Severus climbed the arduous, meandering sets of stairs to the teacher's box in the quidditch stands, with a clenched jaw. How wizards had never managed to master the concept of moving staircases, without imbuing them with a mind of their own was beyond Severus. Muggle escalators were far superior.

It was Slytherin's first match of the year, Slytherin vs Gryffindor. The odds were in Slytherin's favor; Gryffindor had not yet managed to find a skilled replacement for Charlie Weasley as seeker, but if the shaved lions did manage to eek out a win, Minerva would be absolutely insufferable for the rest of year. Severus had enough to deal with these days, without the Deputy Headmaster lording a miracle victory over his head.

Flint was a good captain; his snakes were in good hands. It had been a risk, at first, to choose Flint over Higgs. Higgs was older, and calmer, and more strategically minded. He was too polite, though, plus he'd been a prefect last year, was head boy this year, and was in the running to be valedictorian of his year. He was already under a lot of pressure and time constraints. Not to mention, it was always a gamble to make a seeker captain, since their play tended to be so detached from the rest of the team. One risked missing the first glimpse of the snitch, if too preoccupied with keeping their team in line.

Higgs had been understanding of Severus' choice. He was grateful that the boy was not the type to sulk, or throw tantrums. Quidditch had a way of stripping away the maturity in people, when pride was on the line. He was not immune to the effects, himself.

Every year that Slytherin won the quidditch cup, Severus lorded his house's victory over Minerva and the others with ill-restrained glee. It was ruthlessly satisfying to flaunt his snakes' supremacy, despite how often they attempted to malign their accomplishments with accusations of cheating.

Marcus Flint had a very simple philosophy when it came to quidditch, 'if you don't end at least half your games with a foul, you aren't playing hard enough,' and it was true. Flint wasn't a bully, not like their team's beaters tended to be. He simply demanded that his players put in one hundred percent of their effort into every game, into every play. At game speed, it was inevitable for a little unintended contact to be made, every now and then. It was strategic to take a minor foul when the game was on the line.

Flint, Montague, and Bletchley shared that philosophy, and had saved more than one game for Slytherin because of it. Severus refused to consider that cheating. It was good natured, and lay within the spirit of the game. Fenwick and Burke tended to cross the line when things got heated, or would, if Flint was ever too distracted to keep them in line. Flint was very observant, and good at wrangling his fiery beaters' emotions when they wavered out of control.

Pucey and Higgs were gentleman athletes. They were both skilled enough to get away with their genteel attitudes, but Severus, and Flint, knew that they would both be even better, if they pushed themselves to their limit, and allowed themselves to dance over the line, from time to time.

Still, in this game, against the undisciplined and equally young Gryffindor team, Severus liked his team's chances.

Both teams walked onto the pitch with brooms in hand, and Flint and Gryffindor's captain Wood immediately began trading insults. Wood was downright timid in potions classes, and staffroom gossip led Severus to believe he was equally mild-mannered in all of his classes, but the boy could trash talk with the best of them, as soon as brooms were involved.

Flint took the barbs in stride. Verbal sparring tended to be a favorite pastime for most Slytherins, and Flint was certainly no exception. Like his play style, he was rather blunt with his word play, but hard hitting and effective.

The whistle blew, and both teams soared into the air. Higgs and Gryffindor's poor excuse for a seeker, a sixth year named Hayley, rose well above the goals, and began circling the pitch in slow, methodical circles.

Severus wanted nothing more than to relax and watch the game in peace, but Quirinius Quirrell seemed intent on ruining yet another of Severus' day. Sitting a few rows in front of Severus, Quirrell kept turning his head against the action.

Following his line of sight to the Slytherin stands, Severus made an educated guess at what was holding the man's gaze, Harry Potter.

The boy was sitting in the front row of the Slytherin stands, leaning forward with a look of rapt awe radiating off of him. He ignored everything and everyone around him as he absorbed each play, each move, the players made. He was a child watching his first live quidditch game; there was absolutely nothing suspicious in his actions or demeanor. There was no reason for a professor to be fixated on him.

Surreptitiously, Severus released his wand from its holster, and held it, loose and ready. Going after the Philosopher's Stone was one thing, Severus could understand the temptation, but if Quirrell intended harm against one of his students, Severus was going to murder him.

Gryffindor scored, sending three quarters of the student's stands, and the majority of the teachers, into riotous cheers. Severus clenched his wand, using the chaos to slide a little further down the row, so he could keep both Quirrell and Potter in his line of sight at once.

It must be an exciting game, with all of the commotion going on in the stands. Severus had lost track of the score, entirely. As much as he liked to joke otherwise, especially to get a rise out of Minerva, there were more important things in life than quidditch.

Higgs caught the snitch, he must have, given everyone else's reactions. The Slytherins erupted to their feet. The teachers stood to applaud. Quirrell gave a subtle flick of his wrist.

And Potter toppled forward from the stands.

Severus cast a featherlight charm followed by a levitation spell in quick succession, before his mind had fully processed what had happened. Potter hovered a few feet from the ground, writhing against the magic that held him aloft, in confused panic. Malfoy was shoving past his fellow Slytherins to get to the stairs.

Someone gasped next to Severus. A few Slytherins leaned forward, the fact that Harry Potter was in mortal danger just now sinking in.

Quirrell moved with several other teachers, who were desperately rushing to Potter's aide. Severus could not attack him without dropping Potter the rest of the way, and while he was no longer at a lethal height, Severus did not want to take any chances.

He let Quirrell melt into the now stampeding crowd, and gently lowered Potter the rest of the way to the ground, erecting a simple shield around the boy to prevent him from being trampled to death by the horde concerned for his safety.

He caught Dumbledore's eye, twinkling madly. Severus frowned at the headmaster, and mouthed, "We need to talk."

Albus nodded, and gestured to the castle. Severus agreed. They would meet in the headmaster's office once things with Potter were settled.

Severus rose and descended the stairs with as much dignity as he could muster. He used magic to encourage students out of his way, and slipped through the shield barrier around Potter that no one else could pass.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sinking to his knees beside the boy, who still sat sprawled on the grass, pale and shaking.

"I think so, Sir," Potter replied weakly, as he smoothed down his rumpled robes. "I don't know what happened. I didn't think I was leaning that close to the edge, but I must have lost my balance."

"It looked like he was pushed, Sir," Gemma Farley said, gravely, "but no one touched him, physically."

"Is Madame Pomphrey on her way?" Severus asked.

Gemma nodded. She had her wand out, and was watching the hands of her fellow students, scoping out wands. She was an excellent prefect. "Yes, Sir. I sent the Nott boy to fetch her."

"I'm fine," Potter complained, teetering as he climbed to his feet. "Magic stopped me from falling. I didn't hit the ground hard, at all."

Severus stood with him, and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Be that as it may, you've had quite a shock, Mr. Potter. A calming potion, at the very least, will do you good. Do you know why?"

Potter smiled shakily. "Yes, Sir. My body produced adrenaline, and other chemicals meant to increase my reaction speed and keep me alive, in life-or-death situations. Now that the danger is gone, my body doesn't know what to do with itself. A calming potion will not only increase my body's production of chemicals that will reduce stress, but it will help my body break down the stress chemicals faster."

"Very good, Mr. Potter. Five points to Slytherin," Severus said, ignoring several scoffs to Harry's very muggle explanation.

"The danger isn't over," Farley insisted. "Someone tried to kill him, Professor."

Several students began to protest this proclamation, insisting that Potter was merely clumsy or careless. They did not want the remainder of their Saturday to be ruined with rounds of punishments and investigations.

"I know," Severus said, gravely, looking Farley in the eye. The rest of the crowd went silent. "I saw what happened. I'm the one who caught Potter in time, although it was a close thing. If I had been looking anywhere else, he might have died. You were deliberately pushed, Potter. Make sure you stick close with your friends for the time being, while the professors sort this mess out. Rest assured, Miss Farley, that I have my suspicions regarding who did this, and I will be taking those to the headmaster once Madame Pomphrey gets here. Slytherins, stick together. An attack on one of us is an attack on us all."

Severus lingered longer than he should have, once Madame Pomphrey bustled to Harry's side. He knew the boy was physically unharmed. He knew the boy's attacker was not among the gathering students. Still, it was difficult to tear himself away.

He walked briskly through the castle and up to the headmaster's office, not bothering to knock.

"You need to fire Quirinius Quirrell."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

A muscle in Severus' jaw twitched. "He just tried to murder Harry Potter. He attempted to steal the Philosopher's Stone on Halloween. He lured that troll into the castle. He's dangerous."

"Sit down, my boy. This rivalry you have with Quirinius has got to stop. Our esteemed defence professor has already come to me, with his suspicions that you were responsible for the excitement on Halloween."

Severus paled. He had followed Quirrell to the stone's hiding place. He had no alibi. He had thought that Dumbledore had come to trust him, at least a little, but perhaps he was wrong. "It wasn't me."

Dumbledore gave him a gentle smile. "I know, my dear boy. You are both invested in protecting the students, and you've both gotten a little carried away. No harm done. To make it up to me, though, I do have a bit of a request for you."

"I'm not wrong, Albus. Quirrell deliberately shoved Potter from the stands, today. I saw it happen."

"Which spell did you see him use?"

"I… couldn't tell. I saw him move his wand hand, but I couldn't make out the specific spell."

"Severus. You have a history of seeing the worst in the people you don't like. It is no secret amongst the staff that Quirinius annoys you. That is no excuse for attempting to get him fired."

"Look at my memory. I'll extract it for you."

Dumbledore shook his head, sadly. "You are a master of the mind arts. Your memories could easily be altered."

"I wouldn't do that. Potter's life is in danger. Why don't you care?"

"Why do you, Severus? You hate the boy, just as you hate the boy's father. You are using his trauma as a means to an end, and I will not enable you to continue down this path of destruction."

Severus reeled back. How had this gone so wrong? Suspicion bloomed within him. "You don't actually believe that, do you Albus? You're up to something."