Author's Note: Thanks to everyone whose read and reviewed and favourited this story. You really keep me coming back to it even when I'm unsure. Today we get slightly deeper into the plot of Philosopher's Stone.

Hermione Granger was eleven-years-old (almost twelve, thank you very much) and only a first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, she was also a spy, and had been trained from the cradle in keeping a double life. It wasn't easy, and she struggled with it, once at Hogwarts, but she fooled everyone (and her father didn't count). That was why something about Professor Quirrell bothered her.

It wasn't until breakfast, the day after her second Defence Against the Dark Arts class, though, that she realised what it was, as she glanced at the staff table and saw his eyes as he twisted his head. His hands were shaking, his chin wobbling as he stuttered and spoke to Professor Flitwick, but when he turned his head, looking toward the far table, the tilt of his head, the way his nose wrinkled, almost imperceptibly made her think back over the day before, all the times he stuttered and jumped as if frightened in class.

She went over it, moment by moment in her mind, focusing on his expressions, almost muting the lectures in her mind. By the time breakfast had ended, she was sure. There had been no true signs of fear. No eyes raised and pulled together, no disappearing, raised eyelids, no stretched lips. His body language didn't match his face. She didn't know what to do with this information. Why was he pretending to be scared? Was it because of the curse on the position, so he wouldn't be asked back during the next year or was it something else? Was he there to sabotage Dumbledore? To attack Harry? Did he just hate children? Whose side was he on?

She stewed over the thoughts the entire day, even as she kept up her now-usual constant stream of answers in each class. If anyone noticed that she was otherwise quieter, no one said anything, probably glad that the know-it-all had stopped trying to infiltrate their cliques. She'd show them one day, but today she had more important things to think about than her own loneliness or even how she was failing her mission. She was so distracted, in fact, that she was almost late to her meeting with her father, which she was passing off as having questions about potion interactions that she had brought up in the footnotes of her last essay.

She rushed as quickly as she could to get to his office after she realised how close she was cutting it. She had very little time with her father and she wasn't giving a single minute of it up for anything. She knocked, politely, despite knowing he was expecting her, just in case one of his Slytherins had come to see him.

When he opened the door, and looked down at her, gesturing her inside she smiled. "I wanted to ask you some questions about my footnotes on my essay, Professor Snape." She said quietly, and then followed him through to the lab, where the act could drop. She pulled herself up onto a stool that had not been there the last time she was in the office, and noted with pleasure that it was just the right size to allow her to see into the cauldrons on the high counters, and maybe even help. "I'm sorry I was almost late, Papa." She apologised, flushing. "I got distracted."

Severus was surprised by the apology, she hadn't actually been late, but then he remembered that she was always the first person in the classroom. "It's not a problem, Hermione. What distracted you so? Another essay a foot over the required length or some new idiocy of your Housemates making?" His voice had not changed from its' usual drawl, but he really was interested in what took up her time and that mind of hers, aside from the few times he could see her in a week.

Hermione bit her lip. Technically, she was not supposed to discuss the details of her mission with anyone but Aunt Rory, Narcissa, Lucius or her mother. However, that rule had been in place before she had met her father, and she knew that her father was one of the Dark Lord's most trusted servants, his skill as a spy had made her the perfect choice to carry out her mission. Surely she could trust him with it? Plus, it wasn't as if Professor Quirrell had anything really to do with her mission...probably.

Decision made, she sat back on her stool and regarded her father. "It's probably nothing, but...Professor Quirrell." She said slowly. "I've thought something was off since I had my first lesson with him, but today I figured out what it is." She made a face, not wanting her father to think her paranoid. "One of the first lessons I was taught growing up was that you can't conceal your instinctual reactions, they happen too quickly, you have to react in a way that blends your first reaction into something that you want to show." She explained. "How to melt contempt into frustration, fear into surprise, that kind of thing." She kicked her feet in the air, a childlike move that only served to highlight how incongruous and adult her words were in comparison to her eleven-year-old self. "Professor Quirrell's body language doesn't match his facial expressions, or what he says. He stutters and his shoulders are tight and forward like he's frightened, but his eyes don't raise or pull together, his lips don't stretch thin, his eyelids don't rise and disappear." She paused. "I probably sound ridiculous."

Severus had expected any number of things to be distracting his daughter, but this hadn't made the list. He had thought that he was in for complaints about the Gryffindors to which he could commiserate, or some opining of loneliness, with which he could empathise and share some stories about his loneliness in school. Instead, he was getting discussions of suspicious activity that was better than some intelligence he had received during the war from adults. It was quite strange how it both saddened him that his daughter had been trained in such things so young and proud that she was so good at it. "On the contrary." He assured Hermione, running a hand over her hair. "You sound like an intelligent young lady with suspicions and evidence. What else have you noticed?"

Hermione practically preened at both the compliments and the comforting hand on her head. "He always stutters in a rhythm." She admitted. "Real people who stutter don't stutter quite like that, as if he's counting in his mind, and his shoulders and hands shake in opposition to one another." She admitted. "What's bothering me is that I can't figure out why. Whose side is he on? Or is he just afraid to be strong-armed into returning next year and playing a character?"

"Indeed, these are all good questions." Severus answered, taking a seat beside her. He had his suspicions about what Quirrell might be up to, but it was hardly something he wanted his daughter getting into. She had only been in his life for far too little time, and she was already the most precious thing in his life. "However, I don't think they have anything to do with you or your mission." He hated the words he had to say, to admit that his daughter had a mission as much as he did. The problem was that those missions were in opposition to one another as much as Quirrell's shaking hands and shoulders. As time went on, however, he found himself reconsidering his priorities. "If it will relieve your mind, I will look into this and find some answers."

Hermione's face exploded into a smile, and before she could stop herself, she had flung herself at her father again, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Would you, Papa? Oh, thank you." It would be absolutely lovely to have one less thing to worry about, especially when she had yet to find answers for the important things bothering her.

Severus found himself in yet another hug, and had to actually fight to keep from smiling, as he hugged the girl back. "Of course, Hermione. If your concerns are allayed, however, I do have some important things to ask you."

Hermione nodded, her head still buried in her chest. Her father was an awfully good hugger. "Of course, Papa." She answered, voice muffled in his robes. "Is it about my boil-cure potion? It was a shade redder than it should have been, but Ron kept distracting me."

Severus couldn't help himself, at the question, he found himself laughing at the absurdity of her question. "It was perfect." He said, instead. "You'd have to trade brains with one of the dunderheads to be less than brilliant at potions, my girl."

Hermione looked up from the black wool at that, another smile splitting her face at the way he called her 'my girl.' It reminded her of the may her mother called her 'ma petite'. "Do you think I could be a Potions' Mistress like Maman and you someday?"

Severus found his mouth quirking into a half-smile despite himself. "I think you could do anything you put your mind too. The teachers are already talking about how clever you are in the faculty room." It was actually proving to be exceedingly difficult to not join in on praising her, or worse, puffing up like the proud father he had no right to be when the subject of Hermione Granger came up among the other staff. "Actually, I wanted to let you know that I'm seeing your mother tomorrow...and ask you what you wanted for your birthday."

Hermione couldn't help but get her hopes up at that, pulling back and moving back to her stool to watch his face. "Are you and Maman going to be back together?" She asked excitedly. "Are we going to be a family? You could polyjuice into a muggle if we had to go out in public, couldn't you?"

Severus sighed, as he had worried about this kind of reaction. "Hermione, I haven't seen your mother for over twelve years. I don't want you to get your hopes up. All I can say is that we are going to talk, and no matter what happens, we both love you." It felt strange to be saying those words, but it was true. He may be uncertain about his feelings for Cressida, but he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he loved their daughter.

"Yes, Papa." Hermione said, with a little abashed sigh, but a twinkle in her eye that said she wasn't going to give up hope and if she had her way, her parents would be together sooner rather than later. Severus knew better than to trust that look in a Slytherin, and while she might be festooned in red and gold, he had no doubt whatsoever that his daughter was a Slytherin in her heart of hearts. "How do you know when my birthday is?"

Severus frowned, reliving those frightening moments almost twelve years ago, pacing in Lucius's study half the night. "Aurora came into a meeting for dittany and potions, because the Healer hadn't brought enough." He truncated. "I thought your mother was injured, and stayed at Malfoy Manor until Aurora returned, saying the danger had passed. When I saw you...it was a simple matter of arithmetic."

Hermione nodded, face serious. She had never been particularly good at choosing presents. "I don't know." She admitted after a moment. "Maybe Maman can give you some ideas. Or you can look at my book collection when you're home and see if there's anything I'm missing or that you'd think I'd like? Narcissa always gives me clothes, Lucius gives me pocket money, Aunt Rory gives me fancy things normally, like tapestries and astrolabes, one year she gave me my own set of gold scales. Draco…" She frowned. "I can never guess what Draco will give me, but it's always perfect." She held up her wrist, with her ever-present bracelet of moonstone beads. "Right before we left for Hogwarts he gave me this to help me keep a cool head and stay calm when dealing with Gryffindors."

Severus wanted to wipe a hand over his face. Narcissa had hinted as much, but was he really going to have to deal with his godson, spoiled little scion he was, going after his daughter? He almost preferred the idea that Potter would be after her. At least then he could terrify the boy spitless. How could he scare off the boy who had been calling him 'Uncle Sev' since he could form the words?

And he still had no idea what to get her for her birthday.