Minerva McGonagall was rarely shocked. . . as least, she rarely allowed it to show on her prim countenance. Snape had seen her startled; angry; anxious; annoyed; pleased; amused...all expressions carefully restrained behind shrewd eyes. He had never before seen her reveal such candid, unguarded astonishment. Her mouth gaped open stupidly and her eyebrows shot up nearly into her hairline. He smirked, secretly amused that he had managed to flabbergast the unflappable witch.

"Severus!" Minerva rasped, staring down at the small mound of galleons in her hands. "This. . .this is an enormous sum of money!"

Snape sneered, schooling his face into habitual contempt. "Not really. It is sufficient."

"Sufficient for what? I still don't understand."

Snape's lip curled scornfully. "The school budget for student subsidies will only cover the purchase of a modestly serviceable broom," he explained with slow distain, as if talking to a young, dim-witted child. Minerva's eyes narrowed angrily. "This additional 'contribution' will augment that subsidy enough to allow the purchase of a quality broom."

"Quality broom?"

He sighed, implying he found the whole topic tedious beyond belief. "I am no authority on brooms, Professor. This is not in the realm of my humble expertise. However – I understand the current fad is for some over-priced model called a 'Nimbus 2000'. It should prove adequate, even for the celebrated Boy-Who-Lives."

"Why?" she demanded caustically.

"Why what?" he replied, deliberately misunderstanding her.

"Why do you wish to contribute to buy an expensive broom for Mister Potter?"

Snape shrugged, allowing a hint of mischief to light his cool stare. "Let's just call it 'leveling the playing field', shall we?"

"Severus?" McGonagall's glare was dubious.

"Personally, I think your confidence is poorly placed, my dear Gryffindor. Potter is a mediocre First-Year; a novice flyer with absolutely no experience. Why you would pin your House hopes on the numbskull is beyond me. I have no doubt my Slytherin team will make mincemeat of him," Severus gloated. "When they do, I have no intention of allowing you to blame your loss on your new Seeker's substandard equipment. Slytherin will win the match, despite Potter dangling from the best broom money can buy, and I will enjoy that win with extreme satisfaction!"

Minerva eyed him with deep skepticism. "Let me get this straight. A Nimbus 2000 will give Mister Potter a distinct advantage over your own Seeker. And you claim you want to provide that advantage, just to prove your Seeker can beat him anyway?"

"An easy win will not be nearly as satisfying. And the loss will no doubt erode Potter's insufferable arrogance, making the victory that much sweeter."

McGonagall scowled. "That is a vicious sentiment, even for you, Severus. However. . ." A calculating gleam lit her eyes. "Since Potter will benefit from your fake charity, I will happily accept. When Gryffindor wins the match, you will have the pleasure of knowing you directly aided in your own team's defeat. That alone will make it worth accepting your offer."

"Why, Minerva!" Snape feigned mock indignation. "Such cynical and devious motives!" He smirked. "How very Slytherin of you, my dear."

Minerva snorted.

"There is one condition."

Minerva's smug smile faded fast. "What condition?"

"No one but you and I must ever know of my donation," Snape warned. "I insist that the broom come from you alone – you will allow the boy to assume that you or Dumbledore gave him this gift."

Minerva nodded slowly. "You wish to remain an anonymous donor."

"Completely anonymous. I'm quite adamant about this, Minerva. I want your Wizard's Oath that Potter will never know of my involvement."

"Are you sure? I'm certain the boy would wish to express his gratitude for your 'generosity' – however insincere your purpose."

"The very last thing I desire in this world, is gratitude from Harry-bloody-Potter!" Snape growled. "Do you agree to my terms?"

"Very well. He will never know from me – I give you my Oath."

"Good." Snape turned to stalk from the staff room.

"Professor Snape."

Minerva's call halted him at the door. She smiled shrewdly at him. "You may never receive Mister Potter's gratitude. . . but you won't deny me my own. Thank you, Severus."

"Hrumphh," Snape grimaced and swept from the room in a ripple of billowing robes.

Minerva shook her head in bemusement, shoving the gold coins into a hidden pocket.

Severus Snape, my dear, generous boy. . . You are such a noble, pig-headed fraud!

.............

Snape did his best to warn Dumbledore of his suspicions about Quirrell. As usual, the Headmaster listened gravely, then appeared to dismiss the whole matter in a sweetly annoying manner. Despite having personally benefited from Dumbledore's belief in the innate goodness residing within all beings, Severus still found the wizard's naïve trust irritating.

"I may be misreading Quirrell," Snape admitted darkly, "But considering the dangerous 'Item' hidden within these walls, I shall continue to keep my eye on the shifty fool."

"Of course, my boy. I suppose it would be wise to do so." Dumbledore offered him one of his infernal lemon drops. (It had become a mock ritual between them. . . the Headmaster always urged the candy upon Snape – and Snape never failed to refuse.) "You said you had two concerns, I believe?" Dumbledore prompted, popping a candy into his mouth.

Snape scowled. "Potter," he snarled.

"Really? What concerns you about Harry, my boy?"

"He's up to something."

The Headmaster regarded him calmly.

"I don't know what mischief the brat is planning, but I'm certain he is plotting something." Snape tapped a long finger thoughtfully against his chin. "Potter is far from subtle. He has taken to watching me when he thinks I won't notice. And when I speak to him, guilt is written all over his face."

"Hmmmmm. . ." Dumbledore tried to suppress a smile. "I doubt any student at Hogwarts can meet your gaze without reflecting anxiety, Severus. You do have a tendency to treat them all as guilty until proven innocent, you know."

Snape sneered. "And they usually confirm my distrust."

"Perhaps." A mild reproof glinted behind the customary twinkle in the Headmaster's blue eyes. "Children are impressionable. I have found they tend to fulfill the expectations of the adults who influence them. If that expectation is positive, they often excel. If negative, . . .well, you get my point, I'm sure."

"The-Boy-Who-Lived doesn't need my suspicions to encourage him to get into trouble, Headmaster! He already shows a predilection for defiance, arrogance, and disrespect. His egotism and insolence make him a danger to every other student here."

"Indeed? Personally, I find him rather sweet and genuine." Dumbledore sat back, giving his Potions Master a softly reproachful look. "The child is eleven years old, Severus. It's a bit early to renounce him so irrevocably, don't you think?"

Snape felt a mild flush of embarrassment creep up his neck. "I. . . I didn't mean to suggest. . .of course I don't advocate forsaking the boy, Albus. I am merely saying the child needs discipline. He is stubborn, impertinent, and has no regard for respectable wizarding tradition and civilized conduct."

"I'm sure he needs guidance, Severus. But perhaps you misjudge him. You must remember, Harry was raised by Muggles – he is unfamiliar with Wizard society. I'm sure he will adjust. Just give him a little time, my boy."

Snape rose abruptly, concealing his aggravation and resentment behind a mask of cool distain. "Very well, Headmaster. You must believe what you will. You have charged me to inform you when I have concerns. I have shared those concerns with you, regarding both Quirrell and Potter. You may judge my suspicions as you see fit. I care not. I have fulfilled my obligation."

"I know you have, my boy, and I am grateful," Dumbledore frowned ruefully. "I do not mean to dismiss your insights, Severus. You know I value your opinion. I will give your warnings due consideration."

"Whatever you say, Headmaster." Snape gave him the barest of formal bows, and retired from the old wizard's office with his dignity draped around him like a cloak.