Each of the Heads of the three schools gave an address at dinner that night, and the rest of the evening was dedicated to inter-school mingling, and Blake found himself dragged into conversations with Beauxbaton and Durmstrang students alike by Tracey and Charlotte too frequently.
It wasn't all bad though, considering many of them had already heard about him.
"You are the muggleborn boy that hunted the Dark wizards, non?" a Beauxbatons student named Antoine asked in a thick French accent. "We read about you in the paper. You are very brave!"
Blake had just smiled and thanked him, while the rest of his friends rolled their eyes, and he switched the topic back to Quidditch. Suddenly, however, he felt that familiar tug again - the allure, and he turned to face the direction it was coming from, and he saw a similar face.
It's her again.
"You are Blake Renshaw," she stated with a coy smile. The girl was brunette with bright blue eyes. Up close, she was even prettier.
The conversation around them quietened - still continuing, but listening carefully.
"I am," he said, extending his hand and smiling back politely. "And you?"
"I am Sophie," she said. "I have read about you, in the papers. You fought off the Death Eaters at the World Cup, non?"
"Something like that," he replied.
"And you're also very resistant to my allure," she noted, smiling wider. "That's quite rare."
"Oh, so you are a veela," Blake confirmed. "That's quite cool."
What do I say now?
She smiled at him again, despite his awkwardness, and Blake had to admit, it was a very good smile. "You are not with anyone, I hope?"
Blake became aware, at the edge of his peripheral vision, of Daphne approximately eight feet to his left, apparently very interested in the stone wall.
"Oh! Uh, no, I'm not," he said to Sophie, laughing in a way that he hoped wasn't awkward. "Too busy with school and things, y'know? What about you?"
Blake had decided throughout the night that the best way to make conversation and not seem rude was to simply say some version of 'What about you?' whenever asked something.
She laughed slightly.
"I am single, but hopefully not for too long though."
Is she-
"And these must be your friends?" she asked, turning to Zabini, Tracey and Charlotte.
Wait - where's Daphne?
As Sophie made conversation with the others (of course, about Quidditch), Blake craned his neck to find her - eventually seeing her near the drinks area, on her way back. Their eyes met for a moment, before she averted her gaze. Did I do something wrong?
"Do you play much Quidditch?" Sophie asked him suddenly, as Daphne rejoined them. Blake stumbled slightly to answer, causing the French girl to smile slightly, but his mind was otherwise occupied.
He didn't look at Daphne. He could feel her not looking at him.
/
The night of the Goblet of Fire, Blake sat near the front of the crowd and watched the names come out.
"Cedric Diggory!"
Blake couldn't help but smile at that. Cedric was one of the nicest people he'd met at Hogwarts - or ever, really. He was talented, kind and humble - a rare combination anywhere, let alone the wizarding world, and he'd even helped Blake one or two times over the last few years. If anyone in Hogwarts deserved this chance, it would be him.
The Beauxbatons girl - Fleur Delacour. She's part veela too, I've heard.
And finally, Viktor Krum. Blake shook his head in annoyance, but he wasn't surprised, considering there were multiple rumours about how Durmstrang had banned anyone other than Krum from putting their name in the Goblet.
Blake was still grumbling about his missed opportunity when suddenly, the Goblet erupted again.
What - but how-
"Harry Potter!"
"What!?" he hissed to himself, as the Great Hall erupted into protest and confusion.
Blake watched Harry walk up mechanically to take the paper, pale, confused, moving like someone was pulling him by strings.
Did he put it in himself? The thought arrived before he could stop it, and for about three seconds he entertained it - the prize money, the prestige, Harry being braver and more reckless than most gave him credit for -
Then he saw Harry's face properly.
No, he thought. He got done over again. But how? Dumbledore himself put the charms on the- oh.
He looked at Dumbledore, who was looking at the paper in Harry's hand with an expression of carefully measured shock.
Hm.
Blake thought about his mother's sitting room. Dumbledore's voice, completely steady. Your boys are safe at Hogwarts.
He's very good at that face, Blake thought. The concerned one.
He scanned the rest of the Great Hall, looking at everyone's faces, and only two others stuck out to him.
Snape. Moody.
And Dumbledore.
It's one of them that's done this - it has to be.
/
The weeks that followed were, in Blake's assessment, one of the more irritating periods in Hogwarts' recent history.
Harry was being avoided, whispered about, accused - by people who had been cheering his name eighteen months ago and would presumably be cheering it again the moment he did something impressive. Blake wasn't surprised in the least, but he still found it equally predictable and annoying, and made a point of sitting with Harry at meals when the Gryffindor table made itself unwelcoming, which it did frequently. Some Gryffindors gave him the odd angry or threatening look, but none of them dared to do anything, of course. So much for House of the Brave, he thought dryly. Most disappointingly, however, was Harry's treatment by Ron and Hermione. Blake used to have his reservations about Ron, and still somewhat did about his lack of tact and manners, but he would never have guessed that he would be so quick to switch up on his best friend. Hermione too.
Oh well, he thought, sighing. What can you do?
It also meant he was spending considerably less time with Daphne than he usually would, which was convenient in one sense and not in another. They still had their regular arrangement with the Room of Requirement ongoing, still working through the ingredient lists together, but the easy rhythm they'd had before the World Cup hadn't fully come back, and Blake had mostly stopped expecting it to.
Harry, at least, was uncomplicated. He was angry and confused and occasionally too honest about both, and Blake found that restful in a way he couldn't entirely explain.
He was in the library with Harry when the Ron situation came to a head.
"He thinks I entered myself," Harry raged, without looking up from his textbook.
"I know," Blake said.
"He won't even - he just keeps-" Harry stopped. "I don't know what I did."
Blake was quiet for a moment. "You didn't do anything," he assured him. "He's being an idiot."
"He's my best friend."
"I know," Blake agreed. "He's still being an idiot."
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