The night before her quidditch match, Primrose dreamt she was up in the air on her broom, searching for the snitch. She couldn't remember how long she'd been searching for it, or what the score was, but all she knew was that she had to find it before Snape killed her.

"Prim, watch this!"

George, who was a few feet below her, let go of his broom and leaned back, tumbling off and dropping like a rock toward the ground far below. Primrose's stomach flipped, and she angled her broom toward the ground in an effort to catch her teammate.

It was no use, as no matter how fast she went, George remained just out of reach.

The ground was so close she could see individual people in the stands.

Finally, when it seemed she was getting close enough to grab George, a black blur separated them. Forced to a stop, Primrose stared in horror at Snape, who was hovering in midair without a broom. He sneered at her, and raised his wand. His voice was high and reedy.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Primrose woke in the middle of throwing herself out of her bed. She hit the floor with a loud thump, and laid there a moment, trying to get her bearings.

"Primrose! Are you okay?"

Bushy russet curls bounced into view, followed by a familiar face.

"Hermione?" Primrose croaked, disoriented.

Hermione grabbed Primrose's hands and pulled her up. "I was just coming to wake you - it's nearly time for breakfast - and then you just fell out of bed!"

Primrose shuddered. "I had a terrible dream, Hermione! George fell and then Snape was floating without a broom and he cursed me-"

Hermione looked a bit flustered at how uncharacteristically expressive Primrose was being, but she simply put her hands on the other girl's shoulders and did what Hermione did best: logic. "Primrose, it was only a dream. No one can really fly by themselves, can they? And Snape would never dare curse you in front of an entire stand of people. It was only your subconscious getting the best of you."

Primrose nodded, her heartbeat settling a bit. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

Hermione nodded once, decisively. "Now, get dressed, you need to eat a big breakfast."

Primrose didn't see the point of eating a big meal when there was a chance she'd sick it up later, but she decided to choose her battles.

Standing on the Quidditch Pitch as Oliver shook hands with Hufflepuff's captain, Primrose looked for her friends in the stands. They had assured her over breakfast that they had been practicing the Leg-Locker jinx, just in case Snape got any ideas. Seeing as how Hermione usually mastered any spell she tried, she felt confident that even if Snape cursed her, his legs, at least, would be extra locked.

Which wouldn't stop him from casting a spell, but it might distract him, and it made Primrose feel better anyway.

She heard one of the twins whistle behind her. "Wow, even Dumbledore showed up!"

Primrose whipped around to look where Fred was pointing, and the sheer relief she felt made her knees a little wobbly. There was no way Snape would try anything with the greatest wizard of their time watching.

Oliver wasn't so relieved, however. He took her aside just before they ascended. "Listen, Primrose, I want you to catch that snitch as soon as possible. Maybe we can end the game before Snape awards Hufflepuff too many penalties."

Primrose nodded dutifully, feeling much more focused now that she wasn't worried about being zapped out of the sky.

The game felt like a blur to Primrose, who caught the snitch in record time and narrowly avoided crashing into Snape in the process. She was so anxious about her near run-in with the man that she didn't notice Dumbledore clapping a hand on her shoulder and congratulating her until it was already over. In a daze, she lingered in the locker room, staring blankly at her broom for a bit. She wasn't sure how long she stood there before she shook her head and changed into her regular clothing. She was just leaving the pitch when she caught a glimpse of a shadow entering into the Forbidden Forest.

She really shouldn't follow whoever it was.

But if she didn't, then who would?

With that sorted, she mounted her broom and took off after the person, making sure to keep out of the line of sight. Just inside the cover of the trees, she began to make out hushed voices, and she quietly urged her broom a bit closer, coming to hover in the branches above the noises.

It was Quirrell and Snape. Snape was leaning over Quirrell threateningly, his face set in a sneer. She couldn't see Quirrell's face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. "... d-don't know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…"

Snape's icy voice sent a tendril of dread down Primrose's spine, and she had to fight the urge to flee. "Oh, I thought we'd keep this private. Students aren't supposed to know about the Philosopher's Stone, after all."

Quirrell began to stutter out a reply, but Snape talked right over 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," Snape hissed, stepping even closer.

Quirrell stuttered something else, but Primrose couldn't hear it over the sudden hoot of an owl. She nearly fell off her broom at the loud noise, her heart beating out of her chest. It seemed ages later when the blood finally stopped roaring in her ears.

"-have another little chat soon, when you've had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie."

Snape stalked out of the forest, leaving both Quirrell and Primrose frozen in fear.

Primrose was bombarded by Hermione and Ron the moment she stumbled into the entryway of the castle.

"Primrose, where have you been?"

"We won! You won! We won! And I gave Malfoy a black eye! Neville took on Crabbe and Goyle - he's still in the hospital wing but Madam Pomfrey says he'll be fine-"

Ron looked entirely too happy for someone with a split lip. Primrose shook her head. "Forget about that, I have to tell you something important!"

She pulled them into an abandoned classroom, making sure no one was around, and told them what she'd heard in the forest.

"So, let me get this straight," Hermione said, her face falling. "The only thing standing between Professor Snape and the Philosopher's Stone... is Professor Quirrell?"

"Bloody hell," Ron groaned. "It'll be gone by next Tuesday!"