"Is it fair for me to handle this?" Dumbledore asked with a gentle smile.
In his mind, this was the fairest solution. Everyone would fly the same broom model—same speed, same performance. The outcome would depend entirely on the players' skills. What could be fairer than that?
Then Blake suddenly burst into tears.
"Fair?" he sniffled. "If I had known this would happen, I'd have reported it to the Slytherin team first. That way, everyone would've been forced to use the same broom model from the start. And I wouldn't have wasted my money modifying ours just to win."
Dumbledore felt an ominous chill run down his spine. Stroking his beard, he cautiously asked, "How much... did you spend on the modifications?"
Blake spread his hands in resignation. "Let me put it like this… even if you replaced every player on the hospital wing's team with the latest Silver Arrow models..."
He paused, then dropped the bomb.
"…the money I spent on modifications could've bought two brooms for each of them."
Dumbledore's world spun. He had to steady himself.
The Firebolt hadn't been released yet—it was still a prototype. That meant the best available broom was the Nimbus 2001, which was flying off the shelves for around 2,000 Galleons apiece. The older Nimbus 2000 had dropped to around 1,000, while the newer Silver Arrow, though slightly inferior to the Nimbus series, was still a respectable 500 Galleons.
Which meant…
Blake had spent nearly 30,000 Galleons modifying those brooms.
"So… with your fair policy," Blake said bitterly, "all that money—both ours and Slytherin's—is now completely wasted."
Dumbledore pressed his fingers to his forehead. "Are there… are there really that many?"
"Look, our broom trashed Slytherin's Nimbus 2001s, right?" Blake continued. "Those brooms cost 2,000 Galleons each. But our modification costs were lower, and we still crushed them. What do you think the broom companies are going to think? You think they'll accept that?"
Dumbledore nervously began braiding his beard.
A broom that costs less, flies faster, and performs better? Impossible. Especially when Blake's modifications made it more than ten times faster than a Nimbus 2001.
In other words, Blake likely spent at least 28,000 Galleons on it.
What a reckless waste of money…
Although he'd lost a fortune, Blake had never once asked the school for reimbursement. He'd paid for everything from his own earnings. Dumbledore respected that. But it only made this decision harder.
If the new policy were enforced, everyone's brooms would be equal, and Blake's hard work and massive investment would be worthless. That felt cruel.
But if he didn't enforce it, the imbalance would cause unrest. Other houses were already starting to complain. In the long run, things could spiral out of control.
Caught in this moral and political tug-of-war, Dumbledore felt helpless.
Just then, Blake's system notified him: [Congratulations! You have received two golden treasure chests from Dumbledore.]
In truth, Blake hadn't even spent 1,000 Galleons on the modifications. His real costs were low—materials weren't that valuable. But he'd factored in the craftsmanship and tech value, just like how Firebolts (not even on the market) were already valued at 20,000 Galleons.
So technically… Blake wasn't lying.
But to a wizard like Dumbledore—someone who had never put much thought into money—it felt like a financial tragedy.
And worse, this child never asked for anything in return.
No wonder it hurt.
How could he look at a boy who poured in his time, energy, and savings… and tell him it was all for nothing?
Yet Blake's broom was indeed too powerful.
And the pressure from other houses couldn't be ignored.
Dumbledore was torn.
[Ding! You have earned another golden treasure chest!]
Blake smiled inside but kept up the act. He glanced at Bullido, who was frowning at an account book. For a moment, Blake felt a twinge of guilt.
Then he turned, eyes filled with mock sorrow.
"…Maybe I should just weaken our brooms," he suggested. "If we reduce their performance to the level of the Nimbus 2001—or just a little faster—people might stop complaining."
Dumbledore's heart sank.
"That's… that's not right. You put in so much money and effort—"
Blake waved him off with a weak smile. "It's fine. I hate seeing you troubled. Besides, this way the school can save money too. No need to buy new brooms."
He sighed. "I only lost about 20,000 Galleons. I can earn that back soon."
"As long as it keeps things fair, and you don't have to worry, it's worth it."
Dumbledore, deeply moved, stared at the boy.
[Ding! Touched emotion detected. Golden treasure chest awarded.]
Blake nearly broke character. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to suppress a laugh. To make it seem natural, he rubbed his nose hard, turning it red—giving the impression that he was emotionally overwhelmed.
Dumbledore misread the signs completely.
This poor child, so wronged… and still so generous…
He had to do something.
Dumbledore resolved to compensate Blake privately. He would pay him 10,000 Galleons himself, and add the funds originally meant for broom replacements. Over 20,000 Galleons—all from his own pocket.
Being a world-renowned wizard, scholar, patent-holder, and Headmaster for decades… he could afford it.
Blake left the Headmaster's office with multiple treasure chests in his system… and over 20,000 Galleons in hand.
His only thought?
Wonderful.
He didn't manage to revolt, but things had worked out better than expected.
Still, he had to keep his promise.
He gathered his team and gave them the unfortunate news: their brooms would be severely weakened.
The team was devastated. Going from a supercharged broom to a basic one felt like going from a racecar to a bicycle.
"If we hadn't flown those modified brooms before, this wouldn't hurt so much…" Cedric muttered. "We don't know darkness until we've seen light…"
Blake nodded solemnly. "I tried everything, Cedric. But nobody will respect Hufflepuff if we win just because of better brooms."
"They think it's cheating if we are faster… but totally fine when they use expensive models like Nimbus 2001."
The injustice stung. The team's anger simmered.
Blake seized the moment.
"So, do you want people to say we only win with broom advantages? Or that without those, we're nothing?"
"No!" they roared.
"Good. Then you know what you need to do next weekend against Slytherin, right?"
Their anger turned into fierce determination.
What they didn't realize was—flying at high speeds on modified brooms had improved their skills. Their reflexes had sharpened. Even with slower brooms now, they'd still perform better than before.
"The new brooms may be weakened," Blake said, "but they'll still be faster than the Nimbus 2001s."
"Alright then, hand them over…"
The team reluctantly handed Blake their gear.
Cedric looked worried. "Blake… this puts you at a disadvantage. Are you okay?"
"I took a hit. A big one. But I'll recover it from Slytherin. Double."
"Slytherin's dead. Snape won't save them. I swear it."
The second weekend arrived.
At 11 AM, the Quidditch pitch was packed.
This was the big one—Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin.
If Hufflepuff won, they'd clinch the Academy Cup early. If Slytherin won, they still had a shot.
The tension was thick.
Slytherin, of course, believed they'd succeeded. With Hufflepuff's modifications gone, they expected an easy win.
Malfoy, though, looked nervous. He knew Blake. And Blake never lost.
In the locker room, Blake suited up.
"You know what you need to do today?" he asked.
"Yes!" came the reply.
"What is it?"
"First in fighting, second in—"
"Nonsense!" Blake interrupted. "We follow the rules."
He smirked. "We've leveled up. Even with basic brooms, we'll crush them. But Cedric… I want a better score today. You know what I mean."
Cedric leaned coolly on his locker, holding his broom. He gave an OK sign.
"If Malfoy gets the Snitch, I'll eat my broom."
Blake turned to the Beaters.
They rolled up their sleeves, arms like tree trunks.
"If we don't make them cry for their mums today, we'll be wasting all that training!"
The Hufflepuff team marched onto the field to deafening cheers.
Across the pitch, the Slytherin team grinned smugly. Hufflepuff had lost their secret weapon.
Except for Malfoy. He looked at Blake with dread.
He knew better.
Blake was up to something.
And Slytherin wouldn't know what hit them.
=============
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