Resonance

Chapter 8 - The Big Match

The last weeks of the term sped past even without examinations looming. Harry kept himself under control and avoided the strange vision. Nevertheless, McGonagall wouldn't let him play in the exhibition match without adding a sticking spell to his broom so he couldn't fall off. That would limit his maneuvering but, despite arguing with her for half an hour, she wouldn't relent. She insisted on it for practices as well. Harry didn't want news of it to spread too far so he told Ron only under the condition that he tell no one else.

The night before the match, Harry had dreams of dark, slippery shadows tracking him in a hazy green landscape. Sticky strands of glowing taffy held him back from running away. He struggled frantically, tangling himself more and more as his pursuers drew closer. He woke with a start before they came upon him.

"Harry?" Ron said from the next bed in a tone that said, this better not be what I think it is.

"Yeah."

"Nightmare?"

"Yep."

"Have any more potion?" Ron suggested.

"No," Harry said.

"Too late to get more?"

Harry glanced at the clock--it read one oh four. "Probably."

He heard the sound of Ron's bedcovers shifting and then. "No it's not. It's just after one."

"You want me to go knock on Snape's door at one in the morning?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Whassa?" Dean said from between the edges of his bed drapes.

"Ron wants me to go down and get a sleeping potion from Snape at one in the morning," Harry complained.

"He needs it--he's having nightmares. Harry, we have one Quidditch match. You need to be at your best. Maybe Dean will go get it for you . . . "

Dean shut his drapes quickly. "G'night," he muttered.

"I'll get it for you," Neville said as he slid out of bed and began to slip on his shoes.

Harry tossed his drapes aside. "Neville, don't do that. You hate Professor Snape."

"So do you," Neville retorted. "It is the least we can do for you. We owe you a lot, Harry."

"No you don't," Harry said in a pained voice.

"I'll go down with you, then," Neville said factually, pulling his robe on.

"Maybe McGonagall would go get it," Ron suggested.

"That's an idea," Harry said. He put on his robe and slippers, and padded out. Neville followed.

They knocked on McGonagall's door. A long minute ticked by before she opened it. She looked like she'd been sleeping heavily. "What is it?" she asked drowsily.

"I'm sorry, Professor. I wouldn't do this if it weren't the night before the only Quidditch match, but I'm having nightmares and I can't go back to sleep without more potion."

"And?" she asked.

"I was hoping you'd get some for me . . ." Harry said with a plead in his voice.

"Potter," she said a little harshly. "You are more than capable of finding the dungeon, even in the dark."

"You're going to make me get it?" Harry asked in surprise.

"Potter, despite your hero status the world, or at least this school, does not revolve around you. Professor Snape doesn't bite; get it yourself."

"I don't think I'll bother then, Ma'am. You don't care if we lose the match?"

She had started to close the door, but held it halfway. "It is a combined Hufflepuff match. It does not matter."

"Boy, Dumbledore really knows how to ruin a Quidditch match," Harry griped. "Professor Snape doesn't care who wins either."

"Then I truly do not care who wins, Harry. Annoying Professor Snape would have been the only remaining consolation. Was there something you wanted, Mr. Longbottom?"

"No, Ma'am, I was just here for moral support."

"Hm. Well, goodnight," she said with some finality and closed the door softly, although the latch clicked loudly anyway.

Harry stepped back, more than a little hurt. He took a few deep breaths and Occluded his mind to keep real anger at bay.

"So we can tell Ron that was a bad idea," Neville commented.

They stepped slowly back down the corridor. "Sounded like a good one. Usually she goes out of her way to help the team."

"I really am willing to go down and get some for you, Harry," Neville insisted. "Snape can't hate me any more than he does already."

Harry scoffed. "Don't bet on that." He exhaled hard, still smarting from McGonagall's dismissal. "Let's go. If we could face Voldemort, we ought to be able to handle Snape."

As it turned out, light was shining from underneath Snape's office door. Harry, relieved to see that, knocked on it. Footsteps came across the floor and the door opened abruptly, making both of them jump.

Snape looked between them with his sharp gaze. "A bit late to be wandering about, isn't it?" he sneered lightly at them as he leaned a bit menacingly out toward them.

"I need more sleeping potion, if you would, sir," Harry explained.

Snape's entire demeanor changed. He straightened and gave Harry a long look before gliding back into his office. Harry and Neville stepped just inside the door to wait. Snape closed a low cabinet and examined a small bottle in his fingers. Harry could see a large grimoire open on Snape's desk. Two lamps were lit to read by. Snape stepped back over with the bottle held out, then retracted it at the last moment as if reconsidering.

"Mr. Longbottom, leave us alone for a minute," Snape said, putting his hand on the door.

Neville glanced at Harry to verify that this was all right, then stepped out. Snape shut the door and kept his hand on it. "What is in your nightmare?" he asked.

Rambling in a tired way, Harry replied, "I'm being chased through a world a lot like the vision, which I haven't had again, by the way. But it isn't the same, really. I think I am just dreaming something like the vision. But I won't fall back to sleep, and I sorta want to be awake for the only Quidditch match of the year." He waited as Snape studied him with his dark eyes. Harry wondered idly why McGonagall hadn't asked what his nightmare was about or worried what his strange vision meant.

Snape held out the bottle.

"Thank you, sir," Harry said honestly as he pocketed it. "It isn't going to be much fun anyway--McGonagall insisted on adding a sticking spell to my broom." Harry immediately thought better of that. "Please don't tell any of the students in your house, sir. I'd never hear the end of it," he added tiredly.

Snape shook his head once. "No one has probably told you this, Potter. But there are those who are certain the remaining Death Eaters are determined to take revenge upon you."

"That wouldn't be too surprising. What else do they have?" Harry thought for a moment. "But we are still having the match. Why?"

Snape raised a brow at him. "Because Dumbledore is determined to cheer you up. That and forty Ministry wizards will be there on guard. I think they are actually hoping the event will draw out the remaining seven, although I would consider it a very unwise way of going about it."

Harry tried to imagine Pettigrew showing up at the match, his metal arm glinting in the sunlight. It didn't seem very likely.

Snape went on. "The insistence on the sticking charm probably has less to do with your propensity to phase out than the inherent risk of getting hit with a spell at a great height."

Harry thought that over. "You are being nicer to me," he commented. At Snape's doubtful look, he added sadly, "All I've ever wanted was to know what was going on."

Snape crossed his arms and straightened his shoulders. "I am not one to bury truths simply because they are dark or negative."

Harry started to reply then thought better of it. He reached for the door handle to leave.

"Yes, Potter?" Snape challenged him, quickly putting his hand on the door to hold it closed.

"I was going to say that you look for the dark and negative, but I wasn't sure if that was a fair thing to say, so I wasn't going to say it," Harry explained. "Sir."

Snape removed his hand and recrossed his arms. "You'd best go if you are going to get much sleep."

As Harry opened the door, he said, "Thank you, sir."

Neville stood, leaning against the far dungeon wall. He pushed away from it as the door opened. "Professor," he said quietly.

Snape gave him a curt nod and closed the door. At the end of the corridor, Neville asked, "What did he want?"

"He wanted to know what my nightmare was about," Harry explained, feeling hurt again by McGonagall's reaction to his asking her for help.

"Did he know what it meant?"

"Not that he said. I don't think it means anything except that I'm keyed up for the match." Harry fingered the bottle in his pocket as they walked, reassured by the distinctive shape of the warm glass.