Better Be Slytherin!

He began chanting a counter curse, keeping his unblinking gaze on the boy and the broom. Whoever was cursing the broom would need maintain that continuous eye contact, too. And hopefully some other Professor -- he could not imagine a mere student would have the know how or experience with such Dark magic to know how to counter it -- would discover the malfeasant and bring him down. All Severus could do was try and mitigate the curse; he could not banish it entirely.

He heard screams around him as more people realized their bloody savior was in danger of dying. Above him, Harry managed to latch onto the broom with his other hand at last -- no thanks to the two Weasleys, who flew in underneath him, as if to catch him if he fell, but offered no other assistance.

And then, Severus smelled smoke.

Fire!?

Quirinus Quirrell lurched against him from behind, screeching about being on fire, of all things. As Severus fought to regain his balance, he lost sight of Harry for a mere second, the space of a heartbeat, or as long as it would take for his to stop completely. When he was upright again, he looked to the sky, fearing the worst.

Instead of being quite dead, the imp hurtled toward the ground, right side up finally, on a broom completely under his control, and nearly went for a tumble a few feet above the earth. He clapped his hand over his mouth as if he were going to be sick, and when he hit the ground, he landed on all fours. He coughed -- rather inelegantly, truth be told -- and out of the Brat Who Lived to Give Severus Heart Failure's mouth popped the little golden Snitch.

Merlin's Balls.

Severus' scowl was just this side of a smirk, in light of Slytherin's victory. The boy couldn't even play a simple game of Quidditch without making a spectacle of himself.

But at least he wasn't dead.

And Severus had yet another piece of damning evidence to stack against one stuttering, blundering DADA professor.

If only Dumbledore would listen this time.

TBC . . .

A/N: The four paragraphs (mostly dialogue) just before the () were lifted in their entirety from The Philosopher's Stone.

Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews! Hope this chapter makes y'all happy; hated to leave you in the lurch, cliffie-wise. Peppermint mochas (or eggnog, if you're not a caffeineaholic like me) all around!

*Chapter 33*: Chapter 33

Better Be Slytherin! – Chapter 33

By jharad17

Disclaimer: Waaaah! None of this is mine!

Warning: for language and innuendo

Previously:

And then, Severus smelled smoke.

Fire!?

Quirinus Quirrell lurched against him from behind, screeching about being on fire, of all things.

'You set Professor Quirrell on fire?!' Harry all but shrieked. They were in the common room, at their favorite table for studying quietly, but the room was so full of celebrating Slytherins, you could not have heard an erumpent trumpet its horn.

'Shush,' Teddy said anyway, at the same time as Millicent shrugged, not looking at all apologetic.

'Could have been worse,' she said. 'I could have lit his head on fire. That smelly turban desperately deserves it, too.' She narrowed her eyes at him. 'Besides, it got him to stop cursing your broom, didn't it?'

'Yeah . . . But, are you sure it was him?'

Teddy rolled his eyes. ''Course it was. First of all, he's been trying to kill you all year, hasn't he? And also, he was staring right at you, without blinking. In order to carry out a sustained hex like that, you have to maintain eye contact. Uninterrupted. No blinking, no sneezing, no bending over to put out the flames on your robes.'

Harry couldn't help it; he snickered. Though, when he'd been over a hundred feet in the air, his out of control broom had been anything but funny. Catching the Snitch, though, and winning the game . . . that had been the best feeling ever!

'I still can't believe they're not doing anything about him!' Millie growled.

'What do you mean?'

Teddy gave Millicent a sharp look before shrugging. 'We saw Professor Snape talking with the Headmaster as everyone was leaving the stadium. The Professor looked furious, all pale except his lips which were white, he had them pressed so hard. You know The Look?'

Harry nodded dumbly, eyes wide. He'd seen that Look a couple of times. It usually heralded detention, and a raging dressing down.

'Yeah, well, I think he was angry with the Headmaster this time. I couldn't hear everything they said, but our Head of House was talking about Quirrell and how you'd almost died again and how the Headmaster better tighten up security, both on you and the you-know-what.'