A/N: I had wanted to pump things out because I started getting crunched for time again, but hit a standstill with my planned ending. I am slowly digging myself out of it. Also woah- I realized that Quirrel and Snape were explicitly at odds in HPSS, which I don't think was explained.
And yes- reviews are helpful as motivation. ;)

He was positive he was the universe's idea of a cosmic joke. The only remaining link he had to the love of his life was the spitting image of his most hateful enemy. To top it off, he was arrogant Gryffindor through and through. He should not have lost his temper with him, but the sight of the messy black Potter hair over her eyes was too much. When he didn't explode with impatience, it caused his head to implode. He downed an analgesic potion, his fifth of the day.

The pounding in his temples was decreased significantly now. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

At least Double Potions with Slytherins and Gryffindors was over for the week. He cast a scathing look at the pile of parchment he had to grade. Useless, blithering idiots. If they paid half the attention to their work that they did to Quidditch or their collection of Chocolate Frog cards, they might even run the danger of being a pleasure to teach.

He had a lot of grooming to do. Lucius' child was no shining star either. His life surrounded by the Slytherin elite had not given him an ounce of Slytherin cunning. He was entirely too loud, too obvious with his intents. Hating Potter was in line with the party opinion, but it was painful to watch the coarse sabotage attempts.

He marked the papers for a few hours, judiciously striking through them with his red quill. Once that was done, he left for the nightly patrol. He and Sinistra began together, pulling apart several snogging seniors who thought they knew all the hiding spots in the castle. As per usual, they finished their rounds alone. As he turned the corner to the dungeons, he saw a trail of purple silk flutter down the hallway. His lips thinned in disapproval and he picked up the pace, walking quickly down the hallway to catch up. He stealthily came up behind the turbaned wizard and tapped him on the shoulder with his wand.

"O-Oh my!" stuttered the man in surprise, as he whirled around.

"Quirrell," Snape said expectantly. "Where are we going so late at night?"

"S-S-Severus! I didn't e-expect t-to see you"

The man was almost gibbering nonsense with all the stuttering.

"I j-just wanted s-some fresh air. F-feel so c-cooped u-up lately," said Quirrell in a shaky voice, giving a weak grin.

"It's dangerous. You should not be out alone," said Snape. "If you insist on having this nocturnal excursion, count yourself fortunate that I have decided to accompany you"

Quirrell seemed extremely disappointed.

So he spent the night hovering over Quirrell and cast an alert charm on the Defense Against Dark Arts professor's door as he dropped him off at his quarters.

The year was eventful to say the least. Potter and his friends had trampled through the castle like centaurs in a china shop. This included the defenses he and the other faculty had erected for the Sorcerer's Stone. He grudgingly accepted that the boy wasn't such a dullard, but he was sure he would not have succeeded without his friends. Secretly, he hoped that his trial would have been the bottleneck, but apparently, Granger's know-it-all attitude was not limited to academics.

He was actually quite bitter about that.

However, the outcome could not be envied. The stone was now safely out of reach.

After Dumbledore finished his end-of-the-year speech, the staff at the Head Table clapped politely. Suddenly, Snape felt a discomfort in his gut. He grimaced and sat down with the others as the applause faded. The sensation became more intense, turning into a wrenching pain. He took a deep breath and gripped the arm of his chair tightly.

"Are you ill, Severus?" asked McGonagall.

He was sure it wasn't the Dark Mark. Was it something he ate? He eyed the crumbs on his plate suspiciously as another wave of roiling pain made his insides feel like they were being stirred by a knife.

"Severus?" she asked again, now quite worried.

"It's-nothing," he said with some difficulty, and excused himself.

He made it to the dungeons without embarrassing himself any further, and grabbed a few potions from his rack, downing them in quick succession. He sat heavily in his armchair, again, holding the arms with white knuckles. Minutes elapsed and there was no improvement. He lurched to his bed and took some Dreamless Sleep from his dresser. He would just sleep it off then.

To his growing distress, the potion had no effect. He lay curled up in bed, gritting his teeth against the pain. It was several minutes before it finally abated. His body slowly relaxed, and he shakily wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Merlin's balls," he muttered darkly.

Now he was suddenly drowsy. The overwhelming urge to sleep overtook his will and he collapsed back into bed.

He had never figured out what it was that caused him to feel so ill. He attributed it to some kind of accidental poisoning, either from the house elves or from some turned component of his potions. In the next semester, it had happened once more, this time while debriefing Dumbledore of some new developments.

The familiar feeling of a witch stirring his entrails with a sharp object had returned, and he nearly bit his tongue in the middle of a sentence.

"Severus, what's wrong," asked Dumbledore.

"I am-"

He grunted in discomfort as he shifted just a bit in his seat.

"-more tired than I thought" he finished.

It laughably poor lie.

Dumbledore was now examining him with renewed interest. He appeared genuinely worried.

"Are you hurt? Should we have Madam Pomfrey see to you?"

"No," he ground out despite the growing pain.

"I- just need -a moment"

Dumbledore would not let him go so easily after this episode, so there was no point in trying to lick his wounds in private. They sat across from each other in stasis for ten minutes before it passed.

"How long has this been going on?" Dumbledore asked once Snape's face wasn't contorted in pain.

"The past year"

"I assume you've tried the usual remedies and suspects"

"Of course"

"Any other symptoms? Dreams? Visions?" he pressed.

Snape shook his head.

"Hmm," Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought.

"Is this meeting over?" Snape asked testily.

"Do you remember the woman you released, Miss Coffrey?"

"Yes," he said, impatient. Honestly, how could he not.

"I'm going to have Benson check in on her. You should get some rest, Severus. And let me know if this happens again"

With the dismissal, Snape headed straight for the library.