you raise me up || harry potter (revamped)

Chapter 6: Grinches and Grindylows

Snape personally thought he was doing a really good job of doing his utmost to appear impassive and disinterested in what was truthfully the most entertaining Quidditch game that Hogwarts had seen in years (not that Snape would ever admit it—unless, of course, it was because he was only interested in how badly Potter could manage to embarrass himself. Maybe it would shrink his head a smidge, the little bastard. It would almost be worth losing the Cup). And he had just gotten his all-consuming aggravation under control in reaction to Potter's stupid loop-the-loops after Marcus Flint's score and making sure the abhorrence wasn't showing up on his face when the trouble began.

The trouble's name, of course, was Harry Potter. Youngest Seeker of the century, owner of one very expensive Nimbus 2000, bane of Snape's existence. Said broomstick was currently doing its utmost to throw said bane of Snape's existence to his death.

"Fuck," Snape said, but softly enough that McGonagall only spared him a questioning glance instead of an admonishment for the profanity. Why hadn't he seen this one coming? He knew Quirrell was stupid, but Snape hadn't realized he was stupid enough to try to publicly kill the Boy Who Lived in front of both Albus Dumbledore and a crowd of a thousand people. He frantically wracked his memory for all the possible jinxes one could put on a broom. Snape had never been very interested in Quidditch or brooms, and he was seriously regretting his choice of allowing this gap in his knowledge. Were there multiple broom jinxes, or just the one that he religiously memorized years ago in the hopes that he might be able to use it on James Potter?

Well, it would have to do. He had less confidence in the counter-curse incantation, but there really wasn't any time to lose. He fixed his eyes on Potter's, silently thankful that the boy was far enough away that Snape couldn't make out the shape or color of his eyes.

Time stopped. Everything around him was dim, muted, except for Potter in the air, holding on for dear life, the terror written across his face clear even at this distance. The incantation floated surprisingly easy to his tongue, and his only priority was to ignore everything so that his flow wouldn't be interrupted—

Something was burning.

Merlin, it was himself. Probably Quirrell's doing, although Snape wasn't sure if Quirrell had the know-how or the guts to set his robes on fire from several seats away. He didn't dare move, for fear of breaking eye-contact, for fear of letting Potter fall fifty feet to the unforgiving ground below. The broom began leveling out, and he desperately eked out the last few words before finally glancing down without checking to see if the broom was completely back to normal. Oh shit, the flames were nearly to his elbow—

And then they were suddenly gone. Snape blinked. He glanced back to the field, breathing an involuntary sigh of relief at the sight of Potter clambering back onto his now well-behaved broom. He was in the middle of wishing he could give Quirrell the fiercest glare he could muster when he realized that Quirrell had fallen headlong into the first row, flailing his limbs about. Given that Quirrell was preoccupied at the moment, Snape indulged himself with a nice glare toward the back of Quirrell's turban.

When he was satisfied, he looked back down at his charred, smoking robes. It was one of his nice ones, too. He wrinkled his nose at the acrid smoke and balefully wondered how he could wring a few Sickles out of Quirrell under the guise of a bet. New robes weren't cheap.

As the people suddenly erupted into confused cheers around him, Snape distracted himself with thoughts of his wardrobe and bank account, trying with all his might to get his breathing under control, trying to erase the bone-chilling image of Potter falling from his broom forever from his mind.

♢♢♢

Christmas was coming, and Harry could not recall a time when he had been this excited for the holiday. Typically, Christmases at the Dursleys were a show of how much they could spoil Dudley, and how much worse of a present they could get Harry than the year before. The sudden three feet of snow was a welcome surprise, and in no time at all, snowball fights were being fought, and the frozen lake served as a very large ice rink.