Harry stared up at the blurry faces of the Weasleys and Hermione, his scar faintly burning. He was twisted up in his bedclothes, which he had apparently pulled down to the floor when he fell, and was drenched in cold sweat.
Someone slipped his glasses onto his face, and the worried faces came into sharper focus.
“Harry, what “ what happened? Was there an attack? Was it Voldemort?” Hermione asked, the Weasleys flinching at the Dark Lord’s name as one.
“I “ there wasn’t an attack. I think it was just a bad dream.” As he spoke, Harry realized that he was shaking like mad.
They had learned about Inferi not only in Defense Against the Dark Arts, but in the newspapers, as well. Images of his friends’ animated corpses kept flashing before his mind’s eye, making him shake even harder.
His head pounding and his teeth knocking together in his shock, Harry barely registered Ron and Bill lifting him up and back into his camp bed. He immediately curled up into the fetal position, facing the wall. He wished he could just fall asleep and erase those horrible, blank faces from his mind, yet at the same time he was afraid that if he did fall asleep they would all come back, this time for real.
Harry felt his bed sag down as Mrs. Weasley perched on the edge, and instinctually tensed up as she began to slowly rub his back.
“Off to bed, everyone, Harry’s fine,” she said firmly. “Ginny dear, will you make a cup of tea and bring it up with a vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion?” Harry could hear several pairs of slipper-clad feet shuffle toward the door, could feel the last glances at him as they made their way back down the stairs to their individual rooms.
He laid there motionless, listening to Mrs. Weasley hum a tune he had never heard before, still not responding to her touch. He still could not get their dead, yet somehow half-alive faces out of his head. The room was silent, but for Mrs. Weasley’s humming, and the sounds of Ron and Hermione quietly whispering from Ron’s bed. Finally, Mrs. Weasley spoke. “Harry, do you want to talk about it?”
Harry shook his head, focusing on the quick, light footsteps coming up the staircase. No, He did not want to talk about his dream. He had a feeling that this nightmare would be one of those terrible few ones that takes a long, long time to forget.
He listened as Ginny entered the room, gave Mrs. Weasley the cup of hot tea, and sat on Ron’s bed with Hermione and Ron. Mrs. Weasley tried to get him to talk again. “Harry, you really need to talk about your nightmare.”
Harry sighed. He might as well get it over with. “Voldemort was chasing me,” he said, still facing the wall, “he chased me into a group of Inferi. You all were the Inferi.”
Mrs. Weasley’s hand paused on his back. The only sound in the room was the shallow breathing of himself and his friends.
Harry Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all returned to Hogwarts without incident when the holidays were over. The professors immediately inundated the students with schoolwork, and before Harry knew it winter the snow and ice of winter had been replaced by spring. Harry spent the Easter holidays with his nose in his various textbooks, though luckily he had been able to keep up in all of his classes so far this term. Though his scar had been rather painful on several occasions since school had restarted, and there had been a close call one day in Transfiguration, Voldemort had not attempted to fully possess him since his detention with Snape, and he had been able to stay out of the hospital wing.
The month of May brought hot sunshine and summer wildflowers to the Hogwarts grounds, as well as the Quidditch final. It was Slytherin versus Gryffindor, who was the favorite for the Cup again this year. Harry had swallowed his jealousy and was planning to cheer for the team alongside Hermione up in the stands. Despite his disappointment about not being able to play, he was quite looking forward to the break from studying.
Harry’s plans were changed (for the better, he thought) the day before the match, however, when Katie Bell, Co-Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, ran up to him as he made his way to the Great Hall for lunch.
“Harry, we need you to play Seeker tomorrow,” Katie panted, her cheeks flushed a light pink.
Both Harry and Ron, beside him, did a double take. “What?” asked Harry incredulously.
“Marcus can’t play tomorrow. Potions accident,” she added, waving her hand impatiently when Harry opened his mouth to ask why.
Marcus Fisher was the newest addition to the team. Ginny Weasley’s replacement as Chaser, the seventh year was a short, slightly pudgy boy with excellent aim.
“We need Ginny to play Chaser, and you’re next up for Seeker. I’ve already talked to McGonagall, and she gave us the okay.”
“Excellent!” cried Ron, slapping Harry on the back.
Katie smiled. “We were already the favorite, but we’re sure to win now.”
Harry grinned widely as Ron and Katie talked excitedly, but paused as he noticed Draco Malfoy over Katie’s shoulder; the Slytherin Seeker had an odd, calculating look upon his face.
The next morning Harry suited up with the rest of the Quidditch team, excitement bubbling up in his stomach. He and Ron had practiced for a bit the night before but today was the first time he would be playing Quidditch since autumn.
Out on the pitch, Harry watched the Slytherin Captain try to break Katie’s hand as he mounted his broom, the cheers from the crowd (which were particularly vociferous from the Slytherin and Gryffindor sections) ringing in his ears. Harry glanced over at Malfoy; the pale boy was looking rather smug.
Madam Hooch tossed the bright red Quaffle up, and fourteen players clad in either scarlet or green shot into the air.
High above the rest of the game, Harry circled on his Firebolt, looking around for a flash of gold, occasionally dodging Bludgers and other players.
Malfoy was circling the pitch even higher up than Harry was. However, instead of searching for the Snitch, he appeared to be watching Harry. Figuring Malfoy was just planning on tailing him, Harry ignored him.
The score was ninety to one hundred, Gryffindor in the lead, when Harry spotted the Snitch near the Gryffindor stands. He shot toward it, urging his Firebolt to fly faster and faster. Malfoy was right behind him, but he didn’t seem to be… fighting to get the Snitch before Harry. It was almost as if the Slytherin Seeker did not really want to catch the Golden Snitch.
Slightly puzzled at Malfoy’s odd behavior, Harry reached forward and grasped the Golden Snitch. The roar of the spectators rooting for Gryffindor had just began to reach its loudest yet when Harry suddenly felt a tug around his navel and left the Quidditch pitch in a rush of color.
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It Had to Happen in Snape's Class by nerd2006
Chapter Notes: Yes, I know, finally.
Beta read by ddamato.