Author's note: I have an essay proposal that I really do not want to type up (I hate writing essay proposals... I'd rather be writing my paper), so here, have another chapter. Anyway, we've reached the end of the first book! I hope that you enjoy this chapter. Please review!

Guest: The trio even speculates near the end of PH that he let them get through it on purpose. (I touch on that idea briefly in this chapter. It results in an irritated Snape. Sorry, Snape.) Definitely seems a tad irresponsible in my opinion, but hey, it worked out in the end…. What you said about the cloak does help, thanks. I think maybe I'll have Dumbledore casually mention it to Severus at some point. Should cause a nice, snide reaction, lol.

Warnings: Swearing

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I referenced pages 195-222 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone while writing this.

Another Defence Professor Bites the Dust

After alerting his Deputy Headmistress and his sullen Potions Master, Dumbledore left for London. Apparently the imbeciles at the Ministry were about to expire from their own stupidity and needed the great Albus Dumbledore to save them. Severus thought that Dumbledore should have left them to work through their own damn problems.

"What do you mean you're leaving?" he'd demanded furiously. "We need you at the school, not off pandering to Fudge!"

But Dumbledore had reassured Severus that all would be well, that he'd only be gone for a day at most, and that he had complete faith that his staff could handle any issues which arose. Severus had considered pointing out that the Dark Lord rising in the middle of Hogwarts was perhaps an exception, but he knew even that wouldn't have changed Dumbledore's determined mind.

Severus's opinion that they needed the Headmaster at school was reinforced when he came upon the Gryffindor trio loitering in the halls.

"… will get a real shock when Dumbledore turns up," Potter was saying.

"But what can we-"

Granger let out a gasp. She'd caught sight of him.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly.

Inside, he fumed. Children were such nosey creatures; they had no business discussing the Headmaster's whereabouts. And how was he supposed to keep an eye on Quirrell when Potter and his friends were always up to something? Really, the Dumbledore expected too much. It wasn't as if he could clone himself—not that he would want to, even if he could.

"You shouldn't be inside on a day like this."

"We were-"

"You want to be more careful. Hanging around like this, people will think you're up to something. And Gryffindor really can't afford to lose any more points, can they?"

To his satisfaction, Potter flushed. The reminder had hit its mark. As the they turned to go outside, Severus called them back: "Be warned, Potter—any more nighttime wanderings and I will personally make sure you are expelled. Good day to you."

Sadly, it was an empty threat, he reflected as he strode off in the direction of the staff room. Dumbledore would never allow his Chosen One to be expelled, and it was hard enough keeping the brat alive when they were both at Hogwarts. It was also hard keeping the brat alive when the person who wanted him dead was at Hogwarts, too, but of course, he had Albus Dumbledore to blame for that.

Quirrell was nowhere to be found. Severus had checked the Defence professor's office, his classroom, knocked on the door to his private quarters, gone to the staffroom and asked his colleagues—nothing.

He did, however, find a certain bushy-haired know-it-all standing outside the staffroom door, which only served to increase his annoyance.

"Miss Granger." He resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. He was probably going to get a migraine soon. "What are you doing here?"

"Professor Snape!" she squeaked, eyes widening. "I was just waiting for Professor Flitwick, you see, I've been thinking about it and I'm almost certain that I misunderstood one of the questions on the Charms exam, the one about-"

"Stop babbling. I will fetch him for you." He definitely had a migraine coming on.

Filius was only too happy to meet with Granger. Rolling his eyes, Severus left them to it, off to check the grounds.

I'll never understand enthusiastic teachers.

He'd eventually given up looking for Quirrell and resigned himself to roaming the castle, thinking his way through every worst-case scenario in existence. The next time he saw the Defence professor, it was the man's deformed corpse he was looking at.

"You mean to tell me that the Dark Lord has been in the castle all year? Hiding under Quirrell's turban?" Severus sputtered, looking incredulously at Dumbledore, who had brought him to the third floor for "assistance with disposing of the body."

"That does appear to be the case, yes," Dumbledore answered, much too calmly for Severus's liking.

"Bloody hell."

"You are certain that there is no lingering Dark Magic?"

Scowling, Severus ran a few quick tests. They came back clear. "I told you that you should have fired him, Dumbledore, I told you."

"Yes, well, what is the saying: 'Keep your friends close and enemies closer?'"

"I think that 'too close for comfort' is more appropriate in this case," Severus retorted. "I can't believe that the Dark Lord has been right here all along and that you knew."

"I didn't know Lord Voldemort"—the burn from the Mark was only faint, but Severus winced anyway—"was possessing Quirrell."

"But you knew that Quirrell was working for the Dark Lord."

"I suspected," came the correction.

"Rather a strong suspicion, if you ask me. And what of the Potter brat? Where is he, basking in the sickening adoration of his fan club?"

"On the contrary, Harry unconscious in the Hospital Wing. Poppy says it will take a few days for him to come around; although he is technically unharmed, he's been through quite an ordeal."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose before grumbling, "Good thing he has such a talent for dumb luck. The obstacle course alone should have knocked him out."

"Ah, the obstacle course." Dumbledore seemed to brighten. "An impressive feat for three eleven-year-olds, is it not? I do believe they've proved themselves nicely."

"I think we already knew that they were capable of pulling off reckless, idiotic stunts, unless you've forgotten that little episode with the troll." Severus paused. Then, slowly, "What do you mean 'proved themselves?'"

"Thank you for your assistance, my boy," said Dumbledore cheerily. "I will handle things from here. I'm sure that you have exams to grade. You still make the first-years brew Forgetfulness Potion, don't you? Nasty little bit of irony that is."

Then he began to levitate Quirrell's body and walked away, leaving Severus standing there, grappling with a strong urge to hex him.

"Another year gone!" Severus still wanted to hex the Headmaster. "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast."

Do us a favour, he thought, sit down and shut up. He was ill-tempered despite Slytherin coming in first for the House Cup.

"What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were… you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts…"

Most of them will take you up on that.

"Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding and the points stand thus: in fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw have four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

Cheers broke out from the Slytherin table. Draco even thumped his water goblet on the table, like some uncultured hooligan. It amused Severus to imagine writing Lucius about his son's tasteless behaviour.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin"—Severus could hear the 'but' in Dumbledore's voice—"however, recent events must be taken into account."

The room went very still. The Slytherins' smiles faded a little. Severus narrowed his eyes.

The Headmaster cleared his throat. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

"First—to Mister Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years… I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Now it was the Gryffindor table that suddenly broke out in cheers. Percy Weasley turned to the other Perfects and began bragging about his little brother.

"Second—to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points."

Severus grit his teeth. Dumbledore's intent was clear: Award enough points for the trio's recent adventure so that Gryffindor overtook Slytherin in the House Cup running. Slytherins did not like coming in second, and they especially did not like having their triumphs pulled out from under them as a crowd looked on. If these points had to be awarded, it should have happened before the Feast. This was humiliating.

"Third—to Mister Harry Potter… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

Dumbledore raised his hands to quiet the even greater ruckus that broke out. "There are all kinds of courage. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mister Neville Longbottom."

Severus was going to throttle Dumbledore as soon as the opportunity arose.

"Which means we need a little change of decoration."

Dumbledore clapped his hands. In an instant, the green hangings became scarlet and the silver became gold; the huge Slytherin serpent vanished and a towering Gryffindor lion took its place. Severus stood up to shake Minerva's hand. She was giving him a particularly smug look. In his periphery, he could see that a couple of his youngest snakes were on the verge of tears and were being covertly calmed down by the Perfects. His older students were tight-lipped, and some of their faces were flushed from embarrassment. Damage control was clearly in order.

He caught the Potter spawn's eye. What a pity it was that looks couldn't kill.

Dumbledore's apologies had been less than sufficient, and Severus still wanted to wring the old coot's neck. But he tried to ignore his own fury and remember what he'd told his students: "This is not a reflection on Slytherin House"—it's merely the Headmaster being a bloody inconsiderate bastard, he'd wanted to add, but hadn't.

In any case, Severus was happy to see the little rug-rats packing their bags and boarding the carriages, off to annoy their parents for another summer. To his dismay, although he'd failed a number of the children, they all had strengths in other areas, which made up for their abysmal Potions grade and thus meant they didn't qualify for expulsion. Perhaps next year.

Sitting in his quarters with a glass of—well-earned, in his opinion—Firewhisky, Dumbledore's words of ten years ago echoed through his head again: The Dark Lord will return. To continue trying to fool himself into thinking it wouldn't happen would be sheer stupidity now.

There was another reason to hate Harry Potter: All was quiet for ten years, but as soon as the Potter spawn arrived at Hogwarts, Quirrell came back with the Dark Lord plastered to the back of his head. While it might have been a coincidence, Severus was inclined to believe otherwise.

If the Dark Lord returned, he would have to go back to spying. True, he was no longer an inexperienced twenty-year-old, but he didn't find the prospect any less daunting. Naturally, being a double agent was even less enjoyable than was being a regular Death Eater, and that really spoke volumes. In the past decade, Severus had grown accustomed to his somewhat-tolerable existence.

But, he supposed, he would cross that bridge when he got to it. For now, all he could do was go about his summer business as usual—brewing potions, revising lesson plans, the occasional social call to Malfoy Manor—and wait.