The first potions lesson was a disaster from everyone's point of view. Potter's fame status irritated Snape to the point that he resorted to name calling and belittling Potter in front of his adoring public. Luckily, or unluckily depending on one's point of view, Potter's Gryffindor groupies were in the same class as the first year Slytherin rowdies, that included Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, sons of three prominent Death Eaters.

Regrettably, but Snape couldn't bring himself to quash it, Malfoy took up his house head's lead of picking on Potter. Snape occasionally during class would have bursts of flashbacks of him picking on James. That is, before James teamed up with Black, Lupin and Pettigrew to pick on him.

This Potter, though, seemed more bewildered than anything. Snape's snide remarks about his fame and glory hounding were empty words. Harry Potter had no clue of who he really was, which suited Snape fine. The less the brat knew about his background, the better off everyone was.

The class finally ended and Snape was glad to dismiss the lot of them with a nice batch of homework to start the year off right. There would be no slagging about in his class, Slytherin or Gryffindor.

He was rapidly becoming annoyed with the Mudblood (no, he corrected himself sternly, she's just a Muggle-born), Hermione Granger. The little bookworm. Every time he finished a question her hand had been in the air a good ten seconds. It was vastly irritating.

By the time evening had rolled around and he'd helped first year Slytherins through their first week hyperventilations, he was grateful for his pillow. He was asleep before he even noticed it was lumpy.

Dumbledore peering into his face about an hour later awoke him. "Are you ready, Severus?" asked the Hogwart's headmaster, tugging thoughtfully on his beard.

Snape sat up groggily and then nodded. "It's downstairs in the dungeon. I'll go get it and meet you there."

Dumbledore nodded and turned away, the taper flickering in his hand. He paused at the door and looked over his shoulder. "Was it a shock, Severus, seeing James' boy there?"

Snape stopped the motions of putting on his shoes. He slowly looked up into the gray eyes of Albus Dumbledore. "Why couldn't you have told me he looked just like James?"

Dumbledore sighed. "I thought it would a pleasant shock. I thought that perhaps you had gotten over you dislike of James Potter by now."

Snape's lips thinned. "I owe James Potter, yes, Headmaster, but that doesn't mean I ever stopped hating him." Dumbledore looked as if he would say something more but instead he merely nodded and quit the room.

Snape sat there a long moment and then shrugged, got up and went down to the dungeon. In the cabinets sat a tray with seven vials in it. He grabbed the note that the tray sat on and reread it. He eyed the potions again, verifying the order was correct. Satisfied he turned on his heel and met the other professors on the third floor where the philosopher's stone would now be housed.

"I'll set up mine first, then Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Quirrell and Sprout. Fluffy will be the last to go in, Hagrid." The half-giant groundskeeper nodded at the headmaster, showing a toothy grin behind the heavy black beard.

They levitated down through the trap door, each carrying their bundle wrapped in cloth so that the others could not see what was being done. Once in through the trapdoor, Dumbledore stopped Sprout from going further. "I'm sorry, but I'd like you to stay here."

Sprout looked surprised but nodded in acquiescence. The other professors moved ahead. At each point where each professor would be setting up the traps, they were stopped and when the party moved ahead, a professor was left behind until finally it was just Snape and Dumbledore.

"All right, Severus, let me set up mine, then I'll let you set up yours. I want to be the only one who can get passed all the traps." Snape nodded, eyes narrowing as Dumbledore stepped inside the last chamber. A moment later, the white haired wizard stepped back out again. "Go ahead."

Snape sat on the small wooden table the seven potion vials and the note sat next to them. He then charmed the entryway to Dumbledore's room. "We need to go to the other room for the second charm to my trap," explained Snape, motioning Dumbledore back.

Dumbledore beamed at him a moment, and Snape felt a rush of pleasure at the headmaster's obvious pride in him. "I told you that you had a gift for such things." Snape just nodded.

Dumbledore stepped through, as did Snape. He cast another charm on that entryway and then turned to the headmaster. "Done."

"Move ahead then, please, Severus?" requested Dumbledore. Snape went back the way they had come and stood with nervous little Flitwick. Soon, McGonagall and Dumbledore appeared around the corner. "Severus, Minerva, if you could go back to where Quirrell is waiting?"

The two professors moved back to where Quirrell was standing. Snape eyed the new professor carefully. Quirrell looked more nervous than Flitwick did, if that were possible. His eyes kept darting around quickly as if trying to take in and assess his surroundings for possible danger. Snape immediately became uneasy.

He reached up to scratch his upper arm and froze when Quirrell did the same. They both stared at each other in mild shock and Snape felt his lips curl in a smile. 'Wasn't that interesting?' he thought to himself.

Quirrell no longer met Snape's gaze.

Dumbledore and Flitwick stepped through the door and routine repeated itself right back to Professor Sprout. Idly Snape wondered what Quirrell had used for his trap. At last they were all back in the corridor and had rejoined Hagrid who had stayed behind. "Everyone back to bed," announced Dumbledore. "Hagrid, if you'll bring Fluffy in, we'll be all set."

The professors scattered toward their chambers but on a whim Snape decided to follow Quirrell. Halfway to his chambers, Quirrell began to talk to himself. "I can do it. Give me a month, maybe two months, to figure out what the other professors set up. How do I keep you rejuvenated until then?"

Snape's steps faltered and he let Quirrell go on. "Who on earth on you talking to, you madman?" asked Snape to himself.

"Eh?" Snape whirled around to find Sir Cardargan, a knight in a scenic painting who was known for being off his rocker, eyeing Snape suspiciously. "What's that, villain?"

"Shut up before I find some paint remover," snarled Snape and he stalked away, ignoring Cardargan's shouts for him to come back and fight like a man.