Running off to class in a moment, so brief AN: Thanks for the favourites, follows, and reviews (also, I fixed the typos in the previous chapter, thanks for pointing them out), and I hope that you enjoy this chapter.

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 128 and 130-132 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone and page 545 of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows while writing this.

Special Treatment

And so continued the misery of having Harry Potter at Hogwarts.

"Ah, Severus." Dumbledore was perusing a transfiguration journal when his Potions Master stormed into the office. "I thought I might see you soon."

"You are not, in fact, seeing me," snarked Severus, "as that would require taking your eyes off your magazine."

"I'm sorry, my boy, but this article is fascinating."

Much to Severus's frustration, Dumbledore remained engrossed in the page. After a short pause, he spoke up anyway: "The rules explicitly state that first years are not permitted to play Quidditch." He paused again, waiting for a response, knowing that Dumbledore knew to what he was referring. "Yet you have allowed Potter's appointment as Seeker."

"There are always exceptions to the rules. Life is fluid."

"'Life is fluid.' What kind of a philosophy is that?" It sounded like some mumbo-jumbo that Sybill Trelawney might spout, hands raised dramatically in front of her, as if trying to frame an image that existed only in her overactive imagination. Perhaps that's where Dumbledore had acquired the phrase; the Headmaster, though he had many a sentimental word of wisdom in his arsenal, usually had less pathetic justifications. "Albus, Potter cannot play Seeker for Gryffindor."

"I don't see why not." Dumbledore's tone was the kind that one used when only partaking in conversation due to politeness. "Potter is in Gryffindor House and capable of steering a broomstick."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. He had better things to do than clandestinely monitor Potter during Quidditch games. "I won't have to protect his sorry neck anymore because he'll have broken it!"

"I hear that Harry is an excellent flier. A natural, perfectly capable of rising to the level of his upperclassmen and perhaps even surpassing that."

"And from what I hear, anybody else would be facing a month's worth of detentions for a stunt like the one he pulled, but here you are, Dumbledore, commending him." Severus began to pace back and forth in front of the desk, his agitation worsened by the fact that the other wizard had not so much as looked up from Transfiguration Today. "The only reason you're bending the rules here is because your precious Golden Boy is involved; though what makes him so golden, I cannot see. The boy is mediocre, arrogant as his father, a determined rule-breaker, delighted to find himself famous, attention-seeking and impertinent-"

"You see what you expect to see, Severus," Dumbledore interrupted. "Other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally, I find him an engaging child." He turned the page. "Keep an eye on Quirrell, won't you?"

In the face of this clear dismissal, Severus huffed. There was one more person to whom he could appeal, loathe as he was to do it. But he would not let this go without a good fight.

He entered without knocking.

"Hello, Severus," Minerva greeted him dryly. It briefly soothed his ruffled feathers that she had the grace to acknowledge his presence by lifting her head from the papers she was grading. "Do come in."

"Are you busy?" he asked, in a poor impression of caring.

The Deputy Headmistress gestured for him to sit down, and he did so, stiffly, crossing his arms.

"Why did you let Potter on the Quidditch team? It's against the rules for first-years to play. He will get knocked off his broom by a bludger and break his neck!"

"I didn't realize you cared so much for Harry Potter." There was a shade of amusement in her voice. "In that case, I imagine his death would make the front page of the Prophet."

Severus snorted. "'Death by Intramurals for The Boy Who Lived.' Rita Skeeter would have a field day," he quipped, before refocusing. "We could prevent such a situation if you simply took Potter off the team."

"You should discuss it with Albus, if it vexes you that much."

"I have already done so," he said through grit teeth, "and the meddling codger won't see reason."

"You're just worried that there will be competition for the Quidditch Cup now," Minerva said smugly. Were she in her Animagus form, she would probably be purring.

Knowing that to push the issue would be useless, Severus stood. "Do not indulge in such senile thoughts; you're not that old," he retorted. A Stinging Hex narrowly missed him as he left.

Severus sipped at his second cup of coffee. He was still in a knot over how Potter had knowingly broken the rules—all in the name of showing off—and had actually been rewarded for it. Rewarded. At that thought, he nearly shook his head in disgust, before remembering that he was in the Great Hall, in clear view of the room—not that Severus Snape being disgusted by something was a novel occurrence.

Unfortunately, he had a strong feeling that this would emerge as a pattern: Potter breaks rules, Potter gets off because he's Potter. History repeating itself. The thought almost made him hope that the boy got knocked off his broom. If Potter were in his House- no. He stopped that line of thought in its tracks; it was too dreadful a line of thinking to pursue. He would rather kiss the giant squid than have Potter in Slytherin, even if it meant that he would have gotten more influence over the boy's discipline.

Owls flooded the Hall. While this was routine, everyone's attention was caught by six large screech owls that gripped a long, thin, and suspiciously broomstick-shaped package. The owls dropped it off in front of Potter before flying away, only to be replaced by another owl, whose contribution was a letter. Severus recognized this final bird as Minerva's.

He looked over to his left. The Head of Gryffindor watched her young charge as he read the note and quickly vacated, package in hand, followed by Ronald Weasley.

"Really, Minerva?" Severus drawled in exasperation. "You bought him a broomstick?"

He noticed a few of the other teachers glance up from their breakfast with interest, the ones who sat close enough to hear the exchange. Bloody busy-bodies.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand," the witch replied, smug rather than unabashed.

"The school has a cupboard full of brooms!"

"Yes, and they are hardly fit to sweep the floors—of a condemned building."

"According to your initial report, they worked just fine during Hooch's class."

"Quidditch Cup, Severus." She grinned a Cheshire Cat grin. "Quidditch Cup."

Time passed. Severus's hatred for Harry Potter continued to burn. He wasn't fond of Potter's sidekick Ronald Weasley either, who was dumber than a doorknob; nor was he fond of their fellow Gryffindor Hermione Granger, who had the opposite problem. Granger, he'd quickly discovered, wrote tome-sized essays that he struggled to mark without falling asleep—it was as though the girl had swallowed a textbook and regurgitated it onto the parchment—and the persistent waving of her hand in the air irritated him to no end—nobody would ever learn anything, thus moving past the blowing-up-cauldrons stage, if they thought she would just feed them the answers

But there was a more imminent nightmare than the next installment in Granger's endless showing off: the Hogwarts Halloween feast. Severus hated it. Handing excitement and sugar to children, in isolation or combination, only served to turn up the volume on their innate obnoxiousness. And then there was that other, darker reason he hated the date, the reason he always drunk himself into a stupor on this particular date, once he was finished chaperoning sticky, shrieking children.

That being said, this October 31st turned out to be even worse than the last, something which he thought every year, but which was actually true this time.

"Troll—in the dungeons—thought you ought to know," gasped Quirrell, before falling to the floor in a dead faint.

Severus curled his lip. Some Defence Against the Dark Arts professor he is.

Dumbledore lifted his wand, sending purple sparks out of the tip with a bang to catch the attention of the panicking student body. "Perfects," he instructed, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

The Head of Slytherin raised an eyebrow and waved over one of his Perfects.

"Accompany the Ravenclaws to their common room," he instructed. "Do not return to the dungeons." As the Perfect ran off, he turned to give the Headmaster a scowl. "Albus-"

Dumbledore interrupted in an undertone: "Check on the Stone." And then he was gone, hurrying away with several of his employees behind him.

Severus sighed as he got up, stepping around Quirrell's motionless form. Dumbldore's request to keep an eye on the man came to mind. Not convinced that Quirrell was really unconscious, Severus was tempted to give him a kick, but ultimately decided that—without evidence of some foul misdeed—causing bodily harm would be crossing the line.

Damn that bloody Cerberus, Severus cursed silently, slamming the door shut again and bending down to inspect the damage. "Fluffy." Ha! Hagrid has a twisted sense of humour. Of course, Minerva had once told him that his own sense of humour was questionable—a statement with which Aurora and Filius had readily agreed—all because he found it amusing to make the first-years brew Forgetfulness Potion for their final exam. That was different, though; Forgetfulness Potion didn't have three heads.

The sound of running footsteps made him look up. He shoved the pain behind his Occlumency shields, where it continued to throbbing, but to a lesser degree.

"O-oh," Quirrell said, coming to a sudden halt. "P-p-p-rofes-sor S-s-snape."

"Quirrell." Severus narrowed his eyes slightly. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I w-was j-just c-c-coming t-to chec-ck on- on the St-Stone. W-wouldn't want a-anybody t-t-to r-run off-f w-w-with it." Quirrell gave a nervous laugh.

"Indeed. I assure you, the Stone is fine. I have already seen to that."

"R-r-right." More nervous laughter. "G-good t-t-to know. G-great m-m-minds th-think a-a-a-alike."

"Why don't we go see how Minerva and the others are managing?" Severus said, as though it were a suggestion. He strode forward, sucking in a breath as he put weight on his injured leg—fucking hell, he'd served the Dark Lord for Merlin's sake, why did one laceration hurt so much?—and grabbed Quirrell by the arm. He practically dragged the other man down the corridor.

As they descended the stairs, a dull but sickening crack resounded through the hall, closely followed by a thud. They met Minerva coming up from the dungeons. She and Severus exchanged a look, and in silent agreement, picked up their pace. Severus relinquished his death grip on Quirrell in the process.

They followed the sound to the girls' washroom, which was newly in a state of disarray, where they found three pale first-years and an unconscious mountain troll. Potter was at the heart of the spectacle. Severus moved to inspect the troll, his black hair falling around his face and hiding the anger and frustration that had suddenly lit up his eyes. Meanwhile, Quirrell whimpered behind him.

"What on earth were you thinking of?" asked an irate Minerva McGonagall. Even Severus knew that one only provoked her if one desired to land oneself in very hot water. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

The troll was out cold and likely would be until they got rid of it, and Severus felt that he had calmed down enough to look like his usual indifferent self. He straightened and gave Potter a piercing look, which the boy acknowledged only briefly before looking away.

The stupid, reckless imbecile! he seethed internally. How am I supposed to protect him if he goes looking for heroics? Damned Gryffindor fool.

"Please, Professor McGonagall—they were looking for me." Granger crept forward, standing on trembling legs.

"Miss Granger!" Minerva looked surprised that her precious know-it-all was involved.

"I went looking for the troll because I- I thought I could deal with it on my own—you know, because I've read all about them." The sound of Weasley's wand clattering to the floor interjected. "If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead by now. Harry stuck his wand up its nose and Ron knocked it out with its own club. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Severus raised an eyebrow at the lie. Perhaps he could imagine this girl thinking that reading about trolls made her equipped to battle one, but he couldn't imagine her going out of her way to break the rules. She was too desperate to prove herself. Showing off in class was one thing; intentionally putting oneself in dangerous situations was another. It also did not help her case that Potter and Weasley were staring as though she had suddenly sprouted wings.

Minerva seemed to waffle between believing the story and not believing it. "Well," she said at last, "in that case… Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

While Granger hung her head, Potter looked gobsmacked. Not fancying a rebuke from his rival Head of House, Severus had to bite back a comment about gaping like a fish.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this. I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to the Gryffindor Tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Severus scowled. Five points and no detention? If the girl had been in Slytherin, she would have been scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of the term. There were rumours that he never disciplined Slytherins, but that wasn't true. He just didn't discipline them in front of non-Slytherins.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first-years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll," Minerva said to the remaining two students. "You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

As the reprobates hurried off, Severus turned to his colleague. "Five points?" he drawled, not bothering to clarify whether he was asking about the meagre five taken away from Miss Granger, or the five that had been rewarded to each of the boys. Both, he supposed. "Are you mad?"

Minerva simply shrugged. "It was rather impressive," she said airily. Then she walked off, tossing an, "I'm going to get Albus" over her shoulder.

His scowl deepened.