Author's note: To compensate for the excessive wait on the previous chapter, here's a little "bonus" chapter ("bonus" because I wouldn't normally be this quick to update, not because the chapter is completely irrelevant). I think the next one will actually wrap up the events of Philosopher's Stone. (This book is so short in comparison to Deathly Hallows, haha.) Just out of curiosity, does anybody remember if it was ever mentioned in canon at what point Harry's invisibility cloak became common knowledge? Anyway, I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Guest: I have no regrets about how hard I made you laugh :D I actually stole the one about Potter's head from my real life. I was in a teen theatre company with this guy who was great fun—funny, charismatic, etc.—but completely full of himself, and aware of it; so our running joke to our director was that she'd better get ready to expand to studio, because soon this guy's head wasn't going to fit anymore. As for the Quidditch match, maybe Dumbledore sincerely figures that Harry is safest if both he and Snape are there… and Snape's irritation is an added bonus for his own amusement. Or he does just like annoying Snape, lol. Always thought Dumbledore was a bit of a sketchy character, to be honest, with all his cryptic turns of phrase. (And who just drops off a baby at somebody's doorstep with a note, crossing their fingers and saying, "Well I explained everything, so here's hoping it works out!")

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Implications

It was harder to corner Quirrell this time, now that he knew to be wary of the Potions Master; he was always dashing away, citing grading, lesson plans, office hours—as far as Severs knew, Quirrell did not and had never had office hours—and doxy infestations in Greenhouse Number Four all as reasons for his haste. It was frustrating.

Severus finally caught the Defence professor right before Quirrell left his office for the night. Quirrell almost smacked into him as he suddenly blocked the door, a hand lightly gripping each side of the doorframe, black robes draping in such a way that gave him an unfortunate resemblance to a bat.

"S-s-severus!" Quirrell backed away. "I-i-it's l-late. I should r-really be g-going."

"I'll be brief." He shut the door soundlessly behind him, locking it with a wave of his wand and erecting a privacy charm. "Have you decided yet where your loyalties lie?"

"Th-th-this is r-ridicul-l-lous, I s-s-said I h-h-have n-no clue w-what you're t-t-talking ab-bout."

It occurred to Severus that he could simply use Legilimency on Quirrell—just because he virtually never used Legilimency didn't mean he couldn't do it—but he nipped the idea in the bud. He didn't trust that he could be subtle enough about it, and he was fairly certain that Legilimizing somebody without their consent was technically illegal. Then again, maybe he only thought that because the Dark Lord used to do it all the time, and most of what the Dark Lord did was technically illegal.

"Let's put it this way," he said, in his most simmering, threatening tone, "you are either working for Albus Dumbledore in protecting the Philosopher's Stone—and, by extension, the school as a whole—or you are working against him. There is no middle ground here, Quirrell. Which is it?"

After vacillating between stammering yes and no, the other wizard finally said, "Th-th-there's n-nothing wrong w-with wanting t-to l-learn a-about a l-l-large b-beast w-when i-it's in the c-castle."

A raised eyebrow from Severus seemed to make Quirrell realize what he'd inadvertently revealed.

"I mean-"

"I'll see myself out," interrupted Severus, quashing a self-satisfied smirk.

"I had another talk with Quirrell."

If Dumbledore hadn't been paying attention before, he was now. "Another?"

"Oh yes," Severus said casually, "I talked to him the night of the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff Quidditch game. I thought I told you."

A pause. Then, "I see." The expression on Dumbledore's face made Severus want to laugh. The old Headmaster wasn't the only one who could play the game of withholding information. "And how did that play out?"

Recounting both interactions, he had to suppress another smirk. Dumbledore could disapprove all he liked, but there was no denying that Severus had gotten an admission of guilt out of Quirrell. That was one thing that had gone according to plan.

Children were dunderheads—Severus had always known this, and yet he so often found himself with renewed amazement at this fact: Draco Malfoy had been out wandering the castle after midnight. Severus had opened his door to find an irate Minerva McGonagall standing outside, with a sulking Draco close behind. Not that he had been sleeping, but he rarely appreciated being bothered for the sole reason of students being in trouble. He'd curtly thanked Minerva and proceeded to rake Draco over the coals, assigning him a Saturday morning detention, in addition to the detention issued by the Deputy Headmistress.

He'd learned the next morning that Potter and his friends had also been out, resulting in a loss of a hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor. Why, Severus had fumed silently over breakfast, could the idiot not just stay in the Tower after curfew? Eventually, these little nighttime escapades were going to get him into a lot more trouble than just losing House points. Even Minerva was exasperated with her Golden Boy, ranting about it in the staff room that afternoon.

And it wasn't until even later that Severus learned what task the children had been given for their detention and what had happened there. Draco had arrived back at the Slytherin common room looking half-traumatized, which was quite a change for the arrogant Malfoy heir, who, in true Malfoy fashion, liked to pretend that he had no capacity for any emotion besides superiority. When pressed, he'd given Severus an overview of the evening. Severus had promptly reported back to Dumbledore, who already knew some of the story from Hagrid.

Dumbledore was a bit of a dunderhead, too.

"I can't believe you approved of this detention when we know for a fact that Potter is at risk!" Severus paced back and forth. "First Hagrid sends Draco and Longbottom off with that useless furball for 'protection,' and then he sends Draco and Potter off with said furball, and then when a threat arises, Hagrid—the supposedly-responsible adult supervisor—isn't even there! This could have gone drastically wrong, culminating in multiple deaths, Potter's being one of them."

"But it didn't," Dumbledore placated, ignoring a snort from his Potions professor. "It all worked out in the end."

"I suppose that with your bottomless pit of Gryffindor optimism," Severus sneered, "you find it easy to dismiss how close Potter may have come to harm. I, however, having already dedicated too much time and energy to keeping the boy's life off the line to-"

"Severus."

Dumbledore's sudden change of tone stopped him mid-sentence. The Headmaster was sitting with his elbows propped on the desk and his hands clasped together, fingers pressed thoughtfully to his mouth. There was no twinkle in his blue eyes.

"The unicorn."

A light suddenly went on, and Severus berated himself for getting stuck on the smaller picture. He'd been so focused on the foolhardiness that had led to the whole situation—he blamed his distraction on Potter—that he hadn't yet stopped to ponder the implications of the hooded figure that Draco had spoken of.

Only the desperate, the destitute, resorted to drinking unicorn blood in order to preserve their life, and only, perhaps, those with better, more permanent solutions on the near horizon: Solutions such as the Elixir of Life, produced by the Philosopher's Stone, which was currently hidden inside Hogwarts.

"Fuck."

Dumbledore didn't even rebuke him for his language this time. It seemed that he quite agreed.