Chapter 10 - Swords and Arrows
An old familiar, flaring pain in his forehead woke Harry from a sleep haunted by images of death and fire. The dreams too were familiar, the faces of the dead reminding him constantly of the mistakes he had made, and the lives he had taken. He almost welcomed the pain in his forehead now, for it distracted him from the pain in the rest of his body.
Opening his eyes, he noticed a dark shape sitting beside his bedside. Without his glasses, he couldn't see the features clearly, but there was no mistaking that profile framed against the bright light shining in from the window behind him. Severus Snape had a rather distinctive nose, and Harry spared a passing moment to wonder if it had been broken a time or two.
"Professor?" he asked, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. Had he been screaming?
Snape, caught in the act of staring thoughtfully out the window, turned immediately toward him at the sound. Harry wondered how long he had been there. When he'd fallen asleep, Madame Pomfrey had been attempting to kick out his godfather and the others. Had Snape sat with him all night? He thought he remembered someone stroking his hair, but surely that had been Sirius not Snape.
"Ah, Mr. Potter, awake I see," Snape greeted him, his tone resonating with his typical arrogance, and yet somehow lacking the derision Harry was used to. Harry wished he could see his features better, wondering if the man was angry with him. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, sir," Harry responded automatically. He didn't really feel fine. He had a headache, and his body hurt abominably - particularly his shoulder. But he'd live; he supposed that was good enough.
He thought he heard a snort of amusement from Snape, and he squinted up at him again, wondering if that was a twitch of smile he had seen. Surely not.
Then Snape reached for something inside his robes. "I found your glasses," he informed Harry, holding the object up. Then to Harry's surprise, rather than simply hand them to him, he placed them on Harry's face himself, slipping them carefully into position. The room came immediately into focus.
"Thank you," Harry stammered, immediately raising one hand to push the glasses more firmly onto his nose. He discovered instantly why Snape had done it for him - moving his arm hurt! He hissed at the discovery. Snape caught his wrist and pushed it back down onto the bed.
"Let me have a look at your wound, Mr. Potter," he said tightly, and then to Harry's consternation unbuttoned his pajama top and pulled it opened, revealing a heavy white bandage on his right shoulder. Deft fingers removed the bandage swiftly and painlessly, and Harry caught a glimpse of skin blackened with bruising and a barely closed wound just below his collarbone. Snape moved away for a moment, and then was back again, a small blue bottle in one hand, an oily substance on the fingers of his other. He gently began smearing the oil over the bruised skin, those long fingers moving slowly and carefully over every inch of his wound.
Harry sucked in his breath, momentarily baffled by the events. He knew he was wounded of course - could remember the events of yesterday quite clearly. But the reality of the wound caught him off guard. And the memory of an arrow protruding from his shoulder was tenuous and strange. Despite that, it was Snape's behavior that threw him into a riot of confusion. He couldn't recall a single time in all the years he'd know Snape that the man had ever touched him with such gentleness.
Actually he could only recall a handful of times the man had touched him period - and never once to stroke his skin as he was now doing. It was strangely intimate, though he doubted he'd have the same thought if it had been Madame Pomfrey doing it.
But that was just it, wasn't it. This was Madame Pomfrey's job. So why was Snape doing it instead?
But the pain was fading in a most welcomed fashion, and those fingers did feel oddly soothing.
And then Snape was replacing the old bandage with a new one, pulling his pajamas closed and buttoning them back up before Harry could muster up the nerve to say anything in protest. A moment later Snape was sitting down beside him once again, cleaning his hands off on a small cloth, and the whole thing was over.
"How do the other wounds feel?" he asked clinically.
Harry flexed his other arm carefully, remembering having been pierced by a piece of wood. There was a twinge of pain, but nothing severe. And his leg - he flexed his calf. More than a twinge there, but nothing like the pain that had stabbed through his shoulder. "Not as bad," he told Snape.
"Poppy was able to heal those two more completely," Snape explained. "Your bicep was easily mended, and the arrow in your leg missed the bone and went through cleanly. You're very lucky you weren't hurt worse."
Harry frowned, wondering if this was where he'd get the lecture on how he was to blame for what had happened. But nothing more was forthcoming and he glanced up uncertainly at Snape. The man seemed almost pensive. "Were many other people injured?" Ron and Hermione had both looked fine yesterday when they had visited him. But he remembered seeing other people lying in the street. He didn't want to think about the three Death Eaters just yet.
Snape eyes darkened thoughtfully. "There were four people killed - Hogsmeade residents. And there were about a dozen wounded - but no one else as severely as you."
Four people killed. Harry paled. They must have gone down in the initial volley while he was diving for cover. He should have yelled something when he'd seen the Death Eaters coming toward him - should have warned the people in the street to dive for cover instead of just saving himself.
"It's not your fault," Snape's voice was firm and somewhat angry. The sound startled him and he looked up in surprise.
"I saw them in the weapons shop," he explained. "I should have-"
"No," Snape cut him off. "It's not your fault. They saw you, they attacked. The blame lies entirely with them. As for the people in the street - there were dozens of fully trained wizards and witches out there, and not one of them returned fire. Let them take the blame for their own cowardice."
Harry felt a flare of anger at his words. "They're shopkeepers and merchants. You can't expect them to- "
"No," Snape cut him off again. "I suppose it would be utterly foolish of me to expect shopkeepers and merchants to act like heroes. About as foolish as it would be for a sixteen-year-old boy to take the blame for the actions of a group of evil psychopaths he has no hope of controlling."
Harry blinked at him in surprise. He wasn't certain, but he thought Snape had just perhaps complimented him, implied that he had acted like a hero while trying to ease his guilt at the same time. He wasn't certain how to take that - not used to receiving compliments from Snape.
A sound at the door spared him from responding, and a moment later Sirius and Remus entered the room, smiling brightly when they saw that Harry was awake. He grinned at them both, noting the glare his godfather threw Snape. He vaguely remembered asking his godfather not to fight with Snape, worried about what might happen. Sirius was somewhat hotheaded, and he didn't want him getting in trouble. Not to mention the fact that Snape didn't deserve Sirius's anger - the man had saved his life yesterday, and not for the first time. He could still remember the relief that had washed over him when he'd seen Snape and Dumbledore arriving in the midst of the fire.
"How are you feeling, Harry?" Sirius asked, followed by a dozen more questions about his wounds, his aches, his pains, his fever, his sleep, his treatment. Harry was a bit overwhelmed by the man's attention, though it was nice to have someone worry over him - he'd never experienced that as a child. The few times he'd been sick as a child, his aunt had simply locked him in the cupboard and peeked in once every day or so to see if he were dead yet. He could vaguely recall her being disappointed every time he recovered.
Remus merely smiled at Harry and watched Sirius with a look of amused indulgence in his warm eyes. Snape just watched in stony silence, and Harry found himself actually surprised that the Potions Master hadn't left at the first opportunity. Madame Pomfrey entered, shoeing them away from his bedside. She checked him over swiftly, pronounced his wounds as healing nicely, and then went off to find him some breakfast while the three men returned to his side, settling back down in chairs around his bed. Again Harry was surprised that Snape chose to remain in the company of the two Marauders.
"I spoke with the Auror in charge of the investigation in Hogsmeade," Remus informed Harry after they had settled back down. "Apparently those Death Eaters were attempting to purchase a rather large quantity of weapons from a store owner. There have been other such purchases in other cities all over England."
Harry frowned at that, understanding the implications. Voldemort was amassing his army - and arming them for battle apparently. But the Muggle side of Harry was baffled by the details. "Why crossbows and swords?" he asked in confusion. "Wouldn't machine guns be a lot more practical? Seems to me a M16 could do a hell of lot more damage than a crossbow."
"Muggle weapons?" Remus shook his head. "They're really not that useful against wizards, Harry."
Sirius nodded in agreement. "I'm not certain what an M16 is, but I'm assuming it's a gun of some sort. And they all require some form of gunpowder to work - there are a dozen different spells that can render gunpowder useless."
He hadn't thought of that - but he supposed without the gunpowder the guns wouldn't be able to fire. "But then why not just put spells on the guns to protect them from those spells?"
"It wouldn't make much of a difference, Mr. Potter," Snape told him. "Even if the guns did fire, it's quite easy to shield against the bullets. Even the Muggles can build body armor that deflects bullets. It's easy enough for a wizard to do the same thing."
"Then put spells on the bullets to penetrate the shields," Harry insisted.
"Putting a protective spell on an object and putting a spell on an object to make it do something specific are two very different things," Remus replied. "The first is common magic, easily done. The second however is not common - you are in essence creating a magical artifact. And while not impossible to do, it is difficult, and it requires a stable structure."
"Stable structure?" Harry frowned, glancing back and forth curiously between the three men. Wasn't every day he got a lesson in weapons design, particularly not from this unlikely trio.
"A sword does not change its shape or structure when it is used," Snape explained. "Neither does an arrow. A bullet on the other hand changes drastically. It is superheated by the initial explosion of gunpowder, and it becomes flattened or misshapen on impact. It doesn't retain any sort of stable structure, so it can't hold a spell. The same goes for Muggle explosive devices."
"Then Voldemort will use swords and arrows?" Harry asked. He had always assumed that the Wizarding World kept themselves hidden from the Muggle World out of fear - that if it came right down to a fight, Muggle technology would overwhelm the Wizarding World. But if what he was understanding was right, that was not the case at all. Perhaps it was the Muggle World they protected by staying hidden?
"But who even knows how to use a sword nowadays?" Harry asked. In culture and fashion the Wizarding World reminded him of something out of the middle ages, but he had yet to see any sort of sword fighting. So far the Death Eaters had relied entirely on magic and their wands to fight their battles. The two arrows he'd been shot with had been his first exposure to such an attack.
"If I remember correctly, Severus is an excellent swordsman," Remus remarked mildly. "And Sirius wasn't so bad a long time ago."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise, and he glanced between Snape and Sirius in confusion, wondering if Remus was joking. Snape's features were unreadable as usual, but Sirius had an odd twisted smile on his lips.
"It's common practice amongst all the older pureblood families to teach their children swordplay and archery, Harry," his godfather explained. "I learned what I had to, so did your father. He was actually quite a decent archer, though he never cared for the sword. But it was the Slytherins who took the training seriously."
"I don't understand," Harry protested. "If it's so common why don't we learn it in school?" He hadn't known the first thing about using a sword when he'd killed the Basilisk in second year with Godric Gryffindor's sword - the idea that he 'should' have known something was alarming.
"That's because polite society frowns on the practice, Harry," Remus explained. "Can you honestly imagine someone like Arthur Weasley condoning something so violent?"
"Violent?"
"Blood sports, Harry," Sirius explained, throwing a dark glare at Snape. "Sword duels with live weapons. They're officially frowned upon, but the Ministry never actually banned them - something 'certain' families took full advantage of." There was no doubt by the tone of his voice which families he was implying.
Harry suddenly remembered his first night in Snape's chambers - seeing the faint scars upon pale skin. He recalled his surprise at how toned and fit Snape was, wondering what it was he did to keep himself in such good shape. And he remembered thinking that the scars looked as if they had come from knife wounds. He looked up at Snape in shock. "The scars," he whispered softly, his words barely audible. Not knives, but swords.
Snape's eyes narrowed at Harry's words, and Harry flushed remembering that he really shouldn't have been staring so intently at the man that night. And he was certain the last thing he wanted to do was explain to Sirius that he'd seen scars upon Snape's body while he was sleeping in the man's bed. His godfather would go through the roof.
"Snape here was quite fond of sword play, weren't you, Snape," Sirius continued, having missed Harry's words. "Had a sword laced with silver if I remember correctly." His words were hard and filled with anger, and had a profound affect on both Remus and Snape. Remus stiffened, his features growing shuttered and distant. Snape rose swiftly to his feet, Sirius immediately mirroring his action on the opposite side of Harry's bed. Harry knew there was a lot of bad blood between the lot of them, and he understood what the significance a silver-laced sword would hold for a werewolf. But watching Snape and Sirius tear each other apart over something that happened over twenty years ago wasn't going to help anyone, and Harry could see that the two were about to leap at each other's throats.
Harry reacted without thinking, scrambling up onto his knees on the bed, his hands shooting out to either side, palms connecting with the chest of both men before they could move toward one another, Harry's own body between them. A second after he moved he regretted it - of course then it was too late - pain flared through him, and he felt the wound in his shoulder ripping open. His hands closed convulsively in pain, fingers tangling in the shirts of both men as a moment later that was all that was keeping him upright.
"Harry!" Sirius and Snape caught him at the same time, before he could pitch face forward on the bed. He hissed in agony, body going limp as the two of them lowered him back down onto the mattress. His head swam with blackness mixed with flashes of painful light.
"Get his shirt open," someone ordered - Snape he thought; and then he felt trembling hands at his buttons - Sirius this time.
"Merlin! He's bleeding again!" definitely Sirius that time, voice filled with panic - someone else called for Madame Pomfrey. He felt the soothing fingers returning, stroking his burning flesh - Snape taking away the pain once more as he tried to fight his way back to full consciousness. Not easy to do when his head was spinning.
And then distantly he heard Madame Pomfrey's voice, murmuring softly, soothing him, murmuring again, and then finally yelling in anger. "Out! Out! Both of you! The polite, quiet werewolf can stay but you two idiots can get out of my hospital right now!"
More protesting - Sirius and Snape both this time. And then finally blessed silence. Harry let himself drift for a while, slipping in and out of sleep before he finally roused himself with the thought that he should make certain Sirius and Snape hadn't killed one another yet.
Opening his eyes, he found Remus seated alone beside him, a worried look on his face. "They kill each other?" Harry asked weakly.
Remus just shook his head. "No, ripping open your own wound right in front of them was an effective deterrent. How are you feeling?"
"Immensely stupid," Harry replied. "Forgot I was wounded."
"Those two have a talent for driving people to distraction," Remus smiled. "Sirius isn't handling this whole marriage thing that well."
"Guess Snape's the last person he would have picked," Harry laughed weakly.
"Pretty much," Remus agreed. "Of course it's not just Snape; I don't think Sirius is all that crazy about marriage in general. He was never big on monogamy."
Harry's eyes widened in surprise. Wasn't often he got to hear pieces of information like that about his godfather - certain subjects had sort of been off limits. Dating hadn't been something either of them had ever been comfortable talking about. But before Harry could ask questions, Remus moved on. "I meant to ask, how did Severus get chosen? I heard about Fudge's adoption scheme and why you had to get married. But wouldn't Hermione have been a better choice for you? Or one of the Weasleys? I would have guessed Ginny would have been happy to marry you."
"Ginny was too young," Harry admitted. "She was not yet fifteen. And Hermione. . ." Harry broke off and shook his head. "She's like a sister to me, and besides Ron likes her."
Remus nodded in understanding. "What about Bill or Charlie then? Or surely there must be a dozen young women in this school who would have been happy to step in?"
"Well, part of the problem was everyone said Fudge would probably contest the marriage," Harry explained. "Which meant they needed to find someone who had both the money and the power to stand up to the Ministry, which didn't leave a whole lot of options. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley didn't think their family had enough influence. And then there was this whole thing with something called the Marriage Stone."
Remus' eyes widened in shock. "The Marriage Stone? Dumbledore used the Marriage Stone? That thing has been responsible for some of the most disastrous marriages in Wizarding history. No one uses it anymore."
"I heard about the Guinnevere-Lancelot thing."
"Not to mention the Trojan War - Helen looked into it and instead of seeing her husband King Menalaus, she saw the Trojan Prince Paris and promptly ran off with him," Remus told him.
"Dumbledore said it was safe enough as long as you weren't already married when you looked into it," Harry said sheepishly.
"But what if the person it showed you had been married already?" Remus asked. "What if you'd looked into it and it had shown you that your perfect match was this beautiful amazing woman who was already married to someone else. The idea of a perfect match, a soul mate so to speak, is a very powerful concept. No matter how honorable your intentions, somewhere in the back of your mind you'd always wonder about what might have been - that's often all it takes to ensure that someone's never truly happy."
"Well, that didn't happen," Harry said hesitantly, thinking once again that Dumbledore was perhaps slightly more off his rocker than he thought. Seemed a ridiculous risk to take.
Remus just shook his head ruefully. "No, it didn't. Instead it showed you Severus Snape. You must have been thrilled."
It was said with such a deadpan tone of voice, Harry had no choice but to laugh. "You can't begin to imagine," he agreed. "Madam Hooch was convinced that it was broken. I'm inclined to agree with her."
"You two aren't getting along?" Remus guessed.
"No," Harry shook his head vehemently, and then paused realizing that wasn't entirely true. "Well . . ." he sighed. "Maybe a little bit. Better than I thought anyway. But mostly we just hate each other."
Remus stared thoughtfully down at him for a long minute. "He sat with you all night you know," he said softly.
Which answered the question Harry had asked himself earlier. "I didn't say he wasn't a good person. . ." he broke off, not certain what exactly he was saying. "Remus, did he really have a silver-laced sword?"
Remus sighed, a look of profound sadness flooding his eyes. "Harry, that was a long time ago, and we all made so many mistakes back then. We've all changed. There was a time when I would have told you quite adamantly that I hated him. That he was a Death Eater, and a murderer. But I was wrong. I've moved passed all that. Don't let Sirius's anger make you think I share his feelings. I don't."
"Why can't Sirius get past it?"
"Sirius is still trying to piece his memory back together from Azkaban. And unfortunately for him, some of those memories seem like they happened yesterday. He lost twelve years of his life, and he's still trying to catch up. For me the changes in all our situations happened gradually. For Sirius, they happened over night. He's having a hard time accepting a lot of things. He hasn't even really had a chance to deal with your parents' death. He was never given a chance to grieve, let alone accept the fact that Severus was one of the good guys instead of one of their killers. He never saw any of the trials, never heard about anything Severus did for Dumbledore. To him it's like he fell asleep believing one thing, and woke up to discover everyone around him suddenly believes something completely different. You mix yourself into the equation and it just becomes all the more volatile. You're all he's got left."
"He's got you," Harry reminded him. Sirius had both of them.
An odd look crossed over Remus' features and he gave Harry a somewhat twisted smile. "Yeah, he's got me," he agreed softly. "He's just not certain what to do with me."
"What?" Harry stared at him in confusion, wondering what that was supposed to mean.
Remus just shook his head and smiled at him. "Nothing," he assured him. "Sirius is just a bit impulsive some times, and gets some crazy ideas into his head. Don't go letting him stir things up between you and Severus. And what ever you do, don't get between them again. I thought the poor man was going to have a heart attack when you collapsed."
"I didn't want them fighting," Harry admitted sheepishly.
"Guilt works pretty well," Remus told him. "And when all else fails, a rolled up newspaper across the nose usually does the trick."
That almost sounded like something Snape would have said, and the very idea made Harry laugh. "I'm glad you're here, Remus," he said quietly, grateful that his godfather had such a friend at his side, watching his back. It hurt to think of Sirius out there alone on the run from the Ministry and Dementors.
Remus just smiled gently at him, reaching out to pat his hand. "Wouldn't be anywhere else, Harry."