stared at his plate for a moment. A thousand Galleons and the title of Triwizard Champion. The prestige alone would've been worth it - the kind of reputation that opened doors before you even knocked. He thought about the front page of the Prophet and multiplied it considerably.
For f*ck's sake, he thought, resigned.
He looked up at the staff table, and that was when he noticed the new face properly for the first time.
Wait - is that Mad Eye Moody?
He'd read about Alastor Moody extensively - books about the war, old Ministry records, anything he could find on the Aurors who'd actually fought. Moody's name came up in nearly all of them, and never briefly - the man had a reputation that had accumulated over decades of being exactly as dangerous as advertised. Magical eye, scarred face, only ever drinking from his own flask that he apparently never put down.
That's actually him, Blake thought, excitedly. He had been worried before, after Remus had resigned, but now - this guy was a real Auror - one of the best too. It doesn't get much better than this.
AN: If you would like to view up to 20 more bonus chapters on all my fics so far including this one, and would also like to support me, please visit my P@TR30N, at pa tr eon.com / GhidorahWriter (remove the spaces).
Thanks for reading and make sure ADD to your COLLECTION and VOTE with POWER STONES! Once we hit 100, I'll release a BONUS chapter!