"Bump, bump, bump!"
"Professor Snape! Open the door!"
"If you have the guts to report us, then open up already!"
Snape's face darkened like the bottom of his worst cauldron. The furious pounding on his office door only worsened his mood.
Of course it had to be him—Blake Green.
If it were anyone else, Snape would've already hexed them and force-fed them poison. But Blake? That insufferable boy was untouchable. For now.
Snape stormed to the door and yanked it open—just in time to catch Blake mid-kick, his foot lifted like he planned to bust the door down.
Snape's eye twitched.
Blake lowered his leg with a smirk. "When did I report you? Why would I report you?"
"You didn't?" Blake snapped back. "Then why did Slytherin report Hufflepuff for cheating? They're demanding our results be canceled!"
Snape glared. "What does that have to do with me?" He couldn't believe this brat just tried to kick his door in over something he didn't even do.
But just as Snape prepared to explode, he noticed Professor Sprout standing to the side, arms crossed and eyes locked on him with visible fury.
"Professor Sprout," he said tightly, "perhaps you should control your students better—"
"Really?" Sprout snapped. "And who should be controlling his students, hmm?"
"You've always looked down on us, Severus! Just admit it—you can't stand that Hufflepuff might actually be better than Slytherin this year!"
Snape sighed inwardly. He didn't want this to escalate, not with Blake standing here smirking and that damn secret leverage the boy held over him. It was better to de-escalate.
"I have never looked down on Hufflepuff," he said flatly. "And I didn't report anything. But... your broomsticks are undeniably unfair."
He decided to speak the truth—grudgingly.
This year's Quidditch season had been a joke. Every time Hufflepuff took to the skies, the opposing team may as well have packed up early. No one could keep up. The only suspense was how fast Cedric would catch the Snitch—hopefully before the score gap grew too humiliating.
Blake scoffed. "Unfair? Our brooms are just a little faster."
"A little?" Snape raised an eyebrow. "Didn't all of your Slytherins switch to Nimbus 2001s?"
"Exactly!" Blake said. "Your players are several times faster than others. So why can't ours be?"
Snape clenched his jaw. "Your broom makes sonic booms, Blake."
Blake shrugged. "If ours are banned, then so are the Nimbus 2001s. If our results are canceled, so are Slytherin's. And if that happens… well, I guess we'll just have to protest. Hold a student meeting in the Great Hall. Maybe I'll give a speech…"
Snape paled. The last time Blake gave a speech, he nearly got him kicked out of Hogwarts. If Dumbledore hadn't intervened, things would've ended very differently.
Nope. Not again.
"I didn't report anything," Snape said quickly. "Take it to Dumbledore."
He slammed the door shut. He might not be able to beat Blake, but he could certainly hide from him.
What he didn't know was that Blake was already on his way to do exactly that—with several silver treasure chests and one gold one jingling ominously in his mental ledger.
When word spread that Slytherin had filed a report, threatening to cancel Hufflepuff's near-certain victory, the Hufflepuff students were livid. Usually kind and laid-back, the House was now bubbling with rebellion.
Thanks to a few well-placed whispers (mostly Blake's), the House of the Badger was ready to riot.
Even the Slytherin team had gone into hiding, scared of getting hexed in the hallways.
Dumbledore, now face-to-face with an indignant and theatrically wounded Blake, looked exhausted.
"Blake," he began delicately, "perhaps you could consider… changing the broom?"
"What?" Blake looked scandalized. "You're siding with them?!"
"No, no," Dumbledore said quickly, "I'm simply saying your broom is very fast. It affects the balance of the game…"
He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air: The broom was so overpowered, the game was no longer fun—or fair.
Blake crossed his arms. "So we should all switch back to the Comet series and get destroyed by Slytherin's Nimbus 2001s? That's your idea of fairness?"
Dumbledore sighed. He couldn't deny Blake had a point.
Why should one house get top-tier brooms while the others suffered? If a student built their own enhancements, wasn't that just innovation?
But—those brooms...
The Hufflepuff brooms weren't just "a bit better." They were an order of magnitude beyond anything else. It wasn't a contest anymore. And if the other Houses rebelled…
He opened the Hogwarts budget ledger and grimaced.
Nope. There went the idea of upgrading every house.
Even in club competitions, players had different brooms. Hogwarts wasn't a professional league—it couldn't afford full uniformity.
Still...
"What are you planning to do?" Dumbledore asked.
"I'm rejecting Slytherin's ridiculous report, obviously," Blake said defiantly.
In truth, Blake hoped Dumbledore would reject his appeal. That way, he'd get to organize a protest in the Great Hall. Another dramatic speech. Another riot. More treasure chests.
He'd be rich.
Besides, he wouldn't have time to farm loot later in the year. He had to make the most of this!
But before Blake could get lost in daydreams of rebellion...
"I understand," Dumbledore said. "I will dismiss Slytherin's report. None of your results will be canceled."
Blake blinked.
"However," Dumbledore continued, "to ensure fairness, the school will purchase a new set of standardized brooms. All future matches will be played with these. That way, the competition is absolutely fair."
Blake's mouth fell open.
Wait—what?
Dumbledore had figured him out.
He knew Blake wanted to stage another dramatic protest. Probably even guessed he had some secret scheme going on involving speeches and crowds and treasure chests.
He couldn't let that happen again.
The last time Blake had held a "meeting," it had felt disturbingly like Grindelwald's early days. The boy had charisma—dangerous charisma—and Dumbledore couldn't allow it to grow unchecked.
No more speeches.
No more "accidental" revolts.
He'd rather spend his own savings replacing every house's broomsticks than risk Blake turning into a Hogwarts cult leader.
As he spoke, Dumbledore absentmindedly tugged at his beard, already calculating how many galleons he'd need. Maybe the broom merchants would give him a discount? Hopefully?
It was going to hurt. Badly.
Meanwhile, Blake stood frozen, horrified.
This… wasn't how it was supposed to go.
If everyone got new brooms, he couldn't cry "injustice." No one would protest. No speeches. No revolution.
No treasure chests.
This was a disaster.
Blake sulked all the way back to the Hufflepuff common room, grumbling under his breath.
"I just wanted to rebel… Why is it so hard?"
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