"But Snape tried to kill me!"

"No, no, no. I tried to kill you. Your friend Miss Granger accidentally knocked me over as she rushed to set fire to Snape at that Quidditch match. She broke my eye contact with you. Another few seconds and I'd have got you off that broom. I'd have managed it before then if Snape hadn't been muttering a counter-curse, trying to save you."

-- Harry and Quirrell, Chp. 17, Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

Snape scowled as he watched the Quidditch match. Bad enough that the announcer was that blasted Jordan boy - typical Gryffindor, and far too biased against Slytherin to be doing the job for a Gryffindor/Slytherin match - but to see the Potter boy out there...

Oh, he had no doubt Potter had the skill and ability to be an excellent Seeker, much as he hated to admit it. Minerva was too much in favour of the rules to be willing to break one just to make the Potter brat happy; she wouldn't have insisted that he be allowed to become a Seeker in his first year if she didn't think he was capable. She couldn't favour Gryffindor in the same ways that he did Slytherin - and, knowing Minerva, wouldn't even if she could - but in small ways...

He sighed to himself, his mouth tightening as he watched Potter and Terence Higgs dive after the Snitch, and then was unable to keep a small smile off his face as Marcus Flint blocked Potter. He'd trained his Slytherins well, although he'd have to speak to Marcus about being too obvious. As long as Potter didn't get himself killed out there, perhaps this game would be better than he'd feared. It would certainly be pleasant if Higgs and the team managed to defeat the Gryffindors - even more pleasant than last year. Perhaps there was a bright spot in the fact that Potter had been allowed on the Gryffindor team. The brat had too much go his own way...

The game continued after the penalty shot, and Snape found himself relaxing a bit. He did enjoy Quidditch, though that fact would be likely to give the students a heart attack if they ever heard it. And even though Slytherin was still down ten points, it was obvious that Gryffindor had a fight on their hands...

He was watching the Chasers battle over the Quaffle when a jerky movement above the pitch caught his eye. Looking up, Snape saw Potter holding desperately onto his broom as it started zig-zagging over the pitch, the movement bearing no resemblance to the smooth flying the boy had been doing earlier. No one else had noticed yet, but it was obvious that Potter was in trouble.

None of the students would have been able to do this, not even the Slytherins - on the team or not - Snape knew. It took a powerful jinx to overwhelm the enchantment on brooms, especially ones as new and powerful as the one Minerva had given Potter. Which meant that it had to be one of the staff... But there wasn't time to consider who it might be just at the moment, not when the broom was starting to roll over, obviously trying to unseat the boy - which would kill him, as high up as he was.

Fixing his eyes on Potter and the broom, Snape immediately started to mutter the most powerful counter-curse he could think of under his breath. Much as he disliked Potter, the last thing he or the rest of the wizarding world needed was to have the Boy-Who-Lived die.

He was concentrating so much on the counter-curse - even if he couldn't dispel whatever jinx was being used, at least he should be able to ensure that one of the other members of Potter's team could catch him if he did fall - that it took a moment or two to realize that Potter had managed to regain control of his broom, and that his robes were on fire.

With a yelp, he stood up, ready to put the flames out, only to find that they had apparently gone out by themselves. Suspicious, to say the least...

The roar of the crowd made him look up in time to see Potter standing on the pitch, waving the Snitch, and Snape gritted his teeth as a crowd descended on the boy. So typical - so like his blasted father - to be able to come out of trouble smelling like a rose...

He had more to worry about than results of the Quidditch match, however. No matter how much he had wanted Slytherin to win, it was unimportant next to the fact that what had just happened had undeniably been an attempt to kill the Potter boy.

Glancing around the staff box, his eyes fell on Quirrell, who was standing up and rubbing his forehead. His eyes narrowed as the other teacher immediately headed out of the box.

Snape had never liked Quirrell - not that he liked many people - though it wasn't for the reasons the students believed. Yes, the Defence Against the Dark Arts job was one that he wanted, but he understood Dumbledore's reasons for not giving it to him - though he had to admit he didn't like them. No, he simply found Quirrell too ineffectual to be a good teacher to a group of unruly and often troublemaking teenagers. This year, however, there was something different about him, something more than just that ridiculous turban. Something more... dangerous.

That was part of the reason he'd gone up to check on that miserable beast of Hagrid's on Hallowe'en; a troll should never have been able to get into the castle by itself, and even if it had, Quirrell's one real skill was dealing with trolls. He should have been able to take care of it without needing to alert the entire school. If only that blasted beast hadn't bitten him...

Was it a coincidence that they'd found the troll with Potter? Snape hadn't believed Granger's story for a moment; the girl might be confident of her abilities, as well as a bookworm who might have done better in Ravenclaw than Gryffindor, but she wasn't an idiot. Had the troll been, in fact, not only a distraction but also after Potter?

Snape's eyes narrowed further as he considered that thought. Quirrell hadn't been a Death Eater - he knew that much - but it wasn't beyond the bounds of possibility that he had been recruited since Voldemort's downfall. Certainly that would explain the attack on Potter...

He was going to have to think about this. If Quirrell was, indeed, the one responsible, then Potter wasn't out of danger. Most of the students - including the first year Gryffindors - appeared to like Quirrell.

Snape started down out of the box, heading for the castle and the dungeons, ignoring Marcus's calls - he didn't want to get involved in an argument with Minerva and Madam Hooch just at the moment.

Something was going to have to be done. He doubted that Dumbledore would listen to his suspicions of Quirrell just yet; despite the fact that the headmaster trusted him, that was all he had, suspicions - not proof.

There was only one route he could go. He was going to have to work on keeping an eye on both Quirrell and the Potter boy, and try to make sure nothing happened.

How ironic. I spent seven years trying to get James Potter and those... friends of his expelled - and now I have to protect his son. I'm sure he'd find the entire situation hilarious, Snape thought sourly, as he reached the door to his quarters. Muttering the password, he stalked in and sat down in the chair facing his fireplace. Although he'd probably consider it only a fair recompense for the wizard's debt I owe...

His expression twisted into a grimace at the thought of how James Potter had 'saved' him from Lupin. Of course, it could easily be argued that what he'd just done at the Quidditch match had evened the debt - but that didn't take into account what he owed the boy.

Pulling his left sleeve up to reveal his forearm, Snape glared at the reddish blotch just above his wrist. It had been like that - faded and indistinct - for the past ten years, thanks to the then-infant Harry Potter; and it had indebted him to the boy far more than the wizard's debt he owed the father.

Shaking his head, he pulled his sleeve back down. Now was not the time to think about that; instead, he needed to concentrate on what he was going to do to protect Potter now.