Broken Arrow
Rated R
2/14/2004
by brensgrrl
Story Two in series of three beginning with A New Country. My everlasting thanks to Zaileia and Sapphire for their fast and wonderful Beta work on this.
****************************************************************************
Do you feel what I feel? Can we make it so that's part of the deal--
I gotta hold you in these arms of steel--lay your heart on the line this time
I wanna breathe when you breathe, when you whisper like that hot summer breeze
Count the beads of sweat that cover me; didn't you show me a sign this time?
Can you see what I see? Can you cut behind the mystery?
I will meet you by the witness tree, leave the whole world behind. . .
Who else is gonna bring you a broken arrow?
Who else is gonna bring you a bottle of rain?
There he goes, moving across the water. . .
There he goes, turning my whole world around. . .
--- Robbie Robertson
Hazel-brown eyes met his unflinchingly, causing the professor to bite back the 'What?' that was clinging to the tip of his tongue. Eyes crystalline with knowing.
And Snape knew that his characteristic wounding scowl was worthless now. When confronted, any other student would look anywhere but directly at his face.
This was Ron Weasley, though, and Weasley was different. He had always been different.
On those numerous occasions when the boy had been caught absolutely red-handed at one insufferable stunt or another, he would always gawp directly while mouthing off denials and rationalizations, too Gryffindor-bold or just plain stupid to look away in shame. Even so, this was the first time Snape could ever recall feeling actually pinned by such an unfaltering gaze from the boy. He was the one who felt like flinching away from those eyes.
There was no need to have Weasley declaim his last statement. Snape knew perfectly well what the young man said, words somehow disquieting and wonderful and freighted with certainty.
Words that now congealed time and made warmth swell in the space just under his breastbone.
Words that spoke of an end to his solitude.
He had always been alone. At first, seclusion was not his preferred choice, and he would never admit to anyone that the isolation imposed by the implacable cruelty of life had frightened and angered him. It had been an exercise in futility to fight the friendlessness that seemed to be his lot. It was the product of his environment and upbringing, so he embraced it. A bit later he found it useful to be set apart, wanting the finer details of his existence to remain shrouded in obscurity, the better to harden himself and to disarm or unbalance any rivals for the Dark Lord's favor. Then, the necessities of his work with the Order had demanded that companionship be avoided, or at least limited to few people in order to thwart weakness and betrayal. Long ago, he had decided that familiarity of any type was simply not in his own best interests, but reason had never really stifled the wish. The dream.
You.
And me.
Together.
Severus Snape pondered the ultimate irony of it all. From being totally alone, absolutely friendless, solitary, un-forgiven and unforgiving, to being a part of a loud, boisterous, and blindingly red superfluity of people. As if from famine to feast in a single lifetime.
Yet, as always, life seemed to salt every feast with grains of malice. The alarms of insistent logic reminded Snape that he was, after all, the least-liked teacher in the school; and, as such, the persistent victim of odd rumors and bizarre wagers designed to make him an object of derision. He could little afford to take anything at face value. For an instant, he considered the possibility that a Gryffindor prank had sent Ronald Weasley into the dungeons for the simple purpose of 'winding the Potions Master up' for some juvenile pleasure.
As he had done so many times before with miscreant pupils, he summoned his skill as a Legilimens and silently probed the boy's psyche for signs of deceit. Weasley merely tilted his head slightly as the magic grazed him, unwavering, waiting for response, the steady open look on the his face speaking of honest intent.
The boy believed every word he had uttered to be truth.
Still, he was Weasley's teacher, and could never accept an offer like this, at least not now.
But the boy-no, young man-would complete his education in six months and would no longer be subject to the restrictions of a student. And he would no longer be subject to the boundaries of a teacher. Weasley had, after all, grown up into quite an appealing young man. Not specifically handsome by the standards of most people, but certainly attractive. Yes. Perhaps this matter could be more fully explored in a few months time.
No. Not now.
Perhaps not ever.
Why was he even thinking about this? What Weasley was suggesting was wholly improper, a breaking of trust that it had taken him twenty years to build.
No matter that the boy seemed to be a true Seer, or, at least he appeared to actually believe whatever it was he had seen. No matter that some still small something living deep inside him wanted to take this further, wanted to latch onto whatever this was. Snape couldn't allow his own life's course - or this boy's, for that matter - to be dictated by a hungry heart. Somehow, Weasley had to be disabused of the notion that they could ever be intimate.
It was the only proper thing to do.
"'The heart is deceitful above all things," Snape murmured aloud, " and it is exceedingly perverse and corrupt. . .who can know it?'"*
"Professor?"
"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley."
Snape returned to his chair and gestured for Ron to take the one directly opposite.
"Have you spoken to any of your friends about this?" Snape asked.
"No. I didn't think it would be right to tell them about this before talking to you."
"How very decent of you," Snape said, a smirk marking his features, "I'm sure that Professor Trelawney has lectured you on the nature of the future, Mr. Weasley, has she not?"
"There was some discussion of it."
"Well then, please allow me to refresh your memory for a moment," Snape continued in Lecturing Teacher Mode, "I am sure she told you that the future is not a static thing. Rather, it is in constant flux, ever changing and completely influenced by present action. This is part of the theory that there are actually many possible futures, each of which is predicated by our own choices and current events. Has it never occurred to you, Mr. Weasley, that there might be possible futures where we aren't 'together,' as you so blithely put it? Where we might even become enemies? There is a war on, for example. Either one or both of us might die and thus drop out of the timeline altogether. Or I could simply throw you out of here now and put an end to this romantic fantasy of yours straightaway," Snape finished with an offhand wave.
Weasley blinked slowly. "You are not going to throw me out."
Snape decided to cut to the issue. "I have always been a solitary man, Mr. Weasley, and glad of it. You and your friends have always considered me little more than a 'greasy bastard'; to put it bluntly, out to ruin your fun. What has brought about such a change in your attitude? Whatever has now made you so very certain that you have any place in my future?"
Ron stared at his hands as they rested in his lap for a moment, and then looked up with a soft smile. "I know this whole thing sounds forward; it sounds bad, but it isn't really. I'm not joking either. And I don't think you are 'greasy'.
"How admirable."
"But, you have to believe me. We should be together. I mean, we will be together."
"Ah, fate," he sneered, "tell me then. If we are so fated for consortium in the future, why don't you simply wait for it to happen? 'Que sera, sera' as they say. Why are you here now?"
Weasley smiled.
"I only found out that we would be. . . in each other's company, not how we started. Besides, how do you know that this conversation isn't how everything actually begins? And it's like Christmas, you know. I feel as if Christmas is coming and I know that I am going to get everything I always wanted, and just knowing that makes waiting that much harder. I guess I just want to open my present early, if you know what I mean."
"And, of course, this gift that you want to help yourself to right now is me?"
Ron visibly reddened, but did not avert his gaze from Snape's face.
"It all started last summer, you know. This 'Seeing.' At first, I didn't know what it was. It was all just bits and pieces of things, not much actually. Nothing that I could really understand. I saw a lot of things just before drifting off, so I thought that I was dreaming."
Ron shifted in his seat, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, fingers tip to tip, steepled, before continuing.
"You know, flickers of images, like the way things appear and disappear in between flashes of lightening whenever there's a storm at night. Where you only seem to get a vague idea of where you are, of what's around you. . ."
"No, I don't know, Mr. Weasley. And you haven't answered my question."
"I'm coming to that," Weasley said, finally averting his eyes, "anyway, I saw myself as Head Boy."
"Funnily enough, you are Head Boy."
"Yes, but that was at the beginning of last summer holiday before I got notice. I also found out that I would get the third highest NEWT's right after Hermione and Malfoy, and I saw that I would complete my Auror training before the War actually begins."
Snape considered this.
Since the end of last term Weasley had changed academically. Before, the boy had always been content to merely perform at a satisfactory level, just enough to get by. But the past eight months had been different. It did seem that he had abandoned his previous desire to waste his mental abilities solely on Quidditch, and he now was turning in superior level schoolwork. Snape recalled his flawless preparation of the Sentinel Elixir Potion, and the accompanying essay on theory and variations. Work so very well done that he was moved to comment on it directly in class.
Could it well be that his certain knowledge of his own future as an Auror was motivating this improvement? And if he had certain knowledge of that, then what of the other?
"Which explains your sudden conversion to a studious nature. . ."
"Please let me finish," Weasley said, brown eyes locking with his again in a steady gaze, "I saw us in the War. You and I. Fighting the Dark side by side. Erm, I mean, we will be helping each other. "
"Lovely," Snape drawled, "Helping me, eh? Now let me guess what happens next. I suppose that passion will flare during the heat of battle and declarations of undying love will be made over the cooling bodies of our enemies. . ."
Ron stood and crossed the floor, dropping to his knees in front of where his teacher sat. Boldly, he took Snape's hands in his.
"Don't, he said softly, in a breath, his thumbs stroking the backs of Snape's hands, a quieting gesture.
"At first, I didn't want to see this, either. It just was weird. Kept hoping it was only a dream; that it would go away. It didn't, so I fought it, but the more I had that vision, the more I understood. Then I just didn't want to fight it anymore. Then I just let those images come to me and I was able to reckon so many new things. I know so much now. Things about you, who you really are."
"Ron," Snape said brokenly.
"Yes Severus," Weasley smiled and adjusted his grip on Snape's hands so that they were palm to palm, fingers twining , "I know you," he continued tenderly, "you won't be able to drive me away by acting like that. I ...I want you. And you want it...this. Me. I Know that you do, Tell me you don't..."
Snape's breath hitched for a second with wonder at the warmth and easy familiarity of hearing this young man call him by his given name, of their joined hands, somehow remembering that this token caress of their palms belonged to deeds that were far more intimate. And -Ron -had he called him Ron? -- kneeling before him, a gentle, yet serious expression on his face.
A hope. A dream.
Snape's eyes slid shut and in a moment of utter clarity he knew the very sensation of Ron, all taut muscles and creamy skin and freckles beneath him, whispering and arching into his touch, open and longing.
You and me.
Together.
Words he would never admit to actually having heard himself in the muzzy seconds just before sleep. Words that echoed in rare moments of peace when his brain attempted to sort through the random detritus of chaotic days. Words that whispered hope whenever the dark mark burned. Words that were the soothing balm in the aftermath of Cruciatus.
An epiphany.
Their fingers. Lacing as tightly as their bodies did; being so very deep-oh! -- so very lost inside this boy that he couldn't tell where he ended and Ron began.
Undone! And the little thing that lived deep in the center of him told him oh yes, that this was truly his, and commanded that he steal the boy's breath in a kiss.
Now, oh right now!
And he did.
****************************************************************************
Author's Note:
o Snape is quoting from the Hebrew Scriptures of the Holy Bible, specifically Jeremiah 17:9.
o The name of this story was derived from a song written by Robbie Robertson, who is of Navajo extraction.
o The phrases "Broken Arrow" and "Bottle of Rain" are Native American expressions, meaning (respectively) "Peaceful End of Conflict" and Good Prospects/Good Fortune. For one to actually give another a 'broken arrow" in consort with an entire "bottle of rain" (more than one drop of rain), would actually signal the intention to have or develop a lasting strong relationship with the other party, a wish for both peace and happiness.
o Finally, about Sentinel Elixir. This is a potion designed to guard its user from hexes or curses directed at areas of exposed skin (rubbed into the skin). I made up this potion. Just a little something that I figured a prospective Auror would be interested in.
Rated R
2/14/2004
by brensgrrl
Story Two in series of three beginning with A New Country. My everlasting thanks to Zaileia and Sapphire for their fast and wonderful Beta work on this.
****************************************************************************
Do you feel what I feel? Can we make it so that's part of the deal--
I gotta hold you in these arms of steel--lay your heart on the line this time
I wanna breathe when you breathe, when you whisper like that hot summer breeze
Count the beads of sweat that cover me; didn't you show me a sign this time?
Can you see what I see? Can you cut behind the mystery?
I will meet you by the witness tree, leave the whole world behind. . .
Who else is gonna bring you a broken arrow?
Who else is gonna bring you a bottle of rain?
There he goes, moving across the water. . .
There he goes, turning my whole world around. . .
--- Robbie Robertson
Hazel-brown eyes met his unflinchingly, causing the professor to bite back the 'What?' that was clinging to the tip of his tongue. Eyes crystalline with knowing.
And Snape knew that his characteristic wounding scowl was worthless now. When confronted, any other student would look anywhere but directly at his face.
This was Ron Weasley, though, and Weasley was different. He had always been different.
On those numerous occasions when the boy had been caught absolutely red-handed at one insufferable stunt or another, he would always gawp directly while mouthing off denials and rationalizations, too Gryffindor-bold or just plain stupid to look away in shame. Even so, this was the first time Snape could ever recall feeling actually pinned by such an unfaltering gaze from the boy. He was the one who felt like flinching away from those eyes.
There was no need to have Weasley declaim his last statement. Snape knew perfectly well what the young man said, words somehow disquieting and wonderful and freighted with certainty.
Words that now congealed time and made warmth swell in the space just under his breastbone.
Words that spoke of an end to his solitude.
He had always been alone. At first, seclusion was not his preferred choice, and he would never admit to anyone that the isolation imposed by the implacable cruelty of life had frightened and angered him. It had been an exercise in futility to fight the friendlessness that seemed to be his lot. It was the product of his environment and upbringing, so he embraced it. A bit later he found it useful to be set apart, wanting the finer details of his existence to remain shrouded in obscurity, the better to harden himself and to disarm or unbalance any rivals for the Dark Lord's favor. Then, the necessities of his work with the Order had demanded that companionship be avoided, or at least limited to few people in order to thwart weakness and betrayal. Long ago, he had decided that familiarity of any type was simply not in his own best interests, but reason had never really stifled the wish. The dream.
You.
And me.
Together.
Severus Snape pondered the ultimate irony of it all. From being totally alone, absolutely friendless, solitary, un-forgiven and unforgiving, to being a part of a loud, boisterous, and blindingly red superfluity of people. As if from famine to feast in a single lifetime.
Yet, as always, life seemed to salt every feast with grains of malice. The alarms of insistent logic reminded Snape that he was, after all, the least-liked teacher in the school; and, as such, the persistent victim of odd rumors and bizarre wagers designed to make him an object of derision. He could little afford to take anything at face value. For an instant, he considered the possibility that a Gryffindor prank had sent Ronald Weasley into the dungeons for the simple purpose of 'winding the Potions Master up' for some juvenile pleasure.
As he had done so many times before with miscreant pupils, he summoned his skill as a Legilimens and silently probed the boy's psyche for signs of deceit. Weasley merely tilted his head slightly as the magic grazed him, unwavering, waiting for response, the steady open look on the his face speaking of honest intent.
The boy believed every word he had uttered to be truth.
Still, he was Weasley's teacher, and could never accept an offer like this, at least not now.
But the boy-no, young man-would complete his education in six months and would no longer be subject to the restrictions of a student. And he would no longer be subject to the boundaries of a teacher. Weasley had, after all, grown up into quite an appealing young man. Not specifically handsome by the standards of most people, but certainly attractive. Yes. Perhaps this matter could be more fully explored in a few months time.
No. Not now.
Perhaps not ever.
Why was he even thinking about this? What Weasley was suggesting was wholly improper, a breaking of trust that it had taken him twenty years to build.
No matter that the boy seemed to be a true Seer, or, at least he appeared to actually believe whatever it was he had seen. No matter that some still small something living deep inside him wanted to take this further, wanted to latch onto whatever this was. Snape couldn't allow his own life's course - or this boy's, for that matter - to be dictated by a hungry heart. Somehow, Weasley had to be disabused of the notion that they could ever be intimate.
It was the only proper thing to do.
"'The heart is deceitful above all things," Snape murmured aloud, " and it is exceedingly perverse and corrupt. . .who can know it?'"*
"Professor?"
"Have a seat, Mr. Weasley."
Snape returned to his chair and gestured for Ron to take the one directly opposite.
"Have you spoken to any of your friends about this?" Snape asked.
"No. I didn't think it would be right to tell them about this before talking to you."
"How very decent of you," Snape said, a smirk marking his features, "I'm sure that Professor Trelawney has lectured you on the nature of the future, Mr. Weasley, has she not?"
"There was some discussion of it."
"Well then, please allow me to refresh your memory for a moment," Snape continued in Lecturing Teacher Mode, "I am sure she told you that the future is not a static thing. Rather, it is in constant flux, ever changing and completely influenced by present action. This is part of the theory that there are actually many possible futures, each of which is predicated by our own choices and current events. Has it never occurred to you, Mr. Weasley, that there might be possible futures where we aren't 'together,' as you so blithely put it? Where we might even become enemies? There is a war on, for example. Either one or both of us might die and thus drop out of the timeline altogether. Or I could simply throw you out of here now and put an end to this romantic fantasy of yours straightaway," Snape finished with an offhand wave.
Weasley blinked slowly. "You are not going to throw me out."
Snape decided to cut to the issue. "I have always been a solitary man, Mr. Weasley, and glad of it. You and your friends have always considered me little more than a 'greasy bastard'; to put it bluntly, out to ruin your fun. What has brought about such a change in your attitude? Whatever has now made you so very certain that you have any place in my future?"
Ron stared at his hands as they rested in his lap for a moment, and then looked up with a soft smile. "I know this whole thing sounds forward; it sounds bad, but it isn't really. I'm not joking either. And I don't think you are 'greasy'.
"How admirable."
"But, you have to believe me. We should be together. I mean, we will be together."
"Ah, fate," he sneered, "tell me then. If we are so fated for consortium in the future, why don't you simply wait for it to happen? 'Que sera, sera' as they say. Why are you here now?"
Weasley smiled.
"I only found out that we would be. . . in each other's company, not how we started. Besides, how do you know that this conversation isn't how everything actually begins? And it's like Christmas, you know. I feel as if Christmas is coming and I know that I am going to get everything I always wanted, and just knowing that makes waiting that much harder. I guess I just want to open my present early, if you know what I mean."
"And, of course, this gift that you want to help yourself to right now is me?"
Ron visibly reddened, but did not avert his gaze from Snape's face.
"It all started last summer, you know. This 'Seeing.' At first, I didn't know what it was. It was all just bits and pieces of things, not much actually. Nothing that I could really understand. I saw a lot of things just before drifting off, so I thought that I was dreaming."
Ron shifted in his seat, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, fingers tip to tip, steepled, before continuing.
"You know, flickers of images, like the way things appear and disappear in between flashes of lightening whenever there's a storm at night. Where you only seem to get a vague idea of where you are, of what's around you. . ."
"No, I don't know, Mr. Weasley. And you haven't answered my question."
"I'm coming to that," Weasley said, finally averting his eyes, "anyway, I saw myself as Head Boy."
"Funnily enough, you are Head Boy."
"Yes, but that was at the beginning of last summer holiday before I got notice. I also found out that I would get the third highest NEWT's right after Hermione and Malfoy, and I saw that I would complete my Auror training before the War actually begins."
Snape considered this.
Since the end of last term Weasley had changed academically. Before, the boy had always been content to merely perform at a satisfactory level, just enough to get by. But the past eight months had been different. It did seem that he had abandoned his previous desire to waste his mental abilities solely on Quidditch, and he now was turning in superior level schoolwork. Snape recalled his flawless preparation of the Sentinel Elixir Potion, and the accompanying essay on theory and variations. Work so very well done that he was moved to comment on it directly in class.
Could it well be that his certain knowledge of his own future as an Auror was motivating this improvement? And if he had certain knowledge of that, then what of the other?
"Which explains your sudden conversion to a studious nature. . ."
"Please let me finish," Weasley said, brown eyes locking with his again in a steady gaze, "I saw us in the War. You and I. Fighting the Dark side by side. Erm, I mean, we will be helping each other. "
"Lovely," Snape drawled, "Helping me, eh? Now let me guess what happens next. I suppose that passion will flare during the heat of battle and declarations of undying love will be made over the cooling bodies of our enemies. . ."
Ron stood and crossed the floor, dropping to his knees in front of where his teacher sat. Boldly, he took Snape's hands in his.
"Don't, he said softly, in a breath, his thumbs stroking the backs of Snape's hands, a quieting gesture.
"At first, I didn't want to see this, either. It just was weird. Kept hoping it was only a dream; that it would go away. It didn't, so I fought it, but the more I had that vision, the more I understood. Then I just didn't want to fight it anymore. Then I just let those images come to me and I was able to reckon so many new things. I know so much now. Things about you, who you really are."
"Ron," Snape said brokenly.
"Yes Severus," Weasley smiled and adjusted his grip on Snape's hands so that they were palm to palm, fingers twining , "I know you," he continued tenderly, "you won't be able to drive me away by acting like that. I ...I want you. And you want it...this. Me. I Know that you do, Tell me you don't..."
Snape's breath hitched for a second with wonder at the warmth and easy familiarity of hearing this young man call him by his given name, of their joined hands, somehow remembering that this token caress of their palms belonged to deeds that were far more intimate. And -Ron -had he called him Ron? -- kneeling before him, a gentle, yet serious expression on his face.
A hope. A dream.
Snape's eyes slid shut and in a moment of utter clarity he knew the very sensation of Ron, all taut muscles and creamy skin and freckles beneath him, whispering and arching into his touch, open and longing.
You and me.
Together.
Words he would never admit to actually having heard himself in the muzzy seconds just before sleep. Words that echoed in rare moments of peace when his brain attempted to sort through the random detritus of chaotic days. Words that whispered hope whenever the dark mark burned. Words that were the soothing balm in the aftermath of Cruciatus.
An epiphany.
Their fingers. Lacing as tightly as their bodies did; being so very deep-oh! -- so very lost inside this boy that he couldn't tell where he ended and Ron began.
Undone! And the little thing that lived deep in the center of him told him oh yes, that this was truly his, and commanded that he steal the boy's breath in a kiss.
Now, oh right now!
And he did.
****************************************************************************
Author's Note:
o Snape is quoting from the Hebrew Scriptures of the Holy Bible, specifically Jeremiah 17:9.
o The name of this story was derived from a song written by Robbie Robertson, who is of Navajo extraction.
o The phrases "Broken Arrow" and "Bottle of Rain" are Native American expressions, meaning (respectively) "Peaceful End of Conflict" and Good Prospects/Good Fortune. For one to actually give another a 'broken arrow" in consort with an entire "bottle of rain" (more than one drop of rain), would actually signal the intention to have or develop a lasting strong relationship with the other party, a wish for both peace and happiness.
o Finally, about Sentinel Elixir. This is a potion designed to guard its user from hexes or curses directed at areas of exposed skin (rubbed into the skin). I made up this potion. Just a little something that I figured a prospective Auror would be interested in.