Author's note: I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Warnings: none

Disclaimer:I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 191-195 of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban while writing this chapter.

The Faux Dementors

Someone had sent Potter a Firebolt, which was apparently a very-new, highly-esteemed, and very-expensive broomstick. Granger had brought it to Minvera's attention, and the Gryffindor Head had confiscated it until further notice. This was to Potter's chagrin, and the chagrin of Oliver Wood, who, according to Minerva, had had the nerve to nag her about it and say that he didn't care if Potter broke his neck, so long as he caught the Snitch first. Minerva fumed about this insensitivity in the staff room for ages afterwards. It was comforting to know that as Quidditch-obsessed as she was, Minerva still prioritized her Golden Boy's safety, Severus thought rather ironically.

Minerva had employed Filius and Hooch in checking the broom for curses. The concern that the broom had somehow been sent by Sirius Black was on their minds. Given that Black was an escaped convict who should have access to neither sufficient funds nor to Quality Quidditch Supplies, it seemed unlikely, but "better safe than sorry" as the saying went. Minerva even convinced Severus to give it a look over. Finding no issues with the broom, he handed it back to her and smirked.

"Better hope that thing helps Potter win, or Gryffindor'll be out of the running for the eighth year in a row."

He very much enjoyed the dirty look she gave him.

It was the day of the next Quidditch match: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. The weather couldn't have been more different from the Gryffindor's match against Hufflepuff. It was a clear, cool day, with a very light breeze; there would be no visibility problems this time.

Tumultuous applause broke out when the Ravenclaw team walked out, shortly followed by the Gryffindor team.

"Wood, Davies, shake hands," Hooch said briskly. "Mount your brooms… on my whistle… three, two, one…."

The players took off. Commentary was promptly provided by Lee Jordon.

"They're off, and the big excitement this match is the Firebolt which Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt's going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year's World Championship-"

"Jordan, would you mind telling us what's going on in the match?" interrupted Minerva.

"Right you are, Professor—just giving a bit of background information."

Severus restrained himself from rolling his eyes. They should have just appointed a new commentator, or foregone the commentary entirely. I vote for the latter.

Aside from Minerva's irritation—"Jordan! Are you being paid to advertise Firebolts? Get on with the commentary!"—the match was going smoothly. For once. Now if only Potter or Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, would catch the Snitch, and then they could leave sooner.

The odds that Potter would catch the thing were looking good, and then things went south.

"Oh!" screamed Chang, pointing downwards.

Three black, hooded figures stood on the pitch below Potter. At first glance, they appeared to be Dementors, but Severus's instincts told him to double-check that assumption. There was no tell-tale chill, no feeling of dread, and the cloaks didn't quite float eerily as did the cloaks of real Dementors; this, thankfully, did not seem to be another appearance of the soul-sucking monsters that the Ministry was so quick to defend.

Potter's instincts evidently did not tell him the same thing. He pulled out his wand and yelled, "Expecto patronum!" To Severus's surprise, a silver stag appeared. It was both brighter and more corporeal than Severus would ever have expected. Students didn't even learn the Patronus spell for their NEWTs, after all, and Potter was only in third year. If only he showed such aptitude for regular schoolwork.

The so-called Dementors let out their own cries as the misty animal darted forwards, weaving between them and causing them to fall to the ground and get tangled up in their costumes. Meanwhile, Potter's fingers closed around the small, struggling Snitch. The whistle sounded and the crowd went wild.

Severus extracted himself from the stands and moved to the edge of the pitch. In a crumpled heap were Draco and his two cronies, and Marcus Flint, all struggling to remove themselves from the long, hooded robes. It appeared that Draco had been standing on Goyle's shoulders.

Although they were students of his House, Severus hung back. Minerva had beaten him to the miscreants and was currently chewing them out with an expression of utmost fury on her face.

"An unworthy trick!" she was shouting. "A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor Seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now…."

The way his Slytherins constantly undermined, however unwittingly, his efforts to keep Potter safe was driving Severus mad. After the boys had had a chat with a highly-disapproving Dumbledore, they had returned to the common room looking rather sullen, as things had not gone as planned. Severus had ordered them into his office and proceeded to give them their third lecture of the day, this one on how unsubtle and, most importantly, how un-Slytherin their little charade had been. If it wouldn't have resulted in a letter from Lucius, unhappy with the lack of favour Severus had shown his son, the Potions Master would have taken pleasure in berating them in front of the entire common room.