The baker and the potion master

Chapter eighteen: learning the score and buttering the scone

Severus descended the stairs, avoiding most of the squeaks and creaks in the aged wood. He entered the living room on his way to the kitchen. He knew he could have called Kreacher for anything he or Potter may have needed, but Severus had needed to stretch his legs. Once Potter had rolled off of him, his bladder had made its presence known. He was thirsty, too. He'd get a glass of water before he returned to Potter.

Weasley stood from a chair, knocking it to the floor in his haste. The loud clatter startled Severus. He had forgotten that the two were still here. Severus tensed, gritting his teeth to keep in a surprised shout. The young redhead turned hopeful eyes towards the Potions Master. Severus stopped in the doorway, glancing over to see Granger pick the chair up, righting it.

"Sir?" Weasley asked. "How's Harry?"

"Sleeping," Severus replied. He stood stiffly, one hand brushing the door frame. He glanced between the two of them. "I just needed to get something from the kitchen."

"He had another nightmare, didn't he, sir," Granger said, her voice soft.

"He did." Severus sighed. He had better just update the pair before returning to Potter. He knew they'd pester him until he did. Severus sat down in one of the chairs, his back straight. He glanced between the two of them. Granger was smarter – always had been too smart for her own good. Severus steepled his fingers in front of his lips. Perhaps she might be able to answer some questions he had about the Snitch he had seen. "You know what his nightmares are about, don't you?"

"Yes," Granger didn't glance away, her eyes fixed on Severus'. "The final battle. The Shrieking Shack. You after Nagini attacked. He told us about them."

Weasley sat down next to Granger on the love seat, his fingers intertwining with hers. He said, "It's always that nightmare, sir."

"Always?" Severus' eyebrows rose, surprised. "He hasn't spoken of any other nightmares? I'm sure Potter would have enough fodder from the War to provide a lifetime of them."

"That's what he said." Weasley sighed. "It doesn't make sense. You lived, sir. Why would he have nightmares that you died?"

Severus knew why. He had died that night. Chills ran down his spine as he acknowledged that fact again. Somehow, something had brought him back. Whatever Potter had done, there obviously had been a price. Potter paid it every time he slept, it seemed. Whatever the magic was that had been used to resurrect Severus, it had burrowed into the young man's magical core, exhausting Potter. It explained, too, why the potions to keep him asleep and to mend it had such a hard time working.

"A golden snitch," Severus murmured, seeing the glint of it peek from Potter's jacket pocket in his mind's eye. He didn't understand why that object drew his attention so. It bothered him almost as much as what plagued Potter's sleep. He swore he heard it whisper his name to him again.

"What about a golden snitch, sir?" Granger asked. A questioning look crossed her face before the dawn of realization bloomed in her eyes. "You saw it in the nightmare, didn't you, sir?"

Severus sat forward. "What do you know about the golden snitch Potter carried that night? I don't think it's just in his nightmare."

"No." Granger bit her lip. "Harry had it that night. Dumbledore left it to him in his will. He wouldn't let go of it. It's the snitch Harry caught in his first ever Quidditch match, sir."

It couldn't be that simple. Albus Dumbledore wouldn't bequeath a simple keepsake to Potter just for sentimental reasons. Severus knew that the man had deeper reasons than that for gifting it to the young man. If the old Headmaster had given this to Potter, he had done so because it had a purpose connected to the War. Despite the outward appearances of being a kind and sentimental old man, Severus knew a shrewd war general had hidden underneath that facade. Albus Dumbledore couldn't resist a Machiavellian scheme when given the opportunity.