Chapter 8: Training and Civility
Over the course of the next few days, the Fellowship and the oldest students in the school exchanged knowledge. The visitors
learned the way spells worked, and what spells looked like when they were cast, so they wouldn't freak out too much when
magic started flying around them in the battle. The students, and most of the professors, looked to the guests to learn
non-magical battle skills. The school's ancient armories were emptied of bows, arrows, swords, and magical shields, among
other various protective spells. Half of the students went with Aragorn to learn sword-fighting, and the faculty and other half of
the student body stayed with Legolas to learn how to shoot with a bow and arrow. This physical training was especially
uplifting for the students who weren't that proficient in curses and hexes. Everyone figured the Death Eaters wouldn't be
expecting a physical attack, and the element of surprise is always an advantage.
The only professor not present was Snape, who had locked himself in the dungeons and was brewing a fresh batch of
dangerous potions that were put into vials and then hurled at the enemy like a Muggle grenade. Dumbledore sent Harry down
to check on the professor's progress. Harry snickered as he walked up to the castle because the Headmaster's long white
beard kept getting tangled in the bowstring he was practicing with.
Harry knocked on the door of Snape's dungeon. A cruel shout answered back, "What?! What do you want?!"
Harry stammered, "Sir, Professor Dumbledore sent me to see how the potions were coming along."
He heard a lock unlatch itself and the door opened an inch. He could see his potion teacher's dark penetrating eye through that
crack. The cold voice came again, "Ah, Potter, everyone's favorite hero. Thought you'd get yourself more fame by bringing in
a troupe of weirdos, didn't you? Well, I see right through your charade. It's always about you, isn't it?"
"No, Professor, it's not," said Harry through clenched teeth. "I was thinking about the safety of everyone, including you, when
I cast that spell! Don't you think it's time to put aside our differences and stand together against a common enemy? Don't you
think it's time to grow up? Just…what should I tell Dumbledore?"
Snape's harsh sneer faded into a simple frown. He's right, Severus thought, it is time. "Tell him that I have it covered,
Potter."
Harry nodded and turned to go, feeling disappointed, and he didn't know why.
Then Snape spoke again, "…Harry?"
Surprised, the young wizard turned to face his potions master once again.
"Harry, be careful, you know not the pain that Voldemort can bring upon you."
The young wizard thought back to all the times his scar had burned with unimaginable pain, all the times he'd had to put up with
people gawking at him, and having to face Voldemort and pretend he wasn't scared out of his mind. He responded, "Yes, Sir,
I do know."
For a moment, a look of understanding passed between the ex-nemeses. Harry, hoping he wasn't making a mistake, extended
his hand. Snape took it, and they shook hands, comrades in pain and war.
Then Harry left, and for several moments the potions master gazed after him, surprised at how he could have been so cruel to one of his students, no matter who their parents were. Thoughtfully, he went back to work, but this time left the door open, so that anyone could walk in. One never does know when a friend may appear.