XXV. Chase
Blaise has always loved flying. When he flies, he feels as though there's nothing binding him to the world any longer. He can just speed through the skies, the wind tangling his hair into knots that won't come out unless he uses a spell on them, and forget about all the drama happening on the Earth below. It doesn't matter anymore.
He has never liked Quidditch but he has always liked Snitches, probably for the aesthetics of the things more than anything else. They are shining and beautiful, glimmering in even the faintest rays of sunlight like miniature, winged Galleons. He can chase one across the sky for hours on end, focusing on the glittering gold and clearing his mind of everything else. The drama down on Earth can't hurt him anymore.
Sometimes, when he catches sight of the Snitch out of the corner of his eye, Blaise thinks he can see the bird they were modelled after, a little Snidget that will be crushed to death in his hand as soon as he catches it. That's why he prefers the cold metal of the Snitch to the living, breathing body of a Snidget. He flies to escape death, not to cause it.