That's What Friends Are For
By Lady Dien

Disclaimer and all that is to be found in Chapter One.

What has gone before: Valence Feye teaches DADA and has been for two weeks. Lunchtime in the Hall holds surprises.

Notes and Kudos: To all those who have continued to ask about the future of this fic and feared I was giving it up: rejoice! New chappie! See?

If you like this fic, please try my other ones. I adore reviews.

~|~*\V/*~|~

Chapter Five: Life Goes On?

"Hooch what?"

"Broke half the bones in her leg. Nasty fall, that. Poppy says she'll be alright, but in the meantime, the students are worrying about today's Quidditch match. First match of the season, and all that... you won't mind refereeing, will you, Severus?"

"Yes I bloody well will. I only did it during Potter's first year to keep Quirrell from hexing him off his broom. It was a one-time thing, Headmaster, you know that--"

"But the Quidditch game, Severus..."

"Hang the bloody game! The students can wait a day for Hooch to mend. I'm busy."

"Your Slytherins will be so disappointed. They were looking forward to facing off against Ravenclaw."

"They can wait one damn day. I'm not ref--"

"What's all this? What'd I miss?"

"Ah, Valence, please join us. The house-elves outdid themselves with lunch today. Try the pot roast."

"Yeh. What'd I miss?"

"Nothing," Severus Snape said tersely, focusing his attention on his pot roast as Feye dropped into the seat next to him. The Great Hall was crowded and noisy with the hundreds of students eating lunch, and he had to speak up a bit to make his next words heard. "Merely the Headmaster being his usual self."

"And you being yours, I imagine. Pass the salt. So... I heard the word Quidditch."

Severus groaned and buried his face in his hands, ignoring Sprout's curious glance on the other side of him. Albus Dumbledore smiled with the smile of a man sensing impending victory.

"Yes, I was just attempting to make a small wager with Severus on the outcome of today's match... Slytherin versus Ravenclaw. He's oddly reluctant to bet with me."

On the other side of the DADA instructor, Severus shot a glance towards the Headmaster that plainly said, 'what the hell are you scheming now, old man?' Albus's eyes twinkled behind his glasses as he took a bite of pot roast, then continued speaking to Feye. The fellow was listening with an intensity that might have unnerved a lesser man. "Still, I suppose it's good that he's not accepting the wager... it might throw doubt on his being an impartial referee, and we can't have that."

"You're reffing, Sev?" barked Valence, whipping his head around to stare eagerly at the Potions teacher, who glared at his food. The Headmaster's smile grew broader, knowing he was now assured of victory. Just a little further nudge...

"Well, he is a bit reluctant," Albus confessed, nonchalantly taking a bite of salad. Feye's eyes lit up with inhuman glee.

"Take his bet, Sev. I'll ref."

Severus paled, as did Sprout and McGonagall, who were within hearing range. They remembered. Oh, how well they all remembered. Snape finally closed his eyes in defeat. "Damn you, Albus," he growled. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Oh, I'm sure Valence would be happy to take it for you," Albus grinned, mischief dancing in his blue eyes. Severus glared past Feye and ground out, "I- said- I'll- do- it."

"Well, if you insist. Excellent. Game starts at four this afternoon."

"Four?" gasped Feye. "No one TOLD me! I need to go get ready!" And with that, the DADA teacher was up and out of his chair, rushing out of the Great Hall on the way to his chambers. Severus glared after him, then turned back to Albus.

"That was a dirty, vile,  and underhanded trick. Forcing me to choose between letting him referee, and..." Snape trailed off bitterly, then grimaced at Dumbledore's answering chuckle.

"See you on the pitch, Severus."

The Potions Master muttered under his breath and looked heavenwards for inspiration. It was not forthcoming.

~|~*\V/*~|~

From the little section reserved for the ref, Snape glared out into the crowded Quidditch arena. It was truly packed, every seat full. He yanked at the collar of the referee robe and swore under his breath, one hand tightening on the broom he held in his other hand.

Quidditch was, in his mind, a waste of time. He'd grown up with an older brother and sister who loved the sport whole-heartedly, each having been on their House teams. In such an atmosphere, he had of course learnt the rules very well. And he was a competent flier. But he had no patience for the sport-- nor for the rabid fans and fan-worship it produced.

Case. In. Point: In the centre of the Slytherin seats, there was a man wearing nothing but his trousers (much to the delight of some of the female population). Every inch of his bared skin was covered in green and silver moving paint, that constantly spelled out the words SLYTHERIN! Or SALAZAR! Or GO SERPENTS GO! Or HISS THIS! Et cetera, et cetera. He was holding a large placard in one hand that lit up constantly with a picture of a Snitch and a green-gloved hand grabbing it. The other hand was, contrary to all wisdom and safety precautions, holding a wand. Severus had hoped someone would have thought to take his wand.

Snape knew that man. To his eternal and never-ending shame.

"Valence, you ruddy fool," he muttered to himself, then sighed. There was no more putting it off. He kicked open the flap of canvas that concealed his section and strode out onto the field, where the two teams were lined up and waiting.

Two weeks since term had started. Two weeks, in which those who had not known better had thought Feye to be a sane human being. Today, they were about to find out differently.

Snape just hoped no one ended up in the infirmary.

He kicked off from the ground, and flew over to the two teams. He wasn't going to bother with all the tetchy this-and-that that Hooch did. Hovering near the two teams, he snapped out, "On your brooms."

The players did, the Ravenclaws looking a bit sullen. He knew they expected favoritism of Slytherin from him. Well, sorry to disappoint, he thought with a sneer. The classroom was one thing-- but he took refereeing seriously enough. Impartiality was vital.

"You all know the rules-- or you ought to. Those who break them will be off the field, and reserves will be called in. Begin!"

He blew a blast on the whistle-- and the game began.

NEXT: Quidditch!