A/N: Happy new year! Hope all of you enjoyed your holidays. Back with a new chapter, one I hope is enjoyed.

Would like to take a moment to say thank you so much to all of you who have stuck around this far into the story! Your thoughts and reviews really go a long way, and make this hippogriff-sized project I've taken on so worth it.

This fic was originally nearly written to completion when I started posting it, but I ended up going back and changing a great deal. We've veered so far off the original course I anticipated that this little story has taken on a new life of its own. It's hard to tell because of all the changes, but I'm anticipating roughly six or seven more chapters before we're finished with year one.

Fun fact: It is a complete and very happy coincidence that this chapter is being posted on Severus Snape's actual birthday.


Chapter Nineteen: Thirty-Two

Harry was used to being stared at by non-Slytherins. The Gryffindors were never particularly subtle about it, and they weren't subtle now. Ron and Harry sat in front of the fire playing wizard chess, the eyes of the few Gryffindors present on them. The majority of conversation in the room came not from them, but from their chess pieces, who kept shouting feedback on how they felt they should be used.

"Can't you see his rook will take me?" Harry's one remaining bishop argued, accurately guessing Harry's intention before he announced it. "Send that pawn! You can afford to lose him!"

"Excuse me?" the pawn sputtered. "I'm perfectly important!"

The bishop snorted and murmured something to Harry's queen, who held back a laugh of her own.

"Oi!" Harry's pawn shouted. "If you have something to say, why don't you say it to my face?"

Harry rolled his eyes, letting the two argue it out. Ron leaned back, giving him a sympathetic grin. His chess pieces usually listened to him with minimal fuss, but Ron was much better at chess than Harry.

Harry craned his neck, his eyes scanning the Gryffindor common room. It was smaller than Slytherin's, and made Harry picture an imaginary grandmother's sitting room. The squashy chairs were extremely comfortable, as were the red-hued rugs strewn throughout the room. Harry imagined if he'd been sorted into Gryffindor he'd have immediately fallen in love. He hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor, though, and after several months at Hogwarts the Gryffindor common room just didn't elicit the same sense of being 'home' the way Slytherin's did.

Harry thought of the low leather sofas and the faint green glow rather like an aquarium in the dungeon common room. It was deceptively comfortable, the kind of place that grew on you, unlike Privet Drive, which tried too hard to look homey but never quite succeeded, instead landing on 'fussy'. Gryffindor's common room was made to look homey and welcoming, but so far not a single person had bothered to make him feel welcome, aside from Ron. As the Weasley twins and several older students stared at him in silence, Harry found himself longing for Millicent clomping in shouting about something, or leaning over a tattered board game with Blaise and Theo.

Harry reached for one of the Cauldron Cakes he'd brought with him. The rest of the school wouldn't be back until the end of the week, and his room was still hopelessly filled with sweets. Ron chewed on a Cauldron Cake as well, both of them tearing off pieces with their fingers as they waited for Harry's chess pieces to resolve their disagreement, which had now devolved into petty insults about who was shinier.

"Sorry about them. They're usually not this poorly behaved," Ron said, his mouth full, nodding at the pieces. "They're in a foul mood because they haven't played a proper game in forever. Hermione is brilliant in class, but awful at chess. Neville's more decent than he thinks he is, but he second-guesses himself so much he usually ends up losing. And with everyone away for the holiday, no one will play with me, so they're rusty."

"Speak for yourself," one of Ron's bishops, who'd refrained from joining the fray until now, grumbled.

Harry grinned. Chess in Gryffindor wasn't much different from chess in Slytherin; if anything, it became a game of goading the feuding pieces on. In Slytherin, though, there'd be an older student to play chess with a first year alone at Christmas. Maybe not out of the goodness of their hearts and instead because Snape ordered them to, but it would happen.

"That sounds miserable," Ron said when Harry told him this, shuddering at the thought of most of his evenings supervised by Snape.

"It's fine," Harry said. "He mostly keeps to himself. He doesn't try to act like he's our friend or anything, but he tells stories sometimes. Ridiculous things Peeves has done over the years, or things about the castle's history. Sometimes he teaches us new spells."

"That sounds like extra schoolwork." Ron wrinkled his nose.

"Nah, they're fun spells. He's shown us how to make purple smoke come out of our ears, or how to make our shoelaces dance."

"Yeah?" Ron perked up slightly. "Purple smoke? Out of your ears? Could you show me how to do that?"

"Probably," Harry said, studying the chessboard. "I don't have it down just yet, but I'm close."

As they watched Harry's chess pieces vent their various bits of anger at one another, Ron shook his head, half speaking to himself as he said, "I just don't get him."

"Why not?" Harry asked, wondering if he should intervene between his rook and pawn, who'd become engaged in a shoving match.

"Why do you think?" Ron asked. "He's an awful git in class, but then he was actually really decent when I visited the common room. I don't think he's evil anymore, but I still don't understand him."

Harry shrugged. Snape wasn't exactly friendly in class, but he wasn't cruel either. He called everyone idiots and dunderheads the way Professor Sprout might say dearie or sweetheart, but there was no real malice behind his words. If anything, he reminded Harry a bit of Professor McGonagall, whom Ron seemed to adore. Both professors expected unwavering attention and effort from their students. If someone wasn't doing what they were told to do in class, neither professor would waste a second in calling them out, without mincing words. They weren't cuddly, but they were fair, something Harry valued deeply.

"They're nothing alike!" Ron protested when Harry explained this, and Harry noticed the twins twitch slightly from where they were sprawled out across a sofa, obviously eavesdropping but still silent. "How can you even compare the two?"

"He has a point, if you're willing to think about it," a voice came from a nook, causing both Harry and Ron to jump. Percy Weasley was seated at a desk, getting in a bit of studying before term started. He pushed his chair back and shrugged at Fred and George's incoherent exclamations of disgust. "Perhaps they are similar. Just a bit."

"You're bonkers," a surprisingly hulking second year called Cormac argued. He was sprawled flat on his back, his head dangling backwards over the edge of an ottoman and his legs sticking straight upward against the back of an armchair. "Bonkers if you think Snape is anything like-"

The portrait swung open, and before Cormac could say her name, Professor McGonagall swept into the common room, her emerald-green robes rustling. The students fell silent; Harry had learned from Ron that Professor McGonagall rarely spent time in her common room the way Professor Snape did. He hesitated, wondering how she'd react to the unexpected presence of a Slytherin among her lions.

"Hello, Professor," Percy said, breaking the silence.

McGonagall nodded at him, before crossing the room to a large board of notices hanging on the wall. Harry's legs twitched; out of habit he found himself nearly standing the way Slytherin did for Professor Snape, but no one around him stood, so neither did he. As McGonagall took down the old notices and replaced them with new ones, Harry wondered whether she'd noticed him or not.

The Weasley twins glanced at one another, clearly wondering the same thing.

"Oi," George said loudly. "Potter. Are you going to move or not? You're taking forever, and we want to play next."

"You never play chess," Ron protested, as Harry glanced back at the chessboard. The pieces had since settled down, though his bishop was angrily rubbing his side as his pawn swaggered in place triumphantly.

"Erm," he said, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Professor McGonagall, whose back was still to them. She hadn't reacted to George's use of his name. "Bishop. Go on, then. E4."

The bishop obeyed, grumbling all the while, and was promptly captured by Ron's rook, which Harry then took with his pawn.

"Not bad," Ron said, grinning at him. "Better than your last game. You're getting the hang of the strategy part. But you left your queen wide open."

Harry sucked in the air around his teeth; he hadn't looked as far ahead as he'd thought. "You're good at this."

"Don't give him a bigger head than he's already got," Fred said. With a glance at Professor McGonagall, he deliberately added, "Potter."

Professor McGonagall, who'd finished her tasks at the notice board, started back across the room. She paused alongside Cormac, who was still sprawled backwards across the ottoman and armchair, limbs akimbo.

"McLaggen," she said, lips pursed. "May I ask, are you truly foolish enough to have never learned how to sit properly in a chair?"

"Sorry, Professor," Cormac said quickly, sheepishly shifting about into a more suitable position.

"And you two," McGonagall went on, gesturing at the Weasley twins, their feet both resting on the sofa. "Your ineptitude continuously astonishes me, but..."

She didn't have to finish her sentence. Both boys were already pushing themselves upright with sheepish apologies of their own. Harry saw they were hiding smiles, much like a Slytherin might when addressed in a similar way by Snape.

"Better," she said, hiding a smile of her own. She started back across the room again, only pausing once she'd reached the portrait hole. "Oh, Potter, before I forget."

Harry swallowed, rising up from the floor. "Yes, Professor?"

"Would you tell Professor Snape he's borrowed my copy of Magical Moral Perspective for long enough?" McGonagall asked, the eyes behind her square glasses zeroing in directly on Harry. "I'd rather like to see it again before I retire."

"I will, Professor," Harry said quickly.

"Excellent. Perhaps you can bring it with you the next time you drop by," McGonagall said with a nod of her head. "Or any one of your housemates when they visit, if they so desire."

And with that, she was gone, climbing through the open portrait hole with more dexterity than Harry would have expected. Harry and the Gryffindors sat in silence for a long moment, no one quite sure what to say.

"Are you going to take your turn or not?" Harry's rook finally called out, and he rolled his eyes, returning his attention to the game.

Harry settled himself against the comfortable rug once more, feeling somewhat lighter than he had moments before. Ron's rat, Scabbers, crawled out from where he'd been resting under a table and flopped down next to them, and Harry stroked him absently as Ron proceeded to trounce him once again.


Severus studied his glass of mead as Minerva fiddled with the dial of the wireless, finally settling on a big band piece composed well before Severus was born.

"Don't you like it?" Minerva asked, straightening up and settling in her armchair. She took a sip from her own glass of mead. The bottle, a Christmas present from a Gryffindor parent, sat on the table beside her.

"It's fine," Severus conceded after a second sip. "A bit thick for my liking."

"It's too dry when it's thin," Minerva disagreed. "The thicker, the sweeter."

"Ah, sweetness, one of my most cherished things," Severus said flatly, and Minerva snorted. Turning back to the topic they'd just been discussing, Severus said, "He behaved himself, then? Didn't cause any trouble in your common room?"

"For goodness' sake." Minerva rolled her eyes, her foot tapping along to the beat of the irritatingly peppy song blaring through the speaker of the wireless. "You act as though your students are little heathens, one step away from burning the castle to the ground." Before Severus could respond, she cut in, "He was perfectly behaved, just as he always is. Your first years never give me an ounce of trouble, and you know it. But never tell them I said that."

Severus scoffed, mirroring her eye rolling back at her. "Never an ounce of trouble? My first years? You've no idea how many times they've nearly tempted me into flinging myself off the Astronomy Tower."

"Aim for the south side, would you?" Minerva asked, sipping at her mead. "There's a lovely footpath to the north, and I'd hate to see it closed off, even temporarily."

Severus hid his smirk by taking an entirely too large gulp from his glass. He swallowed, hard, then said, "They're demons. Well-meaning, painfully earnest little demons with no sense of self-preservation."

"They're eleven," Minerva pointed out. "All eleven-year-olds think they're invincible, the lucky little things."

"They show no respect for me," Severus went on. "They flout all my rules, and only then are they sorry. First years, acting the way they have. Sneaking out at night, keeping secrets from me. It's unbelievable, Minerva."

"Would you like to trade them for the Weasley twins?" Minerva asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Point taken," Severus said. "And not in a thousand years."

"They're certainly inquisitive," Minerva admitted. "But no more than my own first years. Have your first years gone after a fully grown mountain troll?"

"Certainly not," Severus said. "Because they know what I would do to them if they even thought of it. I certainly wouldn't have awarded Longbottom and Weasley points had they been students of mine."

Minerva waved a hand, half defensive, half embarrassed. "I was grateful they were alive. By the time my gratitude wore off, it was too late."

"Too late? Nonsense. Tell the truth, Minerva, you're going soft."

Minerva waved a hand again, leaning back into her seat, amused. "I am not."

"You are. You used to take points at the drop of a hat."

"I still take points at the drop of a hat," she argued.

"Perhaps," Severus conceded. "But you have a soft side that wasn't there before. Have you been taking lessons from Pomona?"

Minerva rolled her eyes so hard Severus marveled they didn't fall out of her head. "Watch yourself, or I'll take points from you."

"Is that so?" Severus's upper lip twitched, and he exhaled loudly through his nose. "I'd like to see you try."

Minerva shot him an awful little smile, then announced to the air, "Five points from Slytherin!"

Severus stared at her, not sure whether to reply indignantly or to laugh. "You can't do that!"

"I just did," she replied proudly.

"Five points to Slytherin," Severus shot back. "And ten points from Gryffindor."

Minerva gaped at him, then placed a hand to her mouth to hide her laughter. "Ten points to Gryffindor. And fifteen from Slytherin!"

They went back and forth, finally giving up after fifty points were taken from each respective house. They awarded the opposite house enough points to return them where they'd been just a minute before, then Minerva paused and added, "And five more points for Slytherin, I suppose."

"Five points from Slytherin," Severus shot back. "They don't need to be rewarded because of our nonsense."

"Oh, lighten up, Severus," Minerva said with a grin. She added, "I do hope no one was passing the hourglasses just now."


Harry didn't want to admit it, but he wasn't entirely sorry when the holidays came to an end. As wonderful as it was to stay up as late as he wanted and rise halfway through the day while being left entirely to his own devices, it grew the tiniest bit stale after a while. Exploring the castle and playing games from morning to nightfall certainly wasn't something to complain about, but after two weeks he and the small student body that had remained were growing slightly restless.

Besides that, Harry had missed his housemates. As pleasant as it was to make it through an entire night without having to listen to Vincent's snores, it was equally depressing to go to bed each night in an empty dorm. He'd enjoyed the quieter common room for the past two weeks, but as it returned to full capacity Harry found he'd missed the raucous nights of the regular school year more than he'd expected.

The Slytherin first year's first tea that term with Hagrid was awkward at first. Harry insisted to the rest of the year that Hagrid hadn't had anything to do with Snape discovering their search for Nicolas Flamel, but the nervous groundskeeper was still met by a wall of stony faces when they turned up to his hut that Sunday afternoon following his invitation. Hagrid bustled about with his usual inedible biscuits and a chocolate cake not unlike the one he'd brought Harry on his birthday, one that was actually surprisingly decent. Once everyone's plates were furnished and their cups filled with tea, he settled into a chair, eyes darting from Slytherin to Slytherin, and insisted in a low voice he hadn't breathed a word to Professor Snape, or anyone else, for that matter.

"I'm not like that," he said firmly, his eyes pleading with them to believe him. "I wouldn'- I wouldn' tell on yeh lot. Never."

The Slytherins glanced at one another. Harry knew perfectly well that Hagrid was telling the truth, but for the first time it occurred to him that it was a bit strange that Hagrid hadn't considered ratting them out, and that any other adult would have done so in a heartbeat. He pushed the thought aside and opened his mouth to defend him further, but Draco spoke first.

"I believe him."

All eyes turned to Draco, who stared at his lap and shrugged.

"Who else could it have been?" Blaise said, glancing at Hagrid, then back to Draco.

"No offense, Hagrid," Pansy added quickly. "We really, really want to believe you. But-"

"Maybe we weren't as stealthy as we thought," Draco interrupted, carefully not making eye contact with Harry, who didn't say a word. "Snape always seems to know everything, doesn't he? Every time you think you're off scot-free, he swoops in at the last moment. He found out about our dueling plan before we actually did it. He knew when Derrick and Bole were selling liquor to the upper years from their dorms. He knows everything."

"He didn't at first," Theo pointed out. "He was too angry when he rounded us up to have known all along."

"It's like I said. Maybe we weren't as stealthy as we thought," Draco said, cringing slightly at the heartfelt look Hagrid gave him. "Maybe someone slipped up. Maybe someone said something they shouldn't have."

"Like who?" Millicent said loudly, studying him intently. "Like you?"

"No!" Draco said quickly, cheeks turning red. He started to shoot Harry a furtive look but stopped himself in time. "It could have been anyone. I'm just saying... I don't think Hagrid would lie to us. That's all."

All eyes turned to Hagrid's, except for Draco's, whose slipped to Harry again. Harry wondered what Draco's holidays had been like, and if he and his father had discussed his betrayal to Snape. He stayed silent.

"Well, I want ter thank you, Draco," Hagrid said, his voice thick with emotion. "That means a lot."

The flush in Draco's cheeks spread to his neck and he stared furiously at his feet.

"I agree with Draco," Tracey said quietly. "I don't think Hagrid told either."

Slowly, the first years nodded, one-by-one, and Hagrid's rigid demeanor slowly relaxed as he smiled at them.

"But if it wasn't Hagrid," Daphne said softly after a moment, "Then who was it?"

Everyone looked up. Harry glanced at Draco. No one said a word.


Wednesday morning, Severus stepped into the Slytherin common room and immediately cringed. His students were already lined up waiting for him, beaming like a litter of Cheshire cats.

"Don't-" he started, but it was too late, a chorus of voices was declaring, "Happy birthday, Professor Snape!"

Severus glared at the lot of them. He didn't know how his students had figured out when his birthday was, but each year they sprang on it like a snake on a mouse. Fitting, he supposed.

An older student nudged Tracey Davis, and she scampered forward, clutching a large envelope. Of course they'd pick the brightest-eyed, bushy-tailed one of the lot.

"This is from all of us, sir," she said happily, and before Severus could say a word, she hurried back to her place in line.

Severus held back a sigh, almost longing for those days as a student when his birthdays were often forgotten by everyone except Lily Evans. As housemaster, he'd taken on the attitude that no student should have their birthday forgotten, and made it a habit to wish each celebrating student a happy birthday at the relevant day's morning inspection. Unfortunately, the little buggers had taken the lesson to heart and proceeded to respond in kind each year.

The entire house watched him expectantly, and Severus forced himself to open the envelope. An enormous, handmade card was inside. A drawing, clearly made by multiple students, depicted a lopsided but not entirely abysmal version of the castle. Large, bright letters declared 'THE GREATEST PLACE IN ALL OF HOGWARTS...'

Severus braced himself and opened the card, only to find a sprawling drawing of the Slytherin common room, filled with various students (each, he suspected, drawn by themselves) waving. In the middle of it all was Severus, slightly too tall and an uncharacteristic smile on his face. The phrase continued on, '...IS RIGHT HERE IN THE DUNGEONS WITH YOU, PROFESSOR SNAPE!'

Surrounding the drawings were signatures from his students, with birthday wishes squeezed in. It was so sweet it was sickening. Severus looked up. The younger students beamed at him, unabashedly proud of their hard work. The older students grinned as well, but they were holding back laughter, and Severus couldn't help but silently commend them. They knew perfectly well such a card would make him sick, but it wasn't as though he could punish them for doing something kind. Well done to them, he supposed.

There was a folded piece of parchment inside the card, the words 'Gift Voucher' only just visible. Severus paused, lifting it carefully.

"We all chipped in, sir," Reggie Derrick spoke up, a horrid little smile on his face. "We hope you like it."

Severus studied him, then unfolded the parchment. It was a voucher to the Hog's Head.

He looked up sharply, eyes narrowing. In a low voice, he said, "And which one of you was foolish enough to set foot in the Hog's Head, might I ask?"

Not a single smile wavered. Terence Higgs spoke up. "None of us. We ordered it through owl post, sir. We figured it was something you might like to use on your next trip Hogsmeade."

Multiple students hid giggles behind their hands at Severus's expression. He glared at them.

He marched up and down the line, barking out uniform violations and coming down on uncombed hair and dirty fingernails even harder than usual. Finally, as he led the students to the stone wall leading to the corridor, he relented, slumping slightly and saying, "Thank you." Wincing at the even bigger smiles he received in response, he added, "Now get to breakfast before I insist you're all resorted into Hufflepuff!"


Harry sat at his desk, head propped up by his palm as Professor Quirrell stammered on and on about werewolf bites. Professor Quirrell had a knack for taking exciting subjects and making them exceedingly dull. He wasn't nearly as bad as Professor Binns, but between the stupefying lectures and the overpowering stench of garlic that permeated the classroom, Harry found himself willing his DADA classes to pass as quickly as possible.

"He doesn't look well, does he?" Neville whispered. Since the end of the holidays, Harry found himself occasionally sitting with the Gryffindors in class, instead of segregating by house the way they usually did.

Neville had even come by the Slytherin common room again, a momentous occasion that Neville quietly requested to Harry that Professor Snape be present for, just in case a repeat of his last visit occurred. He also requested Ron and Hermione come with him, for moral support. The common room fell extremely quiet as the three walked in. Harry's eyes darted to Marcus Flint, who'd made such a big commotion last time, but while the boy's face was dark he stayed silent. Scabbers' head poked out from Ron's pocket, then quickly darted back down, eliciting shrieks of terror from Pansy and Daphne, which in turn elicited a round of good-natured teasing from the rest of the house as they imitated their screams and somehow lightened the tension around them.

Before long Ron and Theo were engaged in a game of chess, Ron quickly discovering he'd met his match. Hermione, upon learning Tracey had a Muggle father, quickly fell into an excited conversation about the Muggle world, laughing together at how much wizards got wrong when trying to blend into the non-magical world. Eventually the other girls joined them, soundly rejecting Hermione's suggestion they all study together, and instead opting to track down and play with Mrs. Norris, Millicent going on all the while about the cat she'd been promised if she did well on her end-of-year exams.

Neville hung back, just watching the comings and goings of the common room as he and Harry sat by the fire.

"I'm glad you came back," Harry said, offering him a Chocolate Frog, one from the box Neville had sent him for Christmas. The stockpile of sweets in his dorm had shrunk significantly upon the return of the rest of its inhabitants, but they still had a nice-sized balance to work their way through, especially given they didn't want Snape to cotton on just how much they had hidden.

"Me too," Neville said, unwrapping the frog and taking a small nibble. He gestured at the card. "You want it? I don't collect them."

It was a Dumbledore card, one Harry already had, but he accepted it, figuring he could trade it for another. He meant to bring it with him when he, Greg, and Tracey visited Gryffindor Tower the next evening, but he was so distracted by the game of Exploding Snap they joined that it stayed in his pocket, forgotten.

The Slytherins received plenty of icy stares in Gryffindor, but not from everyone. Neville, Ron, and Hermione welcomed them warmly, as did a very hesitant Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, who pretended not to notice the stares from the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Percy Weasley didn't join them, but he did go out of his way to say hello and ask how they were enjoying the new term. Eventually Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan wandered over, followed by Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. This portion of the first year was much more reserved, and they regarded the three Slytherins with unconcealed suspicion through the entire evening, but no harsh words were said, and by the time the Slytherins left the air was ever-so-slightly more relaxed.

So far it was only the Gryffindor and Slytherin first years visiting the others' common room, but Harry wondered if in time the older students might join as well. He figured only time would tell, and he wasn't about to rush things, not with everything going as (hesitantly) well as it was.

Now, several days later, Harry sat next to Neville, quietly agreeing that Professor Quirrell didn't look well at all. His face was pale and sweaty, and his already thin frame was narrower than usual. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he held onto the side of his desk as he gestured at the chalkboard with his wand.

Harry glanced sideways at Tracey, who was sitting with Hermione. Both frowned at Quirrell, clearly noticing what he did. Even Vincent and Greg, who sat on either side of Ron, had odd expressions on their faces, and they tended to be so oblivious they'd scarcely notice if a kangaroo showed up to teach.

"Do you think he's ill?" Draco murmured as they filed out at the end of class, Professor Quirrell mopping his brow with a handkerchief at the head of the classroom.

"I don't know," Harry responded, glancing over his shoulder as subtly as possible. "He's always seemed a bit off, hasn't he?"

"Not like that," Draco said, half to himself.

Neville cleared his throat nervously. "He seemed like he might be catching a cold right before Christmas. Harry, what was he like during the holidays?"

"I barely saw him," Harry admitted. "He kept to himself most of the time, and I didn't pay much attention when he was around."

Draco didn't comment on this; he was already halfway down the corridor to join Blaise. Harry paused, remembering something that pushed all thoughts of Professor Quirrell out of his mind.

"Listen, Neville." Harry shoved his hand into his cloak pocket. It brushed against something he wasn't sure of before reaching the small box he'd stashed there. "This came in the post this morning. I didn't have a chance to give it to you at breakfast. Sorry I didn't have time to wrap it."

He awkwardly presented Neville with the box, a collection of Timothy Tallon's Tapioca Themed Toad Treats he'd ordered by post from the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley.

Neville gaped at it. "What's this for?"

"You know." Harry's cheeks flushed and he shrugged. "Christmas. Sorry it's late."

Neville's cheeks turned red as well, trying to push the package back into Harry's hands. "You didn't have to get me anything."

"Sorry it's late," Harry said again, pushing it back. "Take it. What am I going to do with toad treats? Hedwig would bite my fingers off if I even thought about giving them to her."

Neville lowered his head, trying to hide the extent of his smile. "Thanks, Harry. That's really nice of you."

Harry shrugged, not sure what to say, especially Neville had given him a present on Christmas. The latter spared him from having to say anything, instead glancing at his watch. "I'd better get moving. I have double Transfiguration with Ravenclaw next, and Professor McGonagall takes points if you're late. We're already so far behind Slytherin. I'd hate for us to lose more."

"Haven't you heard?" Ron said, wandering over at the tail-end of their conversation. "The hourglasses are broken. Fred and George were in the entrance hall the other day and points were going up and down the Gryffindor and Slytherin hourglasses faster than they could keep up."

Neville and Ron wandered off toward Transfiguration as Harry started toward Charms with Professor Flitwick. He stuck his hand back in his pocket, reaching for the mysterious object he'd brushed it against moments before. He emerged with the Chocolate Frog card Neville had given him the other night. It was the same Dumbledore card he'd unwrapped on the Hogwarts Express, which felt like a lifetime ago. He scanned the card's description as he wandered down the corridor, then froze in place as he saw the name of the man he'd given up searching for.


Severus let out an exasperated sigh as he walked into the staff room. Minerva, Filius, and Pomona sat at a table together, grinning like schoolchildren, a worn 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY!' banner hanging on the wall behind them.

"That thing must be older than the school by now," Severus said, jerking his head at the tattered banner. "Perhaps you might treat it as an antique and leave it hidden away."

"Happy birthday to you-" Filius and Pomona began, Minerva conducting by waving her hands.

Severus grunted and sank into a chair, glaring at Poppy and Aurora as they joined in the damned song, drawing out each line as much as they possibly could.

"-happy birthday to you!" The staff concluded, grinning with just as much mirth at Severus's misery as his students had that morning.

"Look at him, he's blushing!" Filius chortled. "Chin up, my boy, it's not that terrible. Thirty-two is exceedingly young. You're barely older than the students themselves!"

"What I wouldn't give to be that age again," Pomona agreed. "For someone who acts as though he's older than Albus himself, you have no idea how much life you have ahead of you, dearie. Enjoy it!"

Severus considered blasting them all through the wall, instead settling on, "And now the greatest gift you could give me is to not say another word on the matter."

The wretched lot giggled uproariously, and Minerva pushed herself to her feet, walked to Severus's table, and placed both hands on his shoulders, planting a quick kiss on his forehead.

Severus recoiled in horror. "For God's sake!"

Minerva tilted her head back and laughed heartily at his reaction, then took her seat again. "There. Now we'll not say another word on the matter."

Severus shot them furious looks as he graded homework, finally grabbing the stack of parchment and retreating, reluctantly taking the small gifts he was given with even more reluctant thanks. As he stormed down the nearest staircase, he nearly bumped into Charity Burbage, who held back a laugh at the expression on his face.

"Let me guess," she said. "They sang to you?"

"It was terrible," he admitted. "Minerva kissed my bloody forehead. The old woman's gone soft."

"They like you," she teased. "Is that the worst thing in the world?"

Severus made a face. He'd never admit it, but he didn't mind that they liked him. It was a nice change from his childhood. And as irritating as his colleagues were, he didn't exactly despise their presence, at least not usually.

"Let people like you for once," Charity went on, still smiling. "We all know you're not as grouchy as you pretend."

"And what would you know about that?" Severus asked, his own lips twitching despite himself.

She just lightly swatted his arm, then said, "By the way, when are you going to have a free night? You haven't dropped by in months. Not since June."

"I've been busy," Severus admitted. "Certain new additions have forced me to... up the dungeon's security, shall I say."

Charity just nodded, not pushing him further. "Just let me know. My door's always open."

Severus smiled at her, a genuine smile, then continued on the way he'd been headed, waving a hand in response to Charity's "And happy birthday!" as he went.


Neville beamed as he won a game of Battleship against Tracey Davis. "Good job. You came really close."

"Not close enough," Tracey said, making a face, but she brightened and said, "I'll beat you next round, though."

As they cleared the game and began setting their pieces anew, Vincent passed and said, "Has anyone seen Harry?"

"No idea," Tracey said. "He said he was going to the library after dinner."

"What for?" Vincent asked, wrinkling his nose. "We're not looking for-" He paused, noting the presence of Neville in the common room. "We don't have to do that anymore."

Tracey shrugged, putting a peg in place. "He's probably just studying."

"He was there during lunch too," Vincent pointed out. He frowned.

Tracey frowned too, but she shrugged again, saying, "Ask him when he comes back."

"Why did you have to go to the library before?" Neville asked.

"No reason," Tracey said, then nodded at him. "You go first."


Harry stood outside Professor Snape's quarters, swallowing hard. The man hadn't been in the common room, nor had he been in his office. It was an unofficial rule that if Snape was in his quarters, he was to be left alone. Before he could lose his nerve, Harry raised a fist and knocked on the door.

There was a long pause. Harry hesitated, ready to give up and go back to the common room where he belonged, but then the door flew open. Professor Snape towered over him.

"This had better be an emergency, Potter."

Harry's cheeks flushed. "It's- it's not, sir." When Snape raised an eyebrow, Harry quickly stepped back and said, "I'll go back to the common room. Sorry to-"

"Hush," Snape said, then sighed. With a jerk of his head, he added, "In."

Harry stepped nervously over the threshold. He'd never been in Snape's private quarters before. He half-imagined Snape sleeping upside-down from the castle's rafters like a bat, but the room he was in now was warm and surprisingly comfortable. It was a small space, lined with bookshelves, an empty portrait frame, and a window peering into the lake much like the ones in the dorms. Nestled against the window was a small desk and chair, and facing the fire were two armchairs. Opposite the fire was a door that Harry imagined led to Snape's bedroom.

Snape followed Harry's gaze, his eyebrows still raised. "Does it meet your approval, then, Mr. Potter?"

"Erm," Harry said, jumping slightly. "It's nice, sir."

Snape gestured for Harry to sit in one of the armchairs, and took the one next to it, tilting it slightly so they faced one another. Harry swallowed again, wishing he hadn't come at all. Snape watched Harry, waiting for him to speak. Harry looked up at him, not sure what to do, instead staring at Snape's hair.

He hadn't thought much of Snape's greasy hair before, aside from thinking it was rich that a man so obsessed with the personal appearance of his students ran about each day with unwashed hair. He'd come to notice, however, that the housemaster's hair wasn't nearly as greasy on weekends, and by the end of the Christmas break it had nearly looked normal before quickly returning to its usual state as classes resumed.

"Is there something you'd like to say about my hair?" Snape asked, gaze intense but not necessarily unkind as he followed Harry's line of sight.

"Er," Harry said, his cheeks reddening, a hand shooting up to involuntarily straight his own eternally untidy hair. "N- No, sir." When Snape continued to stare at him, eyebrows rising once again, he added, "I just- I noticed it was nicer around Christmas. Not nicer, sir, but- er, I mean-"

"It's the potions," Snape said in a surprisingly gentle voice. "I spend the vast majority of my days working with a multitude of potions and chemicals, many of which are not particularly friendly to my hair. If I spent hours each day using special products and baths designed for potions masters in my predicament, I'm certain I'd have luxurious hair to rival the finest yeti. However, if I wasted my time on such frivolous things..." He focused directly on Harry. "...I wouldn't have any time to spend with a house who tortures me with things like that."

Snape nodded at the card Slytherin had given him. Harry was surprised to see he'd hung it over his desk. Judging by his reaction in the common room, he'd half expected the man to have blasted it to pieces.

"I didn't know that," he said after a moment.

"Indeed." Snape gestured at Harry's messy hair. "What's your excuse?"

Harry grinned, unable to help himself. "It just does that, sir."

"Indeed," Snape said again, then sobered slightly. "Why are you here, Potter?"

Harry hesitated. He wanted nothing more than to make his excuses and leave, but he knew it was far too late for that.

"Well," he said slowly. "Sir. It's... well, I promised you I'd come to you with... certain things. Instead of going after them on my own. I promised you that, and then we all went looking for Nicolas Flamel on our own anyway."

"I noticed," Snape said dryly.

"Well," Harry repeated, then sighed. "I found something today. And I haven't told anyone else. None of the rest of the first year. No one at all. But I'm curious, sir, and I don't want to disobey you. So I just thought..."

He reached into his pocket and handed the Chocolate Frog card to Snape, heart pounding rapidly. "I thought I'd do what you said and come to you."

Snape stared at him for a very long moment, then at the card. Then he stared at Harry again, carefully placing the card on the small table between the two armchairs. One familiar phrase in particular sprang out to Harry from where he sat- 'his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel.'

Harry shifted slightly. "I went to the library during lunch, and after dinner. It took a bit, but I found him in a book on alchemy."

"Did you," Snape said, his voice oddly still.

Harry wanted nothing more than to leap up and run back to the common room, but he knew he had to finish what he'd set out to do.

"I read about something called the Philosopher's Stone, sir. It said it turns any metal into pure gold, and that it... well, that it produces something called the Elixir of Life. And that the only known one in existence belongs to someone called Nicolas Flamel, and his wife." Harry stared at his lap. "I figured... that must be what's under the trapdoor the three headed dog is guarding, sir. And that must be what that man in the cloak was after that night. The room we dueled in was just around the corner from the forbidden corridor. I thought... maybe that man in the cloak was trying to steal the stone for Vold- for You-Know-Who, sir. To bring him back to life."

When Snape still didn't reply, Harry went on, wishing he'd shut his mouth already but unable to stop. "It would also explain why he tried to kill me. He might not have been able to steal the stone that night, but maybe he figured offing me would be the next best thing for... for You-Know-Who." He swallowed, then slumped slightly, weakly adding, "Sir."

"And you decided to come to me with this information," Snape said quietly. His tone wasn't accusatory, nor angry, nor grateful. It simply was.

Harry nodded. "I figured... well, I figured you already know all about the stone, sir. And why the man did what he did. But I promised I'd come to you with this sort of information instead of trying to do it all myself. Plus, you said you'd cane us if we did it again."

Snape snorted slightly at this, and Harry felt himself relax. He hadn't thought Professor Snape would consider his trip to the library as breaking his rule, not considering he'd gone to him immediately after, but he'd been slightly nervous.

"I only went to the library because I wanted to know how he knew Professor Dumbledore," he admitted. "I didn't think I'd find out all that." He paused. "Is it true, sir? About the stone?"

Snape studied him for a very long moment. At last, he said, "I'm glad you came to me, Mr. Potter. It proves that, despite all appearances to the contrary, you are capable of retaining instructions inside your abnormally thick skull."

Harry grinned despite himself. "Thanks, sir."

"Shush. The stone..." Snape inhaled, pondering his words, then exhaled before going on. "The stone is a fake."

"A fake, sir?"

"Indeed. It's a trap intended to capture... well, the sort of person you encountered on your night dueling." Snape fixed him with a cross look. "And I imagine if you hadn't been out galivanting with your friends, he might have gone after the stone as planned and been captured by the traps within."

Harry's cheeks turned red. "We didn't mean-"

"There's no use dwelling on it now, except when considering your actions for the future."

Harry lowered his gaze, nodding slowly. "Yes, sir." He paused. "I won't tell the others about it. We won't... we won't pursue it anymore, sir."

"I should certainly hope not," Snape said, his lips going thin. "My threat was not an idle one."

Harry managed not to shudder, but only just barely. As he rose to leave, he briefly considered telling Snape about the invisibility cloak hidden at the bottom of his trunk. He didn't, though; he'd done more than enough by telling him what he knew about the stone. No use sharing every secret he had.


Severus smoked a confiscated cigarette, too wired to do more than take a couple of puffs before stubbing it out. He paced back and forth across his quarters before opening the door to his bedroom and flopping on his bed, fully clothed.

He supposed he'd done the right thing with Potter. The little brat had done as he'd been told and come to him for once. The child was eleven, and had a history of rushing recklessly into what he perceived as adventure. Severus knew this was a step in the right direction. Obviously he had to be told something, but the truth? That the actual Philosopher's Stone was hidden beneath the school? Severus imagined if he knew that, the child would be leading an expedition below the trapdoor within a week, good intentions thrown aside.

Besides, Potter would talk to Draco Malfoy eventually, and word would get back to Lucius confirming the lie that the stone under the school was fake. The last thing he needed was the truth getting back to Lucius. Severus reached for a pillow and stuck it under his head. Yes, he'd done the right thing.

"Professor," a soft voice came from the sitting room. "Are you there?"

Severus sat up. He headed into the sitting room, where the previously empty portrait was reinhabited once more. "Merlin. What is it?"

"It's Quirrell, sir." The portrait of Merlin cleared his throat. "He's headed out of the castle."


Severus bolted up the dungeon stairs two at a time. The portraits had been watching Quirrell round-the-clock since the incident with Potter in the middle of the night. Several times he'd seemed to approach the castle doors at odd hours, during which time Severus or Minerva always managed to intercept him and join him on one of the 'late night strolls' he seemed to have taken up this past year.

Minerva hadn't reached the Entrance Hall yet, though she'd certainly been notified by now, her quarters being further from the entrance hall. One of the massive front doors to the castle was slightly ajar; Severus hurried through it and down the stone steps, looking around as quickly as he could.

He nearly missed the figure headed toward the forest. By the time his eyes adjusted, the figure was nearly gone, and Severus broke into a sprint, slowing as he grew close to the man.

"Quirinus," he said, breathing heavily. "I thought that was you. Out for another nighttime stroll?"

Quirrell stared at him. The man was clearly unwell, and had been for several weeks now. The garlic-y smell that seemed to follow him wherever he went was accompanied by another stench, a faint smell like something rotting.

"Are you all right?" Severus asked, unable to stop himself.

"J- J- Just a b- bit under the w- weather, S- S- Severus," he said weakly. "N- Nothing a good w- w- walk won't c- cure."

Severus studied the man. According to Minerva, she'd intercepted him near the forest late at night once before as well. He wondered what on earth the man planned to do in the forest, and if he'd been sneaking off there before the round-the-clock surveillance he'd undergone after the night of the dueling incident.

"Mind if I join you?" Severus asked. "I was just about to take a walk myself."

Quirrell's lips twitched in an awkward resemblance of a smile. "T- That's kind of y- you, S- Severus, b- b- but if you d- don't mind..." He trailed off.

"Of course," Severus said smoothly, walking back toward the castle. He stood there, gazing up at the night sky and pretending to enjoy the stars as Quirrell limped toward the forest once more. Severus lowered himself to sit on the stone steps, watching as Quirrell paused at the entrance of the forest and glanced back at him. He stood perfectly still for a moment, then slowly began to walk back to the castle.

"Enjoy your walk?" Severus asked once the man was back in earshot. Quirrell grunted his affirmation, and Severus added, "You were awfully close to the forest. Might want to keep an eye out. Dangerous creatures there, you know."

Quirrell stared at him for a long moment, then nodded before heading back inside the castle without a word. Severus followed, silently wishing they could just be finished with this charade and expose the man for what he was. But as much as he hated to admit it, Albus was right- they had no actual proof against Quirrell. None beyond an even more nervous appearance than usual, a new stammer, and a new turban, all of which the man attributed to an unfortunate encounter with a vampire in Romania.

"Good night, then, Quirinus," Severus said, forcing a thin smile at the obviously ill man shuffling slowly to the stairs. "Feel better soon."


The following weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend, and Severus chaperoned the same way he always did, by ignoring the little beasts and heading straight to the Hog's Head. Redeeming the voucher his Slytherins had given him, he enjoyed his first drink slowly, only pausing when the door opened and the fathers of Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, and Gregory Goyle entered the pub.

"There's the birthday boy," Lucius said with a smile, heading over and clapping Severus on the shoulder. "We thought we might find you here."

"This is a surprise," Severus said, rising to his feet carefully. "A pleasure to see you all."

"And you. Crabbe, Goyle, grab us a table," Lucius said, snapping his fingers at the two grown men behind him. In a low voice, he said to Severus, "Do you have a moment? It's about the stone." He lowered his voice even further. "The fake one in the castle- and the real one in Gringotts."

Severus, wishing very much that it were an option to retire and spend the rest of his days in a remote cabin in Finland, simply nodded and said, "First round's on me, then."