Better Be Slytherin!

Severus watched Harry go, not surprised to see his faithful Baron appear next to him like a guard dog as he went out the door. Drawing a deep and even breath, he carefully returned his most prized possessions to their paper sleeve before locking them away once more. Just looking at her hurt, though less so than the last time he had indulged in such a maudlin activity. Perhaps because he shared them with her son.

The next few days passed swiftly, as they usually did this time of year, once the students finally settled into their routine. With the first Quidditch match of the season approaching, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, none of the Quidditch team -- especially their youngest and newest member -- had time for much of anything but practicing. Thus, Harry had not returned to Severus' office to look at pictures, though he mentioned at the end of class on Friday that he would like to, if he could, come back over the weekend to see more of them.

'Possibly,' Severus told him with a casual air, though he knew he'd let the boy come look at photos whenever he wanted. 'Do you not need to catch up on your classes because of Quidditch?'

'Oh, no, sir. Captain Flint's been making sure I got all my work done. Said you'd skin him and me, if he let . . .' Harry winced as if he'd just realized what he was saying, and looked away quick. 'I didn't mean to say that.'

But Severus only smirked at him. 'I daresay Mr. Flint is right. Good for you for keeping up in your studies.'

From the expression on the boy's face, you'd think Severus had handed him the moon, instead of a tiny compliment. 'Th-thank you, sir.'

'Go on with you, now. I believe Mr. Flint has a practice scheduled in about fifteen minutes, does he not?'

Harry jumped from his seat and nodded. 'Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!'

The next day was the first game of the season, and Severus made sure all his Snakes were suitably enthusiastic and ready to root for their team. He also made sure all the players had breakfast. Unmoved by attacks of nerves that made many of the players want to skip the meal, Severus insisted they eat. Quidditch matches early in the year had been known to go on for hours, through lunch and sometimes dinner, and he wanted no one fainting in the air from lack of food. Since both Harry Potter and the Gryffindor Seeker -- a Kenneth Towler or Towelboy or something -- were new to their teams, it was likely to be a long match as both of them settled into their roles.

At precisely half ten, Severus led the Slytherins down to the pitch, where he left them with their prefects while he went to sit in the Professors' stands. The team had gone ahead an hour before, to suit up and go over last minute strategies and pep talks. Several of Potter's friends amongst the First Years had made a banner which read, POTTER FOR PRESIDENT. One of them had charmed the paint to change color from silver to green and back again. Quite clever, those wee firsties.

At five to eleven, the teams marched onto the field. Potter, Severus noted, looked a trifle pale, but had a firm grip on his Nimbus 2000. He knew when the boy caught sight of the banner, as Potter took a half step back and then gave a wavering smile and stood straighter. Severus shook his head. Quidditch players were all alike.

Down on the field, Rolanda Hooch was giving her pre-game talk, which was usually some iteration of 'Play fair,' and which Slytherins inevitably translated to 'Don't get caught.' As usual, she eyed Marcus Flint a little more closely than the Gryffindor captain. Severus sneered at the blatant prejudice.

Then she gave a loud blast on her silver whistle. Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off.

'And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor -- what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too --'

'JORDAN!'

'Sorry, Professor.'()

Naturally, the announcer was a Gryffindor -- no chance of prejudicial commenting there -- and a friend of those blasted Weasley boys. And so, naturally, his commentary focused almost exclusively on the Gryffindor team and their possession of the Quaffle, their accuracy with Bludgers, their Seeker's attention to finding the Snitch. No matter that the Slytherin Seeker was clearly the better flier, with a better eye and on a far better broom.

Severus was disgusted by McGonagall's one-up-manship attitude, evidenced by her choice of commentator. He was aggravated. Annoyed. Peeved, even. He let none of that show on his face, however, in true Slytherin style, and attempted to enjoy the game regardless. And he would have succeeded, too, if someone had not nearly killed Harry Potter in the middle of it.

Gryffindor had scored once, much to the dismay of one quarter of the fans watching, when the Snitch was spotted for the first time. Potter sped towards it, going into a steep dive. He inched ahead of Towelson, who had also spotted the little ball of gold. Then, in a move that was obviously choreographed, the Weasley menaces planted themselves directly in Potter's path, angled so he would have to pull a hard turn at top speed or else careen into one of them. Potter nearly couldn't make the turn in time, and the end of his broom was clipped by one of the red haired oafs, spinning him briefly out of control.

Flint automatically complained to Hooch, but she shook her head, not allowing a foul shot, despite the clear violation.

Damned anti-Slytherin bias.

Another Bludger flew dangerously close to Potter's head when it happened. The boy's broom -- a perfectly fine, well-designed, brand new, top of the line Nimbus 2000, as his purse strings well knew -- gave a heart- stopping lurch. At least, Severus' heart nearly stopped when he saw it. Potter was high enough in the sky that not everyone was watching his every move. But then, not everyone was Severus Snape, who had made an oath to protect the boy, Slytherin or not. Thus, not everyone gasped as Harry grabbed hold of his broom with both hands, and wrapped his legs tight around the end of it, with a look of pure panic on his face.

The broom bucked again, nearly throwing Harry off. More gasps were heard as more people noticed the boy and broom zigzagging through the air, the latter making violent jerks as if actively trying to send the boy into a free fall above the pitch. Meanwhile, the broom went higher and higher, to where a fall would be more likely to be fatal. Suddenly the broom rolled over, and over again, like a barrel, then gave a powerful jerk. Harry was now hanging on by one hand, dangling over the pitch and scrabbling to get back up.

So someone else, besides Severus, must have been watching the boy very closely, because someone was hexing the broom. Someone powerful with Dark magic.

A feral growl came from Severus' throat. No one messed with his Snakes.