The first Defence lesson was excellent, just as Blake had expected.
Moody was a better teacher than anyone they'd had, even Lupin - direct, no wasted words, demonstrated curses with the matter-of-fact efficiency of someone who'd been on the receiving end of most of them. The Unforgivables lesson was the most educational hour Blake had spent in a classroom in a long time. He took four pages of notes and paid close attention to everything.
But even so, he also couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.
Not constantly. Not even frequently. And whenever he'd tried to catch Moody looking at him, he wasn't. Just occasionally - the magical eye sweeping the room in a pattern he couldn't quite track, and every so often landing on him in a way that didn't feel like routine observation. A fraction too long. A fraction too deliberate. It reminded him of a certain someone, all the way back in first year.
Quirrell, he thought immediately. A year or two ago, maybe he would've brushed it off, telling himself he was just being paranoid. But now, after everything he had been through, he knew better.
But how? And why? Why would he of all people be watching me? One of the greatest Aurors in the war against Voldemort - arguably the greatest asset to the Light side after Dumbledore himself.
Maybe it's about the World Cup? Blake tried to reason. But no - he's watching me too much for that - but why?
"Do you have something on your face?" Zabini asked, as they walked in the corridor after the lesson had ended.
"Why?"
"Moody kept looking at you."
"I know," Blake replied, brows furrowed.
He hadn't imagined it then.
Over the next few lessons, Blake did his best to try and take note of the man's behaviour, but he immediately ran into a problem - Moody gave him almost nothing to work with. The man was distrustful in the way that former Aurors were bound to be, especially one like him - suspicious of everything by default, secretive as a matter of habit, the kind of person who gave away very little even when there was probably nothing to give away. Every oddity Blake noted could be explained by simple paranoia - the magical eye moving at odd moments, the flask he drank from constantly. The way he sometimes seemed to know what was happening in parts of the room he wasn't facing.
It could all just be Moody, Blake thought, after the third lesson. It could all just be what it looks like - a paranoid, brilliant, half-mad former Auror who's seen too much.
It could be.
But Blake had been honing his gut instinct over the past few years, and he knew it deep down - something is wrong.
/
A couple of days later, the French and Bulgarian schools arrived at Hogwarts. Blake was watching from the bank with the rest of the school when Zabini appeared at his shoulder.
"Karkaroff," he said quietly, nodding toward the figure disembarking at the front of the Bulgarian ship. The man had dark features, and a certain untrustworthy aura around him. "The headmaster - he's a former Death Eater."
Blake looked at him, surprised for just a moment. "You're certain?"
"My mother knows things," Zabini said simply.
"How come he's not in Azkaban?"
"He was there for a little bit, but then he made a deal - ratted Augustus Rookwood to get free."
"The Unspeakable?"
"Yeah."
Blake watched Karkaroff step onto the bank. The man carried himself with pride. Blake snorted at that. Coward. He kept watching the students, before one of them caught his eye, and held his gaze for a second before looking away.
Krum.
Victor Krum, in person, had the demeanour of someone who had been watched and praised his entire life.
He's taller than I realised, Blake noted. Krum's gaze wasn't one of mild curiosity or a casual glance, however - it was recognition.
The papers, he realised. Blake was marginally less annoyed about the headline now.
/
On his way to a Herbology lesson, Blake noticed something that he couldn't deny any longer.
Corridors cleared slightly when he walked through them. His name was being said by students he'd never spoken to. Younger students occasionally went quiet when he passed. And to top it all off, a second year had asked him, completely seriously, to sign the clipping from the Prophet - he'd declined, and the boy had looked genuinely disappointed.
This is what prestige actually feels like, he thought, watching a group of third years clock him and nudge each other. He would be lying if he said he didn't like it.
He thought about the Triwizard Tournament. A thousand Galleons and the title of Champion, in front of every student from three schools and every important figure in European wizarding society, and maybe even the world. The kind of moment that attached itself to a name permanently.
F*ck's sake, he thought again.
Soon, the Beauxbatons students arrived by carriage, and came down the steps, and Blake had a sneaky suspicion that they had choreographed and practiced it. The effect on the student body was immediate and widespread, and Blake felt it too - something warm and persuasive in the air, a pull toward them that was pleasant and not entirely natural.
What is that? he thought, focusing his mind. He turned to look around, and found many of the male students nearby leering at the crowd, bar a few. Ah, he realised. I know what this is.
"It's the allure," Tracey said, approaching them with Daphne and Charlotte not far behind. She fixed her eyes on Zabini, who had also shrugged it off. "There's a few of them that are part veela," she continued, confirming what Blake had suspected.
"I thought it would've been stronger," Blake mused.
"It is strong," Charlotte said, looking around distastefully at the leering males nearby.
"Wait," Tracey said, "Is one of them looking at us?"
"Huh?"
They all turned to see where Tracey was looking, and she was right - there was a Beauxbaton girl staring directly at them. She's pretty, Blake noted. Very pretty - part veela, maybe?
"Is she… looking at Blake?" Charlotte gaped, shocked. Almost instinctively, Blake moved slightly away from the group, and, sure enough, the girl's gaze followed. She smiled at him.
Is she…?
He smiled back politely and looked away, rejoining the group.
"Seems like you've got an admirer," Zabini quipped with a laugh.
"Shut up, Zabini," Blake said, shoving him slightly. "Let's just go back in."
He made sure not to look at Daphne's face until they were back in the castle.
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