Author note: Oh wow, I just realized how long it's been since I last updated. Sorry about that. I've made it halfway through the semester without being expelled, though, LOL. Short chapter this time—struggled with it a bit—but I hope that you enjoy it regardless. Please review!

Guest: Haha, thanks, I passed my midterm so it's all good. I love writing the scenes between Snape and Dumbledore. Dumbledore just knows how to get under his skin, and Snape, of course, is more fun when he's in a bad mood.

Warnings: none

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 164-166 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone while writing this.

Quidditch, Take Two

Somebody had been in the Restricted Section of the library. The culprit had fled by the time Severus and Filch, whose help he'd enlisted, arrived, but the chorus of shrieking books could still be heard two floors away. Since then, there had been a distinct lack of suspicious activity. It made Severus nervous. In his experience, the longer one had to wait for an attack from the opposite side, the more likely it was that the opposite side was hard at work, drafting grand, virulent plans. That had always been the case with the Dark Lord.

It was the Christmas break now. Thank Merlin. Few children to tolerate, and no abysmal papers to grade. Severus's favourite Christmas pastime was downing a bottle of Firewhisky and forgetting that he had two more terms of teaching to endure before school was out for the summer. Seeing as he had much more about which he wished to forget this year—Potter, the mess with Quirrell, Dumbledore's perpetually-vague hints and suggestions, could the man not give a straight answer like a normal person for once—December twenty-fifth looked like it would be particularly exciting this time. Buying an additional bottle of Firewhisky didn't seem like a wholly bad idea.

Alas, the students returned to Hogwarts as scheduled—Severus had been holding out his annual hope that they would all drop out instead—and soon enough the next Quidditch match had arrived.

Severus hadn't caught out Quirrell at anything more suspicious than usual as of late. The most incriminating thing that he'd come upon, while storming about the castle with his customary scowl and billowing robes, was Ronald Weasley lunging at Draco Malfoy. He'd taken five points from Gryffindor. Gryffindor seemed to be losing an awful lot of points these days; it was the only thing that got him through first-year Gryffindor/Slytherin classes. Neville Longbottom managed to brew some ghastly abomination of a potion every time. Some of them were explosive or corrosive, and Severus had had to replace four cauldrons in the first term alone.

And then there was the Potter spawn, of course.

Demanding to referee the next match certainly hadn't made him popular in the staff room, but it was Severus's opinion that Minerva should have been thanking him. He was lowering the risk of her precious Golden Boy falling to his death or taking up permanent residence in the hospital wing. Despite being the boy's Head of House, she sure didn't seem to put much of an effort into looking out for him. Then again, she hadn't seemed to pay much attention to her students when Severus had been in school either. Not that he held a grudge against his professor-turned-colleague; he liked her as much as he was capable of liking anybody. He simply didn't think that she was as aware of or had as much control over her students as she believed. He wasn't suicidal enough to mention that, though.

The stands were packed. Students whose attention could usually not be captured by the sport were in the front bleachers, gossiping about the near-tragedy of the previous game, which they had unfortunately missed and only heard about through the grapevine. Even the Headmaster was here, although his presence was business, extra security against prospective assassinations on the Boy Who Lived.

Dumbledore, once again, managed to irritate Severus beyond belief. If he'd known that Dumbledore would come, he wouldn't have fought with Hooch over refereeing; Dumbledore could take care of the problem for once, instead of manipulating somebody else—Severus—into taking care of it.

Severus hated brooms. He hated Quidditch. He hated rambunctious children on brooms playing Quidditch matches that lasted for hours. And the feeling was mutual: One of the Weasley twins sent a bludger in his direction, which he swerved to avoid. Severus awarded Hufflepuff a penalty for that, and an extra one for good measure.

It was too cold—another penalty for Hufflepuff, because why not, at least Hufflepuffs weren't show-offs like Gryffindors. Why did they play this god-forsaken sport in the winter? Surely that was against the rules, surely there was something about acceptable playing weather in the guidebook….

He turned on his broom just in time to see something scarlet shoot past him, missing him by inches. Then the stands erupted. Apparently the brat had caught the snitch in record time. Well whoop-de-doo for him. On the one hand, this meant that they could all go back inside, happy to be reunited with the solid ground; on the other hand, this meant that Potter's ego was going to get even bigger.

Perhaps I should suggest to Minerva that she expand the portrait hole, lest Potter's head get stuck on the way in.

Tired of waiting, Severus had pulled aside a put-out-looking Quirrell as people had begun filtering back into the castle. He'd ordered Quirrell to meet him in the Forbidden Forest in half an hour, walking away before the other wizard could do more than stammer a few syllables. He'd half expected Quirrell to be a no-show, but—

"You're here. It seems that you do possess a modicum of intelligence."

Quirrell jumped, whirling around and then laughing nervously. "O-oh, y-you s-startled me."

Severus raised an eyebrow, adding that statement to his mental list of dumb, obvious things he'd heard the Defence professor say.

"I-it isn't v-v-very n-nice to go sn-sneaking up on p-p-people."

"It isn't very nice to curse brooms and sneak around in the Restricted Section after-hours either. You can drop the pretense."

"I r-really d-don't know w-what you're t-t-t-talking a-about, and I do-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet me here of all p-places, Severus."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private. Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all." He cut off the other man's mumbled denial. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I-"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell." A step forward accompanied his words.

"I-I don't know what you-"

"You know perfectly well what I mean." Would Dumbledore look askance, Severus wondered, if he hexed Quirrell now? "Pity for you, I have already caught on. So go ahead and try your little bit of hocus pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't-"

"Very well. We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie."

Severus pulled up the hood of his cloak and strode away again, with renewed determination to get an admission out of the shifty wizard. He hadn't survived as a double agent without learning how to glean information from reluctant parties.