the marriage stone (Discontinued)

Chapter 10 - Swords and Arrows

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.