The March chill seemed to grow deeper, the temperature further fall. "I don't know what you're talking about," the Potions Master said icily.
"You know perfectly well what we're talking about," said Professor Quirrell in an amused voice. "Really, my good Professor, you should not meddle in the affairs of idiots unless you are ready to defend yourself upon the instant from all their violence." (The Defense Professor's hands still lay relaxed and open at his side.) "And yet none of those idiots seem to remember the sight of you falling, nor do the young ladies recall your presence. Which raises the fascinating question of why you would go to the extraordinary length, I dare say the desperate length, of casting fifty-two Memory Charms." Professor Quirrell tilted his head. "Would you fear so much the opinions of mere students? I think not. Would you dread the matter becoming known to your good friend, Lord Malfoy? But those fools, upon the very spot, invented a quite satisfactory excuse for your presence. No, there is only one person who holds so much power over you, and who would be most perturbed to find you executing any plot without his knowledge. Your true and hidden master, Albus Dumbledore."
"What?" hissed the Potions Master, the anger plain upon his face.
"But now, it seems, you are moving on your own; and so I find myself most intrigued as to what you could possibly be doing, and why." The Defense Professor regarded the black-clad silhouette of the Potions Master with the scrutiny a man might give an exceptionally interesting bug, even if it was still ultimately just a bug.
"I am no servant of Dumbledore's," the Potions Master said coldly.
"Really? What astonishing news." The Defense Professor smiled slightly. "Do tell me all about it."
There was a long pause. From some tree an owl hooted, the sound huge in the silence; neither man startled or flinched.
"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Severus Snape said, his voice very soft.
"I don't?" said Professor Quirrell. "How would you know?"
"On the other hand," the Potions Master continued, voice still soft, "my friends enjoy many advantages."
The man leaning against the grey bark raised his eyebrows. "Such as?"
"There is much that I know of this school," said the Potions Master. "Things you might not think I knew."
There was an expectant pause.
"How incredibly fascinating," said Professor Quirrell. The man was examining his fingernails with a bored look. "Do go on."
"I know you have been... investigating... the third-floor corridor -"
"You know nothing of the sort." The man's back straightened against the wood. "Do not bluff against me, Severus Snape; I find it annoying, and you are in no position to annoy me. A single glance would tell any competent wizard that the Headmaster has laced that corridor with a ridiculous quantity of wards and webs, triggers and tripsigns. And more: there are Charms laid there of ancient power, magical constructs of which I have heard not even rumors, techniques that must have been disgorged from the hoarded lore of Flamel himself. Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would have had trouble passing those without notice." Professor Quirrell tapped a thoughtful finger on his cheek. "And for the actual lock, a Colloportus laid on an ordinary doorknob, cast so weakly that it could not have kept out Miss Granger on the day she entered Hogwarts. Never before in my existence have I encountered such a blatant trap." Now the Defense Professor narrowed his eyes. "I know of no one left in the world against whom such fantastic feats of detection would serve any useful purpose. If there is some wizard possessed of ancient lore, of whom I know nothing, against whom this trap is set - you may trade that information for as much silence as you like, my dear Professor, and a good serving of my favor left over afterward."
You could have sworn that Professor Quirrell was watching Severus Snape with keen interest. Not the faintest trace of a smile crossed the man's lips.
There was another long silence in the clearing.
"I do not know who Dumbledore fears," Snape said. "But I know what bait he has set out, and somewhat of how it is truly guarded -"
"As to that," said Professor Quirrell, sounding bored again, "I stole it months ago, and left a fake in its place. But thank you kindly for asking."
"You're lying," said Severus Snape after a pause.
"Yes, I am." Professor Quirrell leaned back against the grey wood again, his eyes drifting up to the dense net of branches, the falling night scarcely visible between the complex crossings. "I simply wished to learn whether you would call me on it, since you are pretending to know so little." The Defense Professor smiled to himself.
The Potions Master looked like he was about to choke on his own fury. "What do you want?"
"Nothing, really," said the Defense Professor, continuing to gaze at the forest ceiling. "I was only curious. I suppose I shall just watch and see where your plotting goes, and meanwhile I will say nothing to the Headmaster - so long as you are willing to do me a favor now and then, of course." A dry smile crossed the face. "You are dismissed for now, Severus Snape. Though I wouldn't mind having another little chat soon, if you're willing to speak with me honestly of where your loyalties lie. And I do mean honestly, not the false faces you've shown today. You might find you have more allies than you thought. Take some time to think it over, my friend."
Aftermath: Draco Malfoy and -
A rainbow hemisphere, a dome of solid force with little chromaticity of its own which sent back the infringing light in splintered reflections, iridescent in many colors, as it fractured the shine of the many-splendored chandeliers of the Slytherin common room.
Sheltered beneath the rainbow hemisphere, the terrified face of a young witch who had never fought bullies, who had not joined any of Professor Quirrell's armies, who was getting Acceptable marks at best in her Defense class, who could not have cast a Prismatic Barrier even to save her own life.
"Oh, stop it," said Draco Malfoy, making his voice sound bored despite the sweat that had broken out underneath his robes, as he kept his wand pointed at the barrier that was sheltering Millicent Bulstrode.
He couldn't remember making the decision, there'd just been the two older boys about to hex Millicent, the common room silently staring, and then Draco's hand had just drawn his wand and cast the barrier, leaving his heart to pump itself full of shocked adrenaline while his poor sad brain frantically racked itself for explanations -
The two older boys were straightening up from where they'd been looming over Millicent, turning to Draco, looking at him with a mixture of shock and anger. Gregory and Vincent beside him had already drawn their own wands, but weren't pointing them. All three of them together couldn't have won, anyway.
But the older boys wouldn't hex him. Nobody could possibly be stupid enough to hex the next Lord Malfoy.
It wasn't fear of being hexed that was making Draco sweat beneath his robes, as he desperately hoped the beads of water weren't visible on his forehead.
Draco was sweating because of the dawning and sickening certainty that even if he got away with this now, if he kept down this path, there would come a time when it would all come crashing down; and then he might not be the next Lord Malfoy anymore.
"Mr. Malfoy," said the oldest-looking boy. "Why are you protecting her?"
"So you've located the mistress of the conspiracy," Draco said with a Number Two Sneer, "and it's, let me get this straight now, a first-year girl named Millicent Bulstrode. She's just a conduit, you niddlewit!"