Blake was Right

A "quiet" Halloween passed, and soon it was mid-November. The arrival of Saturday brought a fresh wave of excitement across Hogwarts as this year's new Quidditch season was set to begin. After a week of relentless schoolwork, students relished the chance to cheer and release their emotions during the Gryffindor versus Slytherin match. This fierce rivalry promised a thrilling "derby" battle, especially since it was the first game after Slytherin upgraded to new, top-notch equipment.

Given Slytherin's notorious reputation for underhanded tactics, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were rooting for a Gryffindor victory. However, with Slytherin's new brooms offering a significant speed advantage, Gryffindor's chances were slim. According to commentator Lee Jordan, Gryffindor could only win if Harry Potter managed to catch the Golden Snitch before Slytherin led by more than 150 points. Otherwise, their chasers would struggle to outscore the lightning-fast Slytherin offense.

As the clock ticked closer to the 11:00 a.m. kickoff, students streamed toward the Quidditch pitch to secure the best viewing spots.

"Hello, have you seen Blake?" Hermione stopped a Hufflepuff girl to ask.

If anyone knew where Blake was, it was usually a girl. Sure enough, the answer came easily: "He's by the Gryffindor locker room."

However, the girl's expression changed upon recognizing Hermione. "Granger? You're Blake's friend! How can you not know where he is? Hmph! If you're that careless, I might just take him off your hands!"

Hermione was left speechless. How many girls had this Blake charmed? Still, she couldn't deny his remarkable feats made him hard to ignore. Her thoughts spiraled as she questioned her own feelings. Did she care about Blake? Did she even have him to care about? Her face flushed as her mind argued with itself.

Blake was indeed outside the Gryffindor locker room, sitting casually on the railing with sunglasses perched on his nose. In front of him, Harry, already dressed in his red Quidditch jersey, nervously held out his hand while a small crowd watched in awe. Hermione approached just in time to overhear their conversation.

"Harry... today isn't your day," Blake declared, scrutinizing Harry's palm and face.

"What's wrong with today?" Harry asked, alarmed.

Blake sighed theatrically. "Your hall is dark today. Luck's not on your side. You're headed for a bloody disaster."

"Bloody disaster?" Harry's voice quivered.

"It means... well, you might shed your skin even if you survive. Honestly, if I were you, I wouldn't play," Blake replied, stroking an imaginary beard.

Harry paled. "Is it that bad?"

Blake pointed to a line on Harry's palm. "See this break in your career line? It's a sign your professional future could be in jeopardy. If you're not careful, you might even become disabled."

Harry's face turned ghostly white. Just as the weight of Blake's ominous words sank in, Wood burst out of the locker room, furious.

"Get out of here, Blake!" he roared. "Are you trying to sabotage my team?"

Blake raised his hands innocently, but Harry was already teetering under the pressure. Between Blake's dire predictions and Wood's win-or-die attitude, Harry's nerves were shot. As Wood dragged him back into the locker room, Harry desperately looked back.

"Blake! Master! What should I do?"

Blake called after him, "Stay away from Lockhart! If you see him, run—or hex him if you must!"

With that, Wood slammed the door, leaving Hermione and Blake to be shooed away. Hermione's confusion quickly turned to irritation.

"What on earth were you doing?" she demanded.

"Fortune telling," Blake replied casually, removing his sunglasses. "I have a talent for face and palm reading."

"Fortune telling? You're a wizard!" Hermione snapped, swatting him with her schoolbag. "Admit it, you were just trying to mess with Harry to make Gryffindor lose!"

Blake shrugged. "It's not a lie. You'll see soon enough."

Hermione huffed, her skepticism evident.

"By the way," Blake asked, "where's Cassandra?"

"Why would she come to the Gryffindor stands? She's in Slytherin," Hermione replied irritably.

"True... maybe I should go join her over there."

"Go ahead! What do I care?" Hermione snapped, turning her back on him. But her flushed cheeks betrayed her feelings.

By 11:00 a.m., the Quidditch pitch was packed. Students and locals from Hogsmeade filled the stands, eager for the match to begin. The referee's whistle blew, and the players took to the skies.

Blake, sitting next to Hermione, snatched her binoculars to observe the game.

"Blake! Get your own!" she protested.

"Yours are special," he teased, earning another smack.

Through the binoculars, Blake noticed a Bludger acting strangely. With his keen Legilimency-enhanced observation, he detected traces of magic on it. Likely the work of a house-elf, he mused.

Meanwhile, the enchanted Bludger relentlessly targeted Harry, forcing Fred and George to abandon their positions to protect him. This gave Slytherin's chasers free rein to score, quickly racking up six goals.

"Sixty to zero! Slytherin leads!" Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the pitch. "Gryffindor's in trouble!"

Wood called for a timeout, but investigating the Bludger would mean forfeiting the match. Harry, despite his mounting injuries and Blake's ominous warning, insisted on continuing the game. He urged Fred and George to leave him and return to their positions.

Hermione snatched her binoculars back, forcing Blake to rely on his True Sight. Moments later, Harry's daring dive toward the Golden Snitch unfolded. Despite the Bludger's relentless pursuit and his own injury, Harry outmaneuvered Malfoy and caught the Snitch just before collapsing to the ground.

"Harry catches the Snitch! Gryffindor wins!" Lee Jordan's excited commentary was drowned out by deafening cheers. But the celebration was cut short when Harry's arm was revealed to be broken.

Blake's earlier words echoed in Harry's mind: "A bloody disaster..."

As Madam Pomfrey prepared to treat him, Lockhart appeared, offering his assistance. Harry's eyes widened in horror. Blake's warning screamed in his mind: "Stay away from Lockhart!"

"No! Don't come near me!" Harry pleaded, attempting to crawl away. But Lockhart ignored him, drawing his wand.

"Stand back, everyone!" Lockhart announced confidently. Before Harry could protest further, a wave of magic swept over him. A moment later, gasps filled the air. Lockhart's spell had removed not just Harry's pain, but the bones in his arm entirely.

Harry stared at his limp, boneless arm in shock. "Blake was right... I should've hexed him," he muttered before fainting.

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