Feeling the blood drain from his face, Severus shook his head quickly. "No, no, you're right, Headmaster. It will be as you say. He'll go to them for two weeks." He would just need to be nearby during that time, in case anything more than a few sharp words passed from the Muggles to the boy.

"Excellent. I'm pleased you agree." Dumbledore resumed his seat and gestured in dismissal. "Good luck at Saturday's match, Severus."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Severus nodded on his way out, not so keen on sharing this news with Harry, after all.

--HPSSHPSSHPSS--

"I don't get this part," Millie said. Working on their Herbology essays, Harry, Millie and Teddy were clustered around a table in the common room in mid-March, a week before Slytherin's next Quidditch match. "Where it says, 'All carnivorous plants of the Andes will access the most ubiquitous comestibles.' What the hell does that mean?"

"Language, Bulstrode," Teddy scolded.

"Shut it, Nott," replied Millie.

"It means they'll eat whatever's most plentiful around them," said Harry.

Teddy's eyes widened. "Someone's been reading the thesaurus."

Harry smiled. "No. Our Head taught me those."

"Snape?" Millie frowned. "He taught you?"

"Come on, Mills, you know he's been tutoring me on stuff."

"Secret stuff, you said. I didn't figure you meant vocabulary."

"Well, no," Harry admitted. His grip on his quill tightened. "But like he told me over the Christmas holiday, 'Your vocabulary is deplorable, Mr. Potter,'" he said in his best Snape imitation. It must have been a good one, he reckoned, as several other studying Slytherins lifted their heads quickly from their books and swiveled to look at him, each one followed by a scowl and re-lowering of the head.

Teddy laughed easily as Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. "You have spent too much time with him. Told you so, Mills."

"Did not," Millie answered with a smirk.

"I don't know about too much," said Harry.

"As often as you're with us."

Harry nodded with a small sigh and bent over his work again. He couldn't deny the truth. Every night, just about, Flint had the team out on the pitch practicing, no matter what the weather. They came in most nights wet and bedraggled, trailing mud and whatnot all over the Entrance Hall, but Harry would never give up flying, or Quidditch. He couldn't possibly. And on nights when he wasn't practicing with the team, he was usually with Professor Snape, either learning Occlumency or, one night a week, looking at pictures or playing chess.

Aside from being Seeker and flying around on his new broom, Harry liked those evenings best. He'd seen all the pictures of his Mum that Snape had now, and even had his favorites -- besides the two the professor had given him for Christmas. Occasionally, Snape would talk about Harry's Mum, too, telling him stories from when they were in school, or earlier, when they played together as children. A bit less often, they talked about how Harry was getting on in school, and Harry knew, deep down, that Snape wanted him to talk about the Dursleys, too, and how he had been treated at their house. He really liked talking with the professor, but when he felt like Snape was fishing for something, he shut down, more often than not. It was a long ago learned habit of survival.

He also got the sense from Snape -- and the Bloody Baron, too -- that there was something they weren't telling him. Something about his power. The Baron had never mentioned the blinding light that had sent him out of Harry's presence when he made an oath to learn how to keep Voldemort out of his mind. And Snape never really talked about Voldemort at all, except to make sure Harry had not had any more visions from him. (Thankfully, he had not. He still, occasionally, had nightmares about the poor unicorns.) But every so often, he caught one or the other of them staring at him speculatively, as if they were measuring him. He didn't like it, nor where his thoughts tended to stray when they did so. What was his connection to Voldemort? Was it more than just his curse scar? He didn't feel like he could ask, as if he'd be breaking some sort of balance he had now with his tutor.

Harry also had not spoken about what he had seen in the mirror to anyone but Ron Weasley, on the few occasions when the two ran into each other. They didn't fight anymore, and Ron didn't call him horrible names, which was good. And his twin brothers, Fred and George, had taken an odd sort of liking to Harry, he thought, clapping him on the back all the time, and offering him sweets. Harry never accepted them -- his sense of self-preservation was too well-ingrained -- but he thought the gesture was nice.

But with Snape . . . he liked spending time with the professor, more than just for the pictures and glimpses into his Mum's life, but also because Snape treated him like a real person, which few adults had ever done. Snape helped him, too, like with his nightmares, and he was always there to listen afterwards or anytime, really, if Harry wanted to talk. And with the Occlumency training, with a lot of hard mental work and meditation, Harry had been able to cut way down on the frequency and intensity of those nightmares. He had never felt so close to an adult before, never trusted one like he trusted Snape now. But he could never let the professor know what he had seen in the mirror. After all, Snape, himself, had said that what he had seen could never come true.

"He just doesn't love us anymore," Millie whined softly, and brought the back of her hand to her forehead in a mock swoon. "Whatever shall we do?"

"Trundle on regardless, I should think," Teddy chimed in with a mischievous smile, "knowing we are doomed to be but sidelines in the show of Harry's life."

Harry's face warmed. "Come on guys, quit it."

Millie looked about to take the mickie some more, but after taking in his expression, she let it go. "Why's that bother you, that maybe you can't be everywhere at once?"

Harry shrugged. His friends let him get away with the non-answer far more often than Snape did. But this time, shrugging made him feel stupid. "I'm sorry I'm not a good friend," he said quietly.

Both of them stared.

Teddy spoke first: "That's dumb."

"What?"

"You are a good friend. So shut up," Millie said, and then stuck out her tongue.

Harry couldn't help but laugh.

--HPSSHPSSHPSS--

On the day of the next Quidditch Match, the Slytherin team had a pleasant surprise.

Flint made the announcement as they were suiting up for the game. "Our Head of House will be acting as referee for this match."

"Excellent," said Terry Higgs. "There's no way we can lose now."

"As if we would against the Puffies anyway," said Draco. He was Chaser in today's match as Rufford was in the Hospital Wing, afflicted with an unidentifiable curse of some kind.

"Don't be so cocky, Malfoy," Flint growled. "It's attitudes like that what'll lose us the game. You do your best on the field no matter who we play, or I'll have Wilkes come in instead. Got it?"

"Yeah," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"What's that?" Flint barked.

"I said, Yes, Captain! Heard you loud and clear!"

Harry turned his face into the sleeve of his robes to hide his snicker. Malfoy gave him a cheeky grin while twirling a finger near his ear, and Harry nearly lost it. Thankfully, after giving Draco a scowl, Flint had turned to lambasting the beaters now, and didn't see them.

"I can't believe I get to be in the game today," Draco murmured to Harry as both of them began lacing up their boots. "My Father's come to see me play."

"Yeah?" Harry said, interested despite himself. Lucius Malfoy was something of a legend in Slytherin, and the upper years were always vying for his favor in getting placements after graduating, especially in the Ministry. And Harry knew, from the long-ago dress down with Snape, that Draco's father could be rather hard on him. He hoped Draco did well today, for both their sakes. "How about your Mum?"

"Mother couldn't make it. She has some charity event she's running," Draco added with a wrinkled nose. "She's always doing stuff like that."

Harry finished with his boots and started on the elbow pads, the last to be applied before he put on his gloves. "My aunt was like that, always some society thing or another."

"Was?" Draco asked with a lifted eyebrow. "She's dead?"

I wish, thought Harry. "No . . . well, except to me, I guess."

Draco snickered. He started putting on his gloves, the green leather ones Harry had gotten him for Christmas. "Thanks for these. They fit very well."

"You're welcome." Harry hadn't received anything in return, but that didn't matter to him. He was glad Draco liked the gift.

"One more thing," Flint growled loudly over everyone's conversations. "Listen up. The Puffies beat Ravenclaw last fall, and lost to Gryffindor last month, so we don't want them getting a bunch of points they can use to get close to us in Final scoring. You Beaters keep on their Chasers; I'll take any points they score out of your hides. And Potter, I want you to catch that bloody snitch as soon as possible. Got it?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Captain."

"Good. All right, you lot. Time to mount up!"

Just like last time, Harry's stomach did a tumble and flip as he neared the door of the locker room. He could do this. He could. And with Snape as referee, he wouldn't have to worry so much about Quirrell trying to hex his broom.

Probably.

As one, the team got on their brooms and flew out of the dressing room, Flint first, then their Chasers, then the other Beater, the Keeper, and then Harry, the Seeker at the end.

Three-quarters of the stands were silent or booing as they emerged, but the Slytherin quarter was standing and cheering, waving flags and shooting out sparks of silver and green, and they made up for the hostility and apathy of the other Houses. Professor Snape, looking dour, sat his broom casual as you please near the announcer's booth and watched all his players. Harry, in particular, could feel the weight of the man's gaze. The team took a lap around the pitch, then settled in the air near the Slytherin goal posts and waited for the Puffies' to join them.

A moment later, the other team flew out of their locker room in a swath of yellow. The crowd went wild.

Harry shook his head, watching the Gryffindors trying to out do each other to make sure everyone knew they supported the Hufflepuffs, everything from shooting yellow sparks into the air, to sending up holo-images of badgers going after bright green snakes to stomp and/or choke them to death.

Nice.

Immediately after the Puffies took their lap around the pitch, Madam Hooch called them all in, so the Captains could shake hands before she gave the signal for the game to begin. Flint looked disgusted as he slapped Cedric Diggory's hand away, but Madam Hooch didn't say anything against him.

Snape merely sneered.

"Up you go!" called Madam Hooch, and the game was on.

Seconds after he had risen into the air, Harry caught sight of a long silver beard in the stands. He looked over his shoulder and, sure enough, it was Dumbledore, settled in the faculty box, looking mildly amused. Though he wanted to, Harry did not peer too closely at the others in the box to try and find Quirrell. He just concentrated on finding the . . .

The Snitch! Just behind Snape's billowing black cloak. Harry flew a little distance away from it, to try and lure Diggory into following him. Then he turned abruptly, angled his broom into a steep dive, and flew as fast as he could toward the fluttering golden ball. Between one breath and another, he streaked past Snape in a blur of green and grabbed the Snitch faster than you can say, "Slytherins Win!"

Those were the next words Harry heard as he came out of his dive, holding the Snitch aloft. His fellow Slytherins darted in to fly around him and congratulate him on a great catch.

"They didn't even score once!" Flint said.

"Neither did we," pointed out Draco, but Flint scowled at him.

"That's not his fault. You did great, Potter!" said Bletchley. "I don't think anyone's ever caught the Snitch so fast."

"Thanks," was all Harry had time to say before the Slytherins took their obligatory victory lap around the stadium while three quarters of the audience booed them again. It was kind of annoying, actually. But Slytherins never let that sort of thing get to them, at least not in front of anyone else. In private, now . . .

Once they all hit the ground, the rest of the House and some other fans, such as Lucius Malfoy, swarmed the field to congratulate the team. A hand rested on Harry's shoulder briefly, and before he could shake it away, he heard Dumbledore murmur, softly enough no one else could hear, "Well done. I'm glad to see you haven't been brooding about that mirror . . . been keeping busy . . . excellent."

A bit confused, Harry watched as Dumbledore slipped away through the press of people, but was then caught up in accepting pats on the back and congratulations from other Slytherins. Lucius Malfoy shook his hand. Even Snape looked a bit less dour and gave him a terse nod. Harry grinned back at him.

An hour or so later, Harry left the locker room alone, to take his Nimbus Two Thousand back to the broomshed. He couldn't ever remember feeling happier. He'd really done something to be proud of now -- no one could say he was just a famous name anymore. The evening air had never smelled so sweet. He walked over the damp grass, reliving the last hour in his head, which was a happy blur: Slytherins running to lift him onto their shoulders; Millie jumping up and down and laughing through a heavy nosebleed, Teddy cheering and pumping his fist into the air.

Harry had reached the shed. He leaned against the wooden door and looked up at Hogwarts, with its windows glowing red in the setting sun. Slytherin was still well in the lead. He'd done it, he'd shown Quirrell he wouldn't be scared off the pitch...

And speaking of Quirrell...

A hooded figure came swiftly down the front steps of the castle. Clearly not wanting to be seen, it walked as fast as possible toward the forbidden forest. Harry's victory faded from his mind as he watched. He recognized the figure's scuttling walk. Quirrell, sneaking into the forest while everyone else was at dinner -- what was going on?

Harry jumped back on his Nimbus Two Thousand and took off. Gliding silently over the castle he saw Quirrell enter the forest at a run. He followed.

The trees were so thick he couldn't see where Quirrell had gone. He flew in circles, lower and lower, brushing the top branches of trees until he heard voices. He glided toward them and landed noiselessly in a towering beech tree.

He climbed carefully along one of the branches, holding tight to his broomstick, trying to see through the leaves. Below, in a shadowy clearing, stood Quirrell, but he wasn't alone. Snape was there, too. Harry couldn't make out the look on Quirrell's face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. Harry strained to catch what they were saying.

"... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus..."

"Oh, I thought we'd keep this private," said Snape, his voice icy. "Students aren't supposed to know about the Sorcerer's Stone, after all."

Harry leaned forward. Quirrell was mumbling something. Snape interrupted him. "Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid's yet?"

"B-b-but Severus, I --"

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," said Snape, taking a step toward him.

"I-I don't know what you--"

"You know perfectly well what I mean."

An owl hooted loudly, and Harry nearly fell out of the tree. He steadied himself in time to hear Snape say, "-- your little bit of hocus-pocus. I'm waiting."

"B-but I d-d-don't --"

"Very well," Snape cut in. "We'll have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decided where your loyalties lie." He threw his cloak over his head and strode out of the clearing.

It was almost dark now, but Harry could see Quirrell, standing quite still as though he was petrified.

Harry could quite understand.

--HPSSHPSSHPSSHPSS--

"Harry, where have you been?" Teddy grilled him the moment he entered the main hall. It was only fifteen minutes after he had seen Snape and Quirrell together in the forest, and he wasn't sure what to make of what he'd seen. Why would Snape be trying to get past Fluffy? Why would he want the, what was it? The Sorcerer's Stone? And why would he be plotting with Quirrell, who they all knew was trying to kill Harry!?

"We won! You won! We won!" shouted Millie, thumping Harry on the back. Her face was cleaned up, but still bruised. "And I gave Weasley a black eye for calling me an ogre, and that Longbottom kid tried to take on Vince and Greg single-handed when Greg called him stupid! Stupid bint. He's still out cold in the Hospital Wing. That'll teach them to quit talking bad about us! Everyone's waiting for you in the common room. We're having a party. Flint and Bletchley got some cakes and stuff from the kitchens."

"Never mind that now," said Harry breathlessly. "Let's find an empty room, you wait 'til you hear this..." He made sure Peeves wasn't inside before shutting the door behind them, then he told them what he'd seen and heard.

Both of them stared when he was done, as if he'd grown a third eye. "Have you heard of the Sorcerer's Stone?" he asked.

Teddy shook himself to get over his shock and nodded. "It's legendary, supposed to be able to turn lead into gold, and also can be used to make the Elixir of Life, so the bearer would never die."

"The bearer?" Harry rubbed his hands over his face. "So, if someone was trying to steal it for a, a Dark Wizard or something, so he could come back to life . . ."

Millie's eyes went wide. "You don't think our Head of House has anything to do with this. Do you?"

"What am I supposed to think, Millie? He was talking with Quirrell about how to steal the Stone!" Harry shouted. A huge lump was lodged in his chest, the size of a fist, and it was squeezing his heart. Hard. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have believed Snape's lies?

"You think Snape's trying to force Quirrell to help him get the Stone?" Teddy asked. "Why? He wouldn't need that bumbling oaf."

"Except for the bit about how to get past Fluffy - and he said something about Quirrell's 'hocus pocus - I reckon there are other things guarding the stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through --"

"Harry!" Millie stopped him as his imagination played out many possibilities. She shook her head. "I know you have a hard time trusting adults, but you're a Slytherin! Snape wouldn't--"

"Wouldn't what? Betray me? Try to kill me?"

"Exactly."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek, hoping the sharp pain would keep him from screaming. She couldn't possibly understand. Everyone was against him. Everyone. "You were one of the hardest on his case at the start of term Millie. How come?"

"Well," she said, looking sideways at Teddy, who dragged his gaze away from Harry to meet her eyes, "We thought he wasn't being fair to you. 'Cause he wasn't . . . " she trailed off, shaking her head reluctantly.

"Wasn't what?" Harry pressed.

"Well, he wasn't following Rule One, but Harry--"

"Exactly," Harry interrupted. "I've been a fool to trust him just 'cause he changed his tune. We all have. I knew the new act was too good to be true; he was faking it, that's all. Now we just have figure out how to keep both of them from getting that stone and giving it to Voldemort."

In the dead quiet that followed, Harry held each of his friends' gazes, willing them to trust him and support him. If they didn't, he didn't know what he would do. "Are you with me?"

To his relief, they both nodded. "To the end," Teddy said.

Millie released the lip her teeth had captured. "To the end."