Title: Salt in the Wound
Author: LinW (Nesting Hedwig)
Rating: PG - R
Pairing: Harold James Potter and Severus Tobias Snape
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited to Scholastic Books and Warner Bros. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended; no monetary gain will be made from this story.
Feedback: www.nestinghedwig@yahoo.com
Beta: None. Any errors are my own.
Archive: Part of the From Dusk till Dawn Severus Snape/Harry Potter Fuh-Q-Fest at http://www.kardasi.com/HPSS/storyindex.htm
Challenge: Wave XI - the History challenge. The War of 1812 - Alternate Reality/No Magic.

Author's Note: In the years between 1803 and 1812 British naval captains seized over 10,000 American sailors to man British ships against their will. This practice was known as impressment. The pressing of American sailors was not the sole cause of what became known as The War of 1812, but it was one of the major deciding factors.

During the early months of the conflict, the HMS Macedonian fought a battle with the USS United States in the Atlantic Ocean some 500 miles west of the Canary Islands. An excerpt of Samuel Leeches' biography “A Voice From The Main Deck” was the reference used to create the following Harry Potter-ized version of this historical event.

*~*~*~*~

Salt In The Wound

*~*~*~*~

“England expects every man to do his duty.”

- Lord Horatio Nelson

Water lapped against the wooden hull of the 38-gun frigate HMS Macedonian , the increasing rhythm a sure indication that the tide was turning. The early fog coated every surface in a cool dampness, forming a halo of light around the many lanterns hung on deck. Sounds echoed strangely off the many ships, merchant and navy vessels alike, moored in the Plymouth Harbor, adding to the tenseness aboard the HMS Macedonian .

Rumors of a declaration of war against America drifted from the storefronts and pubs on shore and ship to ship through the crowded harbor. As many of the crews contained American sailors, the majority of them pressed men, no officer would confirm or deny the rumors until their vessels were safely at sea.

Ship Surgeon Severus Tobias Snape stood on the quarterdeck, his hands clasped loosely behind his back as he surveyed the ship, her crew, and the harbor. He could hear the excited whispers of the midshipmen and junior officers as they joined him on the quarterdeck. He was only thirty-four, but he felt so much older. Had he ever been like them, a raw boy looking forward to his first adventure?

The surgeon's dark eyes closed reflexively as still another rumor was whispered beside him. Severus was tired of ships and he was tired of battles. Once the hostilities with France had abated he had allowed himself to dream of the day he could at last retire to a quiet life on terra firma.

It had been years since the start of a new voyage brought excitement to his heart. His black eyes had seen too much death and destruction. A shipboard hostage, he had witnessed peaceful settlement of the Spithead Mutiny of 1797 and had taken his proud place in Lord Nelson's Fleet during both the Battles of the Nile and of Trafalgar, but the years of endless war had taken a toll on his soul.

Oil lamps illuminated the pale faces of the men huddled on the lower deck in resigned stoicism, their silence broken by the occasional drunken snore or a quivering intake of breath. Severus examined the newest members of the crew – the newly pressed sailors and the even more unfortunate Quota men. Poor bastards, he thought, unwilling “volunteers” in King George III's Navy. He turned his surgeon's eye to the least seaworthy of the lot, hoping they had not been too heavily “recruited” from the prisons and poorhouses. Gaol Fever [Typhus] had killed far more seaman than war ever could.

For once, the Press Gangs did not seem to have savagely beaten too many of the raw recruits. A fair number of the experienced sailors pressed from merchant ships drank themselves into unconsciousness – too resigned to the ways of the Royal Navy to even fight their capture any longer.

Severus found his eyes drawn to a slender bespectacled young man settled a slight distance from the others. The black haired man was clutching an oversized carpetbag as if his life depended upon it and, Severus noted wryly, perhaps it did. If any man looked ill-suited for a life at sea, it was this young man.

~*~*~*~

Captain Lucius Malfoy strode across the deck, Muster Book tucked beneath his arm. Inspecting the ship and the crew before she set sail, the man's nearly colorless eyes missed no detail. Crewmen exhaled breath they had not realized they were holding as he passed them by.

Some captains inspired loyalty and affection from their crews and others inspired respect, but Captain Malfoy was cold and ruthless in both battle and command. He inspired fear.

Lucius ended his inspection towering above the pressed sailors and quota men. His lip curled into a sneer as a lieutenant pointed toward the young man clutching his carpetbag. Lucius waved his hand as if to say “later” and turned his back to the newest members of his crew.

The fog was beginning to thicken. If the HMS Macedonian was to leave the port of Plymouth, they needed to catch the tide.

~*~*~*

One by one the quota men were brought before the Purser to receive their slops [A.N. a kind of naval uniform] and a hammock. They were ordered to place their mark in the Purser's Book, payment for the slops would be deducted from their pay.

Charlie Weasley, Carpenter's Mate, watched the new men with sympathy for their plight. He had been impressed from an American merchant vessel two years prior and despaired at ever returning home again. The rumored war with America left the American sailors aboard with a rather difficult dilemma. They would either be forced to fight their own countrymen or hope the captain would consider them to be prisoners of war and confine them below decks. Not bloody likely.

Charlie examined the bespectacled young man at the end of the line. With his carpetbag firmly between his feet, the man attempted to smooth the dark hair feathering free of his ponytail. There was a bruise on the pale cheek and the sleeve of his well-tailored waistcoat had been torn nearly off at the shoulder. This young gentleman had obviously put up a fight.

Peter Pettigrew, the Purser, looked up at the last man in line, quill poised in hand to enter his name in the receipt book. The young man made no effort to accept the neat pile of hammock and slops.

“Please,” the young man said clearly. “I need to see the captain.”

“He's much too busy to see the likes of you, laddie,” Pettigrew snapped. “Name?”

“There has been a miscarriage of justice…I have to get off this ship.”

Guffaws from the seasoned crew drowned out the purser's response.

The gentleman's voice rose. “I am within my rights to petition the captain…I must get off this ship!”

The Bosun's Mate, Marcus Flint, brought down a rattan cane across the young man's shoulders. Charlie stepped forward, halting the movement of the cane before it landed a second time. The redhead's eyes narrowed; Starting had been banned by the Admiralty as cruel and arbitrary punishment years earlier. Flint should not have had the cane in his possession at all, but only Captain Malfoy could order him not to use it, and every crew member knew that would never happen.

Charlie plucked the cloth bundle from the tabletop and draped a heavily freckled are around the young man's shoulders.

“Let us find a place to hang your hammock, lad…we will see about talking to Captain Malfoy in a day or two.”

“I…”

“I am Charlie, by the way…”

~*~*~*

Harold James Evans Potter flexed his cracked and bleeding fingers. His skin chafed against the unfamiliar coarse fabric of his slops. Like the other unskilled quota men, Harry had been assigned the duty of scrubbing the ship deck on his hands and knees.

He pushed his spectacles up his nose, looking up into the ship's rigging, and watched the topmen work the ropes in utter fascination. Barefoot, the topmen seemed to hang on to the ropes using only their feet while both hands were busy with the task at hand.

Walking carefully through the men and buckets on the deck, Charlie paused beside Harry, his foot nudging the young man in the ribs.

“Eyes to your work, Harry,” he hissed. “Flint's about with his cane, looking for slackers.”

Harry looked up into Charlie's face, his bright green eyes glittering in the sunlight. In a voice edged in wonder, Harry replied. “I have seen topmen in the rigging before…but I never realized they had prehensile feet before.”

Charlie blinked. The young gentleman kept using peculiar words. “Pre…what?”

“Prehensile.” Harry smiled. “It means their feet curl around the ropes like another pair of hands…Never knew a human foot could do that.”

They heard a man's grunt of pain as Flint's cane came down on the shoulders of another quota man scrubbing the deck. Charlie continued to his final destination below decks. Harry stood, wincing as his muscles uncramped. Carrying his bucket, he climbed to another level where he was ordered to scrub an area of already clean decking.

On the quarterdeck above him, Captain Malfoy hailed the lookout about a sail in the distance.

~*~*~*

Charlie plucked Harry's spectacles from his face and tucked them safely into one of his shoes. Exhausted, the young man had collapsed into his hammock without even eating. Charlie climbed into his own hammock two places away.

Seamus Finnegan, a stocky Irishman, strung his hammock between the sleeping Harry and Charlie. He peered at Harry's immobile form in the poor light of the lanterns. Harry's pale skin was burned and peeling and his hands were cracked and swollen.

“Weasley, his eyes are weak and his hands are soft…why are you putting your neck out for the likes of him?”

Charlie ignored the Irishman. Quota men would have to fight for every scrap of respect they would ever earn; even the expendable powder monkeys often held a higher position in ship hierarchy.

Seamus glanced over at Harry's hammock, a sudden thought occurred to him.

“Of course, he does have the bonniest green eyes.” He paused, calculation evident in his brogue. “Are you thinking of taking him as your sea wife?”

Charlie clenched his fists. He remained silent.

“He'd make a fine sea wife…all that bonny black hair…we could share him.”

“Go to sleep Finnegan.” Charlie snapped. “I have no thoughts of opening his back door and I'll gut you if you ever try.”

~*~*~*

Harry's eyes snapped open. Used to sleeping in a bed, the confining hammock would take some adjustment. Without his spectacles, he could only make out blurry shapes in the darkness of the gundeck.

His troubled mind sorted through the past several days and his fingers wrapped around a locket and wedding band he wore on a chain around his neck. He blinked, salty tears threatening to fall. He forced himself to control his shattered emotions as he tried to determine how to extradite himself from the hell he had unwillingly stepped into.

His hand clutched the heavy locket, feeling the weight of the etched silver. He brought the trinket to his lips and kissed it.

“I miss you so much,” he whispered into the darkness and tucked the necklace back into his shirt.

He had been aboard the HMS Macedonian for several days and had still not been summoned to speak with the captain. Charlie told him that they would anchor soon in Torbay, a small port in the British Channel, to await a large merchant vessel sailing to the East Indies with fresh troops and payroll for the British troops stationed there.

If Harry had any chance at returning to his home he needed to speak to Captain Malfoy before they left Torbay. With the threat of war hanging so heavily in the air, it could be months, or even years, before the HMS Macedonian returned to friendly waters.

~*~*~*

“Mast-head there!” [1] a voice boomed from a man perched atop the fore masthead. It seemed to the crew that the rumor of war with America was fast becoming a certain fact. Captain Malfoy had ordered men atop both the fore and main mastheads and the captain had been prowling the deck far more than was his usual habit.

As the HMS Macedonian sailed closer to their destination, the water surrounding them became thick with sails. Captain Malfoy perused his ship and crew, noting a few seemed distracted by the approaching shore. Flint's cane was being put to almost steady use. Lucius wondered how many men would attempt a run when the ship docked.

His eyes drifted to the Master Sailmaker and his small crew. Malfoy noticed the Sailmaker had added two of the quota men to his group, noting the slender black haired man with the spectacles amidst them. Good choice, he thought, with the lad's poor eyesight he would be useless as a topman, but he was probably quick enough to train to the guns as well.

Harry locked his eyes on the captain and was puzzled to see a jolt of recognition in the man's expression.

“Lily,” Lucius exclaimed softly as he stared into the same almond shaped green eyes of a woman he had once loved.

“Pardon me, Captain?” inquired a young midshipman standing unexpectedly at his elbow.

“Mr. Creevey, please locate Dr. Snape and have him join me in the wardroom.”

“Yes, sir.” The thirteen-year-old Dennis Creevey scrambled below the decks in search of the ship's surgeon.

“Mr. Flint,” the captain called out to the Bosun's Mate. “A word please.”

~*~*~*

“Damnation,” Lucius Malfoy cursed as he saw the name neatly signed in his muster book – “Harry James Evans Potter – under protest”. Memories of an angry red haired woman flashed before him as he remembered how he had ignored the young man's reasonable request to speak with him before the HMS Macedonian left Plymouth.

Lucius called his steward, a wizened little man by the name of Dobby, requesting tea. Severus entered the ward room just as Dobby returned with a tea service. The captain briskly dismissed the steward.

Severus accepted a cup of tea from the captain, waiting patiently to determine why he had been summoned to the ward room in the middle of his inspection of the ship. Lucius' anxiety had not escaped his attention; the blond looked as if he had not slept in days.

“I have no men on the sick roster although I did remove a splinter from the foot of one of the ship's boys. All of the supplies ordered for the surgery arrived and have been secured until needed.” Malfoy nodded as Severus recited his report; the captain trusted his surgeon to handle his duties in his usual impeccable manner.

“Are we still heading for Madeira?”

“The East Indian frigate we are to escort has a scheduled stop in Madeira. We will be taking on some wine.”

“Some fruit and vegetables would not be remiss. The greens brought aboard in Plymouth are scarcely fit to feed the livestock.”

“Noted, Dr. Snape.” The addition of fresh produce to the men's diet would help prevent the ravages of scurvy.

A sharp rap at the door ended their discussion.

“Enter,” Captain Malfoy barked.

~*~*~*

Harry stood before Lucius and Severus, his coarsely woven slops defying all attempts to smarten them. The young man looked both of the officers straight in the eye.

“Captain Malfoy, I respectfully request that you release me from His Majesty's Navy and set me ashore once we reach Torbay.”

“By any chance, was your father Captain James Potter of the Alexander ?”

“Yes, sir. He died during the Battle of the Nile…I was eleven.”

“The Alexander took heavy damage when L'Orient exploded…He was a fine captain.”

“Thank you, sir. Did you know my father?”

“Not well and mostly by reputation…I was once friends with your mother. Is Lily well?”

Harry blinked. “I am sorry, sir, to deliver sad news. My mother died several years ago during an influenza epidemic.”

Lucius closed his eyes, a silent player in his mind. He had loved Lily Evans and that damned James Potter married her while Lucius was at sea. He looked upon the young man who was a perfect mixture of the woman he still loved and the man he hated.

“Why should I release you from His Majesty's service?”

“I should not have been seized in the first place. I had papers in my possession giving me safe passage signed by the Admiralty itself.

“I was returning to London from my uncle's funeral in Wiltshire. The coach was stopped by a mob in Stonehenge and every man, with the exception of the driver and the vicar, was pulled from the coach. I presented my Letters of Safe Transit and their leader laughed, tearing them to shreds and into the air for the winds to catch.

“I do not know what I have to do or how much I need to ‘donate'…but I will gladly do it. I have to get back to London.”

“That is impossible, Mr. Potter.”

“You do not understand…My wife died in childbirth four months ago. I have a year old daughter and a three year old son…I will not make them orphans.”

“You did not have your children with you, did you?” Lucius was struck with the horrific thought that the mob had abandoned two parentless infants on a public coach.

“Thank the Good Lord that I left them with their nurse at a house I share with my godfather…but he is ill-equipped to raise two infants.”

“He will do his duty, nevertheless.” Lucius rested his hand on Harry's shoulder, wanting to give comfort to a man who could have been his son. “We are at war with America, Mr. Potter. Willing or not, just or not, I can not release you from the Royal Navy at this time.”

“I wish to file an official complaint with the Admiralty.”

“As is your right as a citizen of the realm…Did you receive the bruising to your face from the Stonehenge mob?”

Harry bit his lower lip. “On our rather uncomfortable journey to Plymouth, a number of us spent the night in the Exeter barracks. I declined an invitation to be thrown onto a table and sodomized by a syphilitic cretin just because he thought my eyes were pretty.”

Severus was surprised, not by the flat description of an attempted rape, but by the young man's unusual choice or words. Commonly the words used were buggary and French pox – not sodomy and syphilis.

“Before you became a member of King George's Navy, what was your profession?” Severus inquired.

“I am a physician and a surgeon. I have a respected medical practice and am a Member of the Royal College of Surgeons in London.”

~*~*~*

“October 1812

My Dearest Godfather,

Although it is several years too late and under highly questionable circumstances, you and my father finally have your wish. I have gone to sea.

I arrived in Wiltshire too late to be of much assistance to my uncle, Vernon Dursley. Gangrene had spread up to his knee. At my aunt and cousin's request, I amputated the leg at the thigh, but, in his weakened state, the shock and blood loss proved to be too much for his poor heart.

Two days after Uncle Vernon was laid to rest, I boarded a fast coach for London. The coach was forced to stop on several occasions by press gangs in search of deserting sailors. The letters of safe passage you insisted I carry proved to be invaluable.

On the outskirts of Stonehenge, the coach was forced to a halt once again by a mob. All male passengers were accosted. The mob was under the command of a local landowner, Cornelius Fudge, who is kidnapping all able-bodied men and boys traveling through his village and forcing them to replace locals in the Stonehenge Quota. When I presented my Letter of Safe Passage, he tore it to shreds and forced me at the end of a pistol to join the other unfortunates.

In an odd quirk of fate, I have found myself aboard ship with your Cousin Narcissa's husband, the “Silver Snake” himself. Due to the hostilities with America, the captain will not release me from duty, but he has promised to post this letter so you will know of my sad fate. He has also placed his signature to my official complaint to the Admiralty.

I have been added to the ship's muster book as a Ship Surgeon and will assist an old acquaintance of yours, one Severus Snape, with his medical duties. I am pleased to finally meet the man who saved your life at the Battle of Trafalgar although I know you curse him daily. If God is not kind, I will be learning battle medicine firsthand from Dr. Snape soon.

I do not know how you are going to explain my disappearance to my beloved infants, my Jamison and Lillianna, for they are much too young to understand that Papa has not abandoned them. I know that this will be a difficult task for a bachelor like yourself, but please keep them safe. Let them know that I love them with all that I am.

With Affection,

Harry

P.S. Even if she insists, do not send my infants to live with my Aunt Petunia. Cousin Dudley remains a drunkard and a bully. I do not wish my children to be exposed to the same abuse I grew up with. - H.J.E.P.”

~*~*~*

Lucius accepted two letters from Harry and ordered him to collect his belongings and report to Dr. Snape for further instructions. As he was now a ship surgeon, Harry could no longer bunk or mess with the men and would be assigned a place with the officers.

Captain Malfoy set aside the incomplete letter to his wife and sorted through the personal letters and official correspondence to be posted in Torbay. His eyes rested on the address Dr. Potter wrote on the letter to his godfather. Lucius recognized the name and felt an uncharacteristic twinge of sympathy for the young physician.

“Captain Sirius Black, Retired

12 Grimmauld Place

London”

Lucius's eyebrow arched. Harry had never identified his godfather by name and Sirius Black was the last name Lucius expected to see. Ill equipped to look after infants was a gross understatement. His wife's cousin was a brilliant, but brash, tactician rising quickly through the ranks of Lord Nelson's Navy until grapeshot fired from a French frigate tore through both of his legs. Severus' quick amputation of both of Black's legs mid-thigh had saved the man's life, but left him an invalid. Severely maimed, was Black even capable of caring for himself let alone care for two small children?

Lucius tucked all correspondence into his satchel before retrieving the half-written letter to his wife.

~*~*~

Harry fastened his linen shirt and tucked it into his wool breeches. The Purser-supplied slops were neatly folded and set aside. He spread out the contents of his large carpetbag on the ward room table for Severus' examination. The surgeon noted and dismissed Harry's few personal effects, focusing his attention to two wooden boxes. Opening the latches, he carefully lined up the surgical implements retrieved from the first box. The second box was slightly longer – containing tourniquet clamps and saws – the tools of amputation. Wrapped carefully in a length of spun wool were two bottles of Laudanum. One of the bottles was nearly empty.

Harry plucked a silver case approximately the size of a hymnal from his meager pile of possessions, opening it to gaze sadly at its contents. He kissed two fingers and pressed them lightly to the flat interior.

Severus quickly compared the medical implements against his own much larger chest. During the ship's scheduled stop in Madeira he would need to see if it were possible to add a few more tools to Potter's medical box as well as procure a heavy apron to cover his clothes during surgery. At the very least, if war with America was imminent, they would need additional Laudanum, salt, thread and needles for surgery.

Harry stowed his wooden boxes where Severus indicated and neatly packed the remainder of his possessions into his carpetbag, hanging it from the same hook as his hammock. Severus mentioned the possibility of one of the carpenter's mates building him a proper chest during the voyage.

With a nod, Harry slipped out of the wardroom and headed to the top deck. The HMS Macedonian was now docked in the middle of the Torbay harbor.

Severus made a few notes in his log book before setting it aside. Curiosity piqued, the surgeon cast an appraising eye on the carpetbag. He waited several minutes before he reached into it and retrieved the flat silver case. Opening it, he realized it was a hinged picture frame.

Three faces in delicate watercolor stared back at him. The left panel held the portrait of a young woman with auburn hair, blue eyes and a soft, round face. Tucked beneath the glass was a thin plait of auburn hair and black ribbon edging the woman's portrait. This was Harry's dead wife. The right panel held two cherubic infants – one with red curls and green eyes, the second black curls and blue eyes – Harry's children. Severus reverently closed the case and tucked it back in the carpetbag for safe keeping.

~*~*~

Harry stood at the railing, his hands unconsciously caressing the smooth surface. He inhaled the sharp scents of the harbor and gazed at the buildings and ships outlined by lantern lights on the piers. He heard a soft splash behind him, followed by a second splash, but he ignored it.

“You are not contemplating making a run for it are you?” Severus asked softly as he stood beside the younger man.

“Contemplating it, yes. Attempting it, no. Lucius Malfoy is not known as the “Silver Snake” for nothing. If I were to jump his ship, he would take it personally. With the power of his patrons, he would destroy my very life with a single letter and think it insufficient punishment.”

The two surgeons stood in silence for awhile, the activity of the harbor fading as the evening wore on. Harry broke their companionable peace.

“I always have found it amusing that most ships are considered to be female. Look at the Macedonian . Her figurehead is in likeness of Alexander the Great. Should she not carry a goddess instead?”

The steady sound of oars pulling through water floated in the air toward them. The pinnacle[2] was returning with Captain Malfoy and First Lieutenant Oliver Wood.

“The Macedonian is a new ship, isn't she?”

“Launched from the Woolrich Dockyards two years ago.”

“Is Captain Malfoy her first captain?”

“Third. Her first was Lord William FitzRoy.”

“I remember him…had a man flogged forty-eight lashes…court martialed, I think.”

Severus gave a snort of disgust. “And reinstated shortly afterward to another ship with no loss of seniority. Sadistic bastard, FitzRoy was…But keep in mind…Lucius Malfoy is cut from much the same cloth.”

Harry peered at the approaching pinnacle and noticed when it veered to the right to intercept something in the murky water.

Severus continued in almost a whisper. “I am probably the closest thing to a friend Lucius has, so take what I say to heart. Watch yourself around him…Lucius Malfoy hated your father.”

“But he seemed quite civil to me several hours ago.”

“You have your mother's eyes,” he replied bluntly. Harry looked at Severus in puzzlement, expecting clarification but the plain man shifted his attention to the pinnacle. Several crewmembers crowded beside them.

Seamus called to a topman in the rigging, “Boot, what are they hauling aboard?”

Terry Boot's sharp eyes peered into the semi-darkness, but it was a Second Lieutenant, eye tight to a spyglass, that answered.

“Ernie Prang and what looks to be one of the ship's boys…I think its Little Stan…must have been making a run…didn't get far enough…poor bastards.”

~*~*~

Captain Malfoy's voice was clear and expressionless as he stood before all hands, reading out the Articles of War. Before him stood the unfortunate able seaman Ernie Prang and the eleven-year-old ship's boy, Stanley. The company was silent as the captain announced their punishment for attempted desertion.

Roger Davies, Gunner, wrapped his arm around Stanley, speaking softly to him as he led the small orphan to an on deck carronade. Stanley dropped his trousers and bent over the thick iron barrel of the gun. Davies held a cane firmly in his hand and delivered twelve sharp strokes to the pale buttocks. Stanley fought to control his tears. He was lucky; as a boy he only had to “kiss the gunner's daughter”. Davies helped the boy regain his balance as the punishment ended. He ordered Stanley to join the other ship's boys lined up on deck.

Davies eyes narrowed as Ernie Prang was led to the ship's grating. One of the duties of a Gunner was to take care of the well being of the ship's boys. He was angry Ernie had talked young Stanley into such a foolhardy adventure. Eleven years old and a true “son of a gun”[3], the small boy could have experienced a far worse fate than the HMS Macedonian .

Back bare and arms secured above his head, Ernie closed his eyes, bracing himself. Marcus Flint pulled a cat-of-nine tails from a red bag. For a count of twelve, Flint swung the cat, shredding the skin of Ernie's back. Time after time the knots flayed the skin until it resembled raw chopped meat.

Dressed in his repaired black waistcoat, Harry stood out like a black crow in the line of formally dressed officers and midshipmen. He could not hide a grimace as Flint paused in the flogging to clear the cat of clotted blood and bits of flesh. Beside him, Dennis Creevey, the youngest midshipman, swayed slightly, his face the color of whey.

~*~*~

The men were dismissed as Ernie was cut down from the grate. Captain Malfoy ordered the ship to set sail; the large East Indian merchant ship they were to escort was just clearing the harbor.

Ernie was semi-conscious as Rubeus Hagrid, Severus' loblolly boy[4], took him below and helped him to settle on a trunk. They were joined by Harry and Severus.

“Dr. Potter,” Severus indicated Ernie with a sharp flick of his hand. “Your first duty as surgeon aboard the Macedonian …Have you ever treated an injury such as this before?”

“No. Dr. Snape,” Harry replied formally as he rinsed the tattered flesh with a rag dripping in water. “I have observed the scars that remain, but had never witnessed the punishment itself before.”

Severus held out an opened box of salt. Ernie bit back a cry as Harry grabbed a handful of the salt and proceeded to rub it into the massive wound. Harry wrapped the sailor's chest in a length of fabric and indicated Hagrid should place Ernie into a sick berth.[5]

Severus' hand rested on Harry's shoulder. “Are you all right, Harold? The first time is always the worst.”

“I do not imagine I will ever become immune to the brutality of the act…Do we need to look at the boy?”

“No. Little Stan won't be sitting too comfortably for the next few days, but Mr. Davies is always careful not to break the skin.”

Roger Davies took no pleasure in beating his boys. He felt, quite rightly, that the mortification of being caned, bare bottomed, in front of the entire ship's company was punishment enough for most of the lads and few ever stepped out of line again.

~*~*~

With strong winds in their sails, the East Indian merchant vessel and her escort arrived in the harbor of Madeira two days later. As both ships needed to take on additional supplies they tied up at the docks.

Even though the HMS Macedonian would be in port for two days, Captain Malfoy refused to permit the crew members ashore for leave. With the promise of war and a crew containing men from many countries, he feared too many would attempt a run. To appease the crew, Lucius permitted extra rations of rum and thirty-five females he euphemistically referred to as “wives” aboard the frigate to release pent up energy.

With his eyes averted, Harry hurried through the crowd reveling below decks to the relative sanity of the quarterdeck. He was not a blushing virgin, nor was he a prude, but the scene below decks with the lack of even minimal privacy shocked and disgusted him. A woman should be loved and cherished, not splayed wide open on a table for any and all with enough brass in their pockets to use her.

Harry closed his eyes, feeling the warm Portuguese sun on his face, and listened to the call of the seabirds, His eyes slowly opened as a shadow fell over his face.

“Hello Charlie.”

“Good morning, Dr. Potter,” Charlie replied politely.

Harry smiled sadly. He missed the friendship of the redhead and his easy conversation, but familiarity between ranks was frowned upon.

“You're not below with the crew?”

“I volunteered for this watch…I have no desire to…err…” Charlie floundered, trying to think of a polite term to use in front of an officer.

“Partake in the sins of the flesh?” Harry asked and then smiled mischievously. “Or were you going to say dip your wick?”

Charlie snorted. “My mother would kill me if she ever found out I even thought to consort with a whore.”

Harry gave the carpenter's mate an odd look and Charlie laughed as if they were still friends. “You've never met my mother, Dr. Potter. Trust me, She would know.”

~*~*~

The HMS Macedonian left Madeira still in escort of the East Indian vessel. The anxiety level continued to rise as Captain Malfoy haunted the upper decks, calling out for identification of every sail on the horizon. Two days south of Madeira, the HMS Macedonian split off from the merchant vessel after wishing her safe journey. The frigate returned to her cruise of the Atlantic Ocean.

Lucius hailed the lookout once again. The captain's anxiety and temper left the crew in a heightened state of unease. Sad stories and songs told below decks to pass the time only reinforced the sense of dread, the certainty that the HMS Macedonian would never return home again. Seamen are, by large, a superstitious lot and the unwanted presence of a single shark and attending pilot fish following along side the frigate for days only strengthened the melancholy air.

~*~*~*

Harry rolled out of his hammock with a groan. He shifted his early morning erection and willed it to go away so he could relieve his overly full bladder. Severus looked over in amusement as the young surgeon tried to hide his discomfort.

“Just give it a few pulls in the Officer's Head,” Severus suggested lightly.

“No,” Harry replied softly. “I will not give into my passions.”

Thinking the other man was merely embarrassed, Severus continued, “You're on a ship with men and boys. You are not the first or the last to awaken in full glory.”

Harry's shoulders slumped and his erection wilted. “My unnatural passions killed my Susan. She had already blessed me with two beautiful children and I was not strong enough to control my baser activities.”

“Your wife died in childbirth, Harold. You were not the cause of her death.”

“Had I left my cock in my breeches as I should have, she would not have become with child mere months after giving birth to Lillianna. She was not strong and the pregnancy was hard…I should have given her an infusion of pennyroyal…”

Severus was horrified. “You would have aborted your own child?”

“We could have tried again when she was stronger…I should have done anything to save my Susan…but I was too weak…she loved me too much to put her life ahead of the seed I planted within her.

“The baby came months too early and Susan began to hemorrhage…I am supposed to be an elite London physician and I could not save my own wife…I managed to slow the blood, but I could not stop it…” Harry's eyes glittered. “It took her three days to bleed out and my son, Jonathon, died without ever taking a breath.

“No, Severus. I will not go to the Officer's Head and give it a few pulls to relieve myself. I deserve the discomfort. I will never pleasure myself again…I will not permit my unnatural passions to cause the untimely death of another woman.”

Harry spun on his heel and headed to the upper decks to get fresh air. His stomach was in knots and he knew he would be unable to eat breakfast until he calmed down. His attention focused on the shark and its attendant pilot fish escort; he wondered why a simple fish could cause so much consternation in the crew.

“Good morning, Dr. Potter.” Lieutenant Wood joined him at the rail. “I see our companion is still with us.”

“Why are they so afraid of a fish?”

“A shark following a ship is a sign of inevitable death.”

“Do you believe we are all going to die because of a fish?”

“No, but the crew does…and that is really all that matters.” Wood gave the shark one last long look. “It is time for breakfast in the ward room. After you, Dr. Potter.”

~*~*~

Harry's fingers wrapped around the heavy silver locket and his wife's wedding band. It was becoming a nervous habit but the atmosphere aboard ship was making everyone nervous. The ship left the coast of Africa and was out in the Atlantic Ocean. No one but the captain seemed to know if the HMS Macedonian was headed for the Canary Islands, the Azores, or just making a casual circle of the ocean.

Severus watched as Harry readied himself for bed. The spectacles were safely tucked into a case dangling from his hammock cords; the shifting of the ship in rough water made small items, such as shoes, slide over the wooden decks. Harry tucked the locket back into his shirt. The other officers were still above deck. Severus and Harry were alone in the wardroom for the moment.

“Harry,” Severus broke the silence. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.”

“How old were you when you married?”

Harry cocked his head, wondering at the topic of conversation, but they were at sea and distractions were few and far between. The young man assumed Severus had noticed the wedding band strung on the chain.

“I was seventeen. Susan was fifteen.”

“You were very young.”

“It was an arranged marriage. Susan and I remained with her aunt until I completed my medical training…”

“Arranged? Had you met before your wedding?”

Harry smiled a rare smile. “We grew up together. She was my playmate back when we both still wore dresses. She was my best friend and I miss her…Are you married, Severus?”

Severus ran a finger down his overly large nose in an exaggerated manner.

“No. I have been to sea for most of my adult life and the times I have been ashore I have not caught the eye of any lass. I come from a family of no real social standing and I have been told I am as ugly as a bat so I would imagine I am not considered much of a catch.”

Harry studied the severe angles of the plain man's face. Severus had distinctive features, but Harry would not have described him as ugly. “Looks are overrated, Severus. It is what resides in one's heart and mind that matters most…When you at last retire from the Navy have yourself introduced to a widow or a woman on the shelf [a spinster]. You will find that maturity makes them much more realistic and they are not so swayed by pretty, vacant faces.”

Severus nodded in abstract agreement but knew in his soul that a woman's curves held no excitement for him.

~*~*~

In a London townhouse Reverend Remus John Lupin hurried to cover the ears of three-year-old Jamison Potter as the child's grand godfather cursed a blue streak, crumpling a sheet of parchment in his hand.

“Captain Black!” Mrs. Pomfrey, the children's nurse, snapped in admonishment as she swept up the young child in a furious swirl of skirts. “I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head!”

~*~*~

A stiff breeze caught the sails early Sabbath morning, October 25, 1812. The entire crew had mustered, looking forward to breakfast, a sermon read from the Bible and a day of idleness and rest. The officers gathered in the wardroom for a light meal and quiet conversation. Harry's eyes closed as he sipped a cup of hot tea; for just a moment he could pretend he was safely at home and this nightmare was behind him.

Dobby and the other attendants cleared the table as the officers completed their repast. Lucius picked up his well-worn Bible, a piece of ribbon dangling between the pages.

The lookout at the mast head shouted “Sail ho!”

Lucius dropped the Bible on the table and rushed on deck.

“Masthead there! The captain shouted. “What does she look like?” [1]

“A large ship, sir,” was the reply. “A square rigged vessel…she's standing toward us, sir.” [1]

The majority of the crew was on deck, all trying to glimpse the approaching vessel. Their voices rose in a steady hum as debates broke out on the nationality.

“Keep silent fore and aft.” The captain barked as the men fell silent. [1]

“It's a Yankee frigate bearing down upon us, sir,” Terry Boot called from atop the mast head.

“All hands clear the ship for action, ahoy,” [1] came the command and the drum and fife beat to quarters. In a matter of minutes the ship was readied for action; bulkheads knocked away, guns released from their confinement and the weapons of battle were readied. Every man and boy was at his post, even Ernie Prang, his chest still wrapped in bandages.

The American sailors exchanged glances, a silent communication between them. Charlie's expression hardened as one after the other the American pressed men looked away. Straightening his slops, the red head hailed Captain Malfoy and presented himself as a prisoner of war, declaring his refusal to fight his own countrymen.

Lucius' pale eyes narrowed. “To your quarters, Weasley. I will shoot you if you dare make that request again.” [1]

Charlie knew now was not the time to protest the unjust order. He spun on his heel and obeyed the command.

There was a shout and a pistol shot rang out, the ball imbedding on the deck a hands breadth from Charlie's left foot. The carpenter's mate looked back in shock and anger.

Harry stood beside Marcus Flint, his hand wrapped around the wrist of the bosun's mate. The topside crew was startled into silence; to shoot a man in the back was a disgraceful act of cowardice.

Flint wrenched free of the smaller man, his face twisted in fury. He pointed the barrel of the pistol at Harry's stomach.

“Mr. Flint, stand down!” Wood ordered and Flint reluctantly lowered the weapon.

“Sir,” Harry hailed Captain Malfoy. “If I may be so bold…”

Lucius turned to face the physician.

“We are about to go to war with the Yankees and I am in need of a loblolly boy. Hagrid will not be able to assist both Dr. Snape and myself. I humbly request the services of Charlie Weasley to be my assistant, sir.”

Lucius gave a curt nod, crisis averted. He did not need infighting on his ship, especially on the cusp of battle. He would speak with Marcus Flint after the battle. Though untimely, Weasley's request was not out of order. And Lily should be proud of her boy. Potter had kept his head and had also come up with a solution that saved everyone's face.

~*~*~

“England expects every man to do his duty.” Captain Malfoy recited a quote from the naval hero Lord Nelson.

The American colors could be easily seen on the fast approaching ship. The Yankee frigate was larger than the HMS Macedonian and clearly outgunned her. More than one sailor wished the frigate had flown French colors; French battle tactics were a known quantity and the French traditionally fired to disable a vessel, taking out her masts and rigging – not to destroy the vessel by hitting her amid ships. American ships were known to carry more and heavier armaments than British frigates and the Americans used the heavier cannon to rake an enemy broadside, causing extensive damage.

The Marines and boarding party gathered their picks, cutlasses and pistols in the event the enemy ship could be boarded. The topmen collected their muskets in case there was close action. The young midshipmen were sent to the lower gundeck, armed with pistols and ordered to shoot any man leaving his station; in reality, the youths were sent below to keep them out of the way of more experienced officers.

Terry Boot called down to the officers below. He could identify the approaching ship. “She's the USS United States , sir.”

Lucius searched his memory for knowledge of the Yankee ship. The USS United States carried 54 guns and a crew, including Marines, of approximately 530 men. She had a reputation of being a little unwieldy to turn and had earned the affectionate nickname of “The Wagon” . The HMS Macedonian was a smaller ship, carrying 49 guns of lesser range and a crew of 300. Lucius knew he had only two options, turn tail and run or attack the much stronger opponent.

The crew stood at ready, awaiting orders, each man trying to find courage from deep within. At last, the order they all knew would come. The “Silver Snake” never ran from a battle.

“Wear ship!” [1]

The HMS Macedonian used her smaller size and the advantage of the wind to prepare an attack with the starboard guns. Wood and Malfoy discussed the tactics they should use, Wood stating that the Macedonian should cross the bow of the USS United States , cutting her wind and raking her from ahead, but Malfoy decided they should fight a long range battle.

Three shots were fired from the HMS Macedonian's main deck 18-pound guns, but the shots fell short, falling harmlessly in the water.

“Cease firing,” Wood shouted. “You are throwing away your shot.” [1]

The USS United States retaliated with a broadside, using her longer range 24-pounders. The Yankee frigate kept herself just outside of the range of the Macedonian's smaller armament and continued to pound the English frigate for at least one quarter of an hour, leaving death and destruction in her wake.

Having no other course of action, Captain Malfoy ordered the HMS Macedonian into the hail of fire in an attempt to fight at shorter range, but the captain of the USS United States once again maneuvered the vessel out of range of the British guns.

Unwilling to withdraw and unable to pursue, the HMS Macedonian was slowly shot to pieces in the space of one half hour. On the maindeck, Seamus Finnegan kept busy supplying his guns with powder as he watched the growing carnage around him. A bloody arm flew into his line of sight as the man beside him was struck. Someone tied a handkerchief above the mangled forearm as a makeshift tourniquet and the maimed man was sent to the surgeons below.

The terrible battle went on and the British sailors fought bravely on. Grape and canister shot poured like lead rain and the larger shot tore through the timbers, releasing splinters more deadly than a scabbard wound.

The HMS Macedonian shuddered as she was raked by the 24-pound shot. The top mast, the fore mast and the mizzen mast came crashing down, spilling the unfortunate topmen into the roiling ocean or crushing them beneath the crumbling yard arms.

Terry Boot slashed through the tangled ropes and fought to reach the water's surface, his lungs burning through lack of air. Pausing for just a moment to catch his bearings, the topman fought his way up the tangled rigging and twisted sail to reach the uncertain safety of the Macedonian's shattered deck.

As the gun crews fell and the guns were disabled, Seamus, Davies and a scant group of men and boys struggled to keep the remaining guns firing.

The USS United States sailed past the bow of the HMS Macedonian , but did not fire a shot. The Yankee frigate pulled away to make some necessary repairs.

The HMS Macedonian lay in ruins, her masts gone and all but two of her quarterdeck and forecastle guns disabled. In the horrible silence that followed, cries of the dying and wounded filled the air and rivers of blood puddled on the once pristine decks.

~*~*~

Below deck Severus and Harry were smeared head to foot in blood, looking more like butchers than surgeons. [1] Originally setting up their surgery in the cockpit, as the wounded men continued to arrive, they moved first to steerage and then, finally, to the wardroom, where the long officer's table provided room to maneuver. The steerage area continued to fill with both patients that had been treated and those who had not.

Harry struggled to keep his footing on the deck, slipping in the blood. The noise below deck was deafening as the guns blazed overhead and the enemy shot pounded the hull. The cries of the wounded were occasionally drown out by the terrified farm animals kept in the cockpit to provide fresh meat, milk and eggs for the officer's mess.

Charlie held down a man as Harry amputated the man's left foot; he tossed the mangled appendage toward a bucket overflowing with severed arms and legs. Harry swiftly tied off major veins and arteries and rinsed the bloody mass with brine water. The young doctor coated the open wound with a heavy application of salt before pulling a flap of skin over the wound and stitching it shut with large, swift stitches.

Severus, a Barber-Surgeon with less actual medical training but much more battle experience watched the unusual procedure. He had never seen an amputation handled in that manner. Usually a limb was sawed cleanly off and the tied veins and arteries left open to the air. If possible, the wound was immediately cauterized, but in battle surgery the cauterization had to wait until the battle ended and by then, deadly infection usually took care of what shock and blood loss had not.

Harry's complete procedure took approximately fifteen to twenty minutes to perform while Severus' version took less than five. The surgeon debated whether to order Harry to streamline his procedure as Severus looked at the increasing number of injured, but decided that Harry's unorthodox surgery at least appeared to offer the patient a greater chance at survival, however scant that chance proved to be.

A deafening crash echoed through the lower deck and the Macedonian jolted.

“What was that?” Harry asked in alarm.

“They've taken down our foremast.” Charlie wiped blood splatter from his face. Another deafening crack caused the ship to tremble. “And our topmast as well.”

~*~*~

In the tense moments after the USS United States pulled away to make repairs, the officers and masters quickly separated to survey the damage. With her masts gone and her hull shattered, the HMS Macedonian lay still in the water, at the mercy of ocean currents and her enemy.

Seamus slowly crossed himself as he surveyed the destruction before him. Beside one of the heavily damaged quarterdeck carronades lay the shattered remains of her crew. A man he could no longer identify had both of his hands and his face torn away. Beneath him, the spindly little legs of a powder monkey were visible. In deep shock, another man sat propped against a pile of debris, holding his intestines in his hands.

With heavy hearts, the dead were thrown overboard. The injured were divided and those too maimed to survive were thrown overboard with the dead, a swift drowning more merciful a death than days of suffering. Davies cradled the little boy in his arms, planting a kiss to the child's forehead before dropping him overboard to join his crewmates.

The heavy body of Marcus Flint, the back of his head blown away, was wrestled overboard. His hated rattan cane following a moment later.

~*~*~

The remaining officers held consul on the damaged quarterdeck. Thirty-six men were dead, thirty-six men were gravely injured with little hope of survival and an additional thirty-two men had less severe injuries. Out of a crew of three hundred souls, one hundred and four were dead, dying, or injured.

Victory or escape was hopeless. The ship was disabled and the USS United States showed no signs of leaving; she had suffered only minor damage and could easily sink them if she so desired.

Wood pleaded with Lucius not to strike colors and to sink the HMS Macedonian themselves rather than surrender, but cooler heads prevailed and Captain Malfoy ordered the colors struck. Outgunned, outmanned, and in danger of sinking five hundred miles from the Canary Islands, the HMS Macedonian was now a prize of the USS United States .

Terry Boot leaned back against a grate and watched the flags ruffle against a clear blue sky. Although the battle had lasted well under two hours, it seemed to the topman that this had been the longest Sabbath he could remember. He was grateful that he would live to see another.

Drawn by blood in the water, the single shark soon had to share her bounty.

~*~*~

Harry looked up as his patient was lifted off the blood drenched table and carried to a berth in steerage. He realized the deafening sound of iron hitting oak had ended.

“Damnation.” Severus cursed as the man on the table before him died under his knife. There was only so much the surgeon could do in the primitive conditions of the ship; he had to remind himself that the sailor was a casualty of war and that he was not the man's executioner. His thoughts momentarily shifted to the green eyed man beside him; perhaps this morning of hell would finally convince Harry that the death of his wife's had been inescapable.

Harry's elation that the battle seemed to have ceased was short lived. The seaman on his table, a large man by the name of Gregory Goyle, took one horrified look at Harry's blood drenched form and the bloody saws and knives scattered haphazardly on the table top. Goyle panicked, struggling with all his might to get off the table. Charlie was unable to restrain the burly man. Goyle's elbow connected with Harry's solar plexus.

Thrown of balance by Goyle's blow and unable to find purchase on the slick, gore covered deck, Harry's feet flew from beneath him and the physician landed on his backside under the table, cracking his head on a piece of debris on the way down. Blood trickled from a jagged gash on his forehead. Momentarily stunned, Harry looked to his right and blinked. He shook his throbbing head and blinked again, finding himself nose to beak with a chicken.

“Why is there a bloody chicken in my surgery?”

~*~*~*

Captain Malfoy and his officers stood quietly on the quarterdeck awaiting the boats from the American frigate. Midshipman Creevey's lower lip trembled as he fought the tears threatening to fall. Wood's hand rested on the young boy's shoulder as he quietly tried to reassure the midshipman that the Yankees were not monsters and would not harm him.

~*~*~

With a bandage tied swiftly around his head to keep the blood out of his eyes, Harry stood at the table. Charlie and another man pinned Goyle down as the doctor felt along the injured thigh. Harry's calm green eyes locked with Goyle's terrified blue ones.

“Listen to me, Goyle. Your leg is broken…I am going to try to set it, not cut it off. Do you understand?”

Goyle nodded once before a shriek passed his lips; Harry could hear the bones grate together as he pulled both jagged ends of the femur into alignment. Goyle slipped into unconsciousness as the leg was tightly splinted.

Severus looked up as several officers from the USS United States entered the makeshift surgery. First Lieutenant Cedric Diggory looked at the human toll the one sided battle had wrought. He recognized Severus, having met him numerous times over the years in various ports.

“How do you do, doctors?” [1]

Severus gave a short nod of recognition before he replied resignedly, “We have enough to do…You have made wretched work for us.” [1]

Diggory nodded and asked if they were in need of assistance. Harry ran a stained hand through his disheveled hair. “Laudanum, sir, if you have any to spare.”

~*~*~

“It is a good thing you and Dr. Potter abandoned the cockpit.” Davies entered the wardroom with a small goat wrapped in a bit of canvas. Behind him Stanley carried a basket with dead chickens. “The chicken coop and the stables are blown to bits.”

Harry's head tilted toward a chicken nesting in a discarded shirt, tucked in an out of the way ledge.

“I'll send one of my boys to collect her…once we figure out where to put the survivors.”

Hagrid noticed the gunner's shirt was bloody at his waist. “Are ye hurt?”

“The blood's poor Nanny's,” Davies replied indicating the goat. “Her back legs were shot clean off…Was going to throw her overboard…Fowl too.”

“It's a waste of meat, Mr. Davies,” Hagrid replied. “See if Cook has use of them…at any rate, they'll make good broth for the wounded.”

~*~*~

Their clothing stiff with blood, sweat and other bodily fluids, Severus and Harry stripped out of their garments down to their underbreeches. The surgeons sponged themselves down as best they could; Harry thought wistfully of a proper bath.

“Sit,” Severus ordered. “I have not had time to check your head.”

Harry unwrapped the makeshift bandage, giving a small grunt of pain as the encrusted fabric was pulled, tearing open the wound. Severus wiped the jagged, lightening bolt shaped cut clean and noted that the gash was not deep enough to stitch.

“Lay back.”

Harry climbed into a waiting hammock. His eyes closed, sleep claiming the exhausted physician almost immediately. With a gentle pressure, Severus carefully rubbed salt into the wound.

Drained, Harry had not re-dressed before slipping off to sleep. The surgeon examined the half-dressed figure a moment before shaking himself out of his random impure thoughts. Severus crawled into another hammock and joined Harry in sleep. The Sabbath day was long past over and the days ahead would give them little rest. For just a few hours, Harry and Severus could experience the recuperative powers of slumber.

Dobby crept into the wardroom and collected their filthy clothing. He shook his head - blood was one of the hardest stains to remove.

~*~*~

Acting Captain Cedric Diggory stood upon the quarterdeck of the Macedonian and surveyed his prize. This battered frigate was his first command. Captain Malfoy, his senior officers and much of his crew now were safely secured aboard the USS United States . With the exception of a few levelheaded men, the remaining crewmembers were presently unfit for service, having broken into the unguarded spirit room and emptying several kegs of rum.

Diggory looked at the haggard form of Dr. Snape, one of the ship's surgeons, as the tall man berated members of the crew for giving spirits to their wounded messmates. Believing they were being kind by numbing the pain of the amputations and grievous injuries, they had not realized that the spirits, in combination with the Laudanum would poison the unfortunate soul and further weaken them. At least two of the injured sailors were dead of alcohol poisoning and Severus feared several more would follow.

Hagrid called out for the surgeon and Dr. Snape hurried below decks once again. Ten minutes later another corpse was brought into the late October sunlight and thrown overboard. There was still no time for pretty words and useless ceremony for a man who would no longer miss it. Diggory murmured a few words of prayer under his breath, and rubbed his tired eyes.

A few of the American Marines brought aboard the British frigate secured the remaining stores of rum, wine and grog. They would give the conquered crew a few hours to sober up and adjust to their new reality before setting them to necessary tasks. The Macedonian needed several weeks of rudimentary repair before they could even hope to make her seaworthy again.

~*~*~*

When Harry was not tending the wounded, he was tucked away from everyone, the open silver case containing the portraits of his infant children and his deceased wife in his hands. As a naval prize, the British frigate was going to be taken back to the American coast. Harry feared he would never see his children again. He fought to gain control of his depression.

Aboard the USS United States , Lucius, too, was in a funk. He keenly felt the shame of the loss of the ship and thought himself to be a failure. It was small consolation to the proud man to discover that the HMS Macedonian had not been the first British ship to strike her colors as he had feared, but had been the third. All Lucius saw before him was a court martial and disgrace; his position in society would be in shambles.

~*~*~*

The pungent fragrance of hot vinegar perfumed the air as the crew used it in vast quantities to remove the stains and stench of blood. Working around the men scrubbing down the decks were the carpenters, sailmakers and their crews. The new crew of the Macedonian was now comprised of a mixture from both the American and British frigates. At first many of the British crew members were uncooperative and sought to fight against the Americans, but soon the common goal of repairing the ship took precedence and friendships began to form.

Charlie was unexpectedly reunited with one of his younger brothers, another redheaded carpenter's mate named George. Terry Boot located two cousins.

Once weeks of major repairs were made to the damaged frigate, both ships began their slow journey to America. The topmen on both ships kept a keen eye out for other vessels. The Macedonian still lacked the majority of her guns and the USS United States would have been hard pressed to be able to defend both frigates.

The captive officers were anxious for a sighting of a British flag and possible rescue, but their hopes were in vain. The common sailor did not share in their dream. Most, if not all of the men planned to sign aboard an American ship at their earliest convenience. A mostly volunteer navy, the American sailors were treated much more humanely than their British counterparts.

Within sight of land, Gregory Goyle succumbed to his wounds. When the broken leg became infected, Harry amputated it, but the gangrene spread. Crazy with pain, Harry kept Goyle subdued with his dwindling supply of Laudanum. For weeks, the physician had fought to keep Goyle alive, even after Severus had long since given up hope. Harry stared silently up at the seagulls as Goyle was sewn into his hammock and given a proper burial at sea.

Diggory read the burial service for Goyle, but asked the crew to also remember all the men and boys lost to the Sabbath battle.

“We commit the body of our brother to the deep,” [1] Diggory recited and Goyle's body fell into the water with barely a splash. Dennis and another midshipman sang a hymn in their clear voices and the men gave a moment of silence.

“Land ho!” came a welcome cry from the topman as the USS United States entered the port of New London, but a sudden shift in the wind forced the Macedonian further down the coastline. So close to safety, Acting Captain Diggory feared to see a British frigate lying in wait; the nearly defenseless Macedonian would have been easily recovered. After several tense hours, the Macedonian entered the harbor of Newport and the protection she provided.

~*~*~*

Snowflakes swirling around him, Harry stood on the Newport wharf, adjusting to a surface that did not roll beneath his feet. Carpetbag firmly in hand, he watched the injured sailors loaded into three straw filled wagons. Sea chests were loaded into a fourth, smaller wagon. Harry refused to part with his tapestry bag.

Harry stood where he was ordered by the American Marines as the last of the patients were loaded. A prisoner of war, he was at the mercy of the Yankees to tell him what he was to do. The midshipmen, junior officers, ship's carpenter and ship's sailmaker had been sequestered aboard the damaged Macedonian and were to join with the remaining British officers in New London.

It was strange, Harry thought, that even half a world away, Newport did not look that much different from many English ports, except perhaps that the buildings were newer and there appeared to be more men of color working on the piers.

“Doctor.”

The physician's train of thought was broken by a young marine. Harry noticed both Severus and Hagrid were perched in two of the wagons, the seat beside the driver on the third waiting for him.

~*~*~

One of the wounded men let out a groan as the wagons jostled its human cargo, making its way slowly through the town on a particularly rough patch of cobblestone road. Severus glanced over at the two other wagons, noticing that the hay bedding only cushioned a little. He hoped the wagons soon reached their destination; the snow was falling at a heavier rate and the daylight was fading. Exposed to the elements and lying in wet straw would not help the more fragile patients.

The wagons finally came to a stop, not in front of a hospital as Severus had expected, but in front of a large private home. The large front door opened, spilling light into the growing darkness. Several servants approached the wagons.

Hagrid and the men made quick work at emptying each wagon and settling the injured into twelve of fourteen narrow beds situated in an ornate ballroom. As each man was settled, Harry or Severus checked them over, making sure the bandages were dry and the wounds had not re-opened. Many of the critically injured had been dosed with the last of the Laudanum prior to their journey.

They were joined by two elderly gentlemen. One of the men, dressed in a peacock hued frockcoat and a flowing white beard introduced himself as Retired Rear Admiral Albus Dumbledore. The other man, slightly younger and dressed in a sedate navy blue, checked on the status of the patients, taking in the severity of the injuries.

“Dr. Aberforth Dumbledore, at your service.”

~*~*~*

Harry let out a sigh of contentment as he soaked in a large copper bathing tub. In the same small room, Severus eased himself into a second bathing tub set up beside the first. In a time where people bathed infrequently, it was uncommon for a home to have one bathing tub let alone two.

Harry soaped up a flannel with a rectangular slab of oatmeal and honey soap. He took time scrubbing off the months of grime that had accumulated onto his body. He knew many thought bathing to be harmful to a person's health, but his mother had preached cleanliness and Saturday night baths for as long as he could remember.

Severus glanced surreptitiously at the feast of naked flesh beside him. He pulled his long, thin legs up to hide a growing interest. It would be so much more acceptable if he could derive sexual pleasure in the company of whores and not have to hope for a chance encounter with a like minded gentleman.

Harry knelt in the bathing tub and poured a pitcher of clear water over his long dark hair, rinsing out the soapy residue. Beside him, Severus admired the smooth lines of the slender hairless back and glimpsed the top half of firm buttocks. The surgeon sunk beneath his own bath water, careful to keep the flannel firmly over his cock. Stop thinking of Harold that way, he firmly chastised himself. Harry had never given any indication that he shared similar predilections; in fact the young doctor kept trying to deny he felt any sexual desires at all.

There was a sharp rap at the door.

“Enter,” Severus called out, expecting a servant with additional hot water, but instead Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway.

“Good evening, Doctors. There is nothing like a good soak to set you to rights, is there? Abe and I soak for at least an hour every other day…does wonders for my old bones.” Albus leaned heavily on his cane, his fingers bent with arthritis.

“We expect you down to dinner in a half an hour or so…” Albus paused. “Dr. Potter, I took the liberty of providing you with a set of proper clothing. I could not help but notice you seem to have lost your trunk in battle…but at least you saved your medical tools…I fear they would be much harder to replace.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry spoke quietly, more than slightly mortified that Albus had noticed the sorry state of his clothing.

“Don't mention it, my lad.” Albus chuckled and closed the door.

“I can only pray that what ever costume he has chosen for my use does not compete with his current finery.” Harry climbed out of the bathing tub and began to dry himself with a towel.

Severus shifted his position in the tub, watching Harry slowly run the cotton over his pale flesh. With absolutely no reticence, Harry towel dried his hair, his nude body unconsciously on display for Severus to covet. Harry slipped the heavy silver locket back around this neck and pulled on a borrowed woolen robe.

“Coming, Severus?” he asked, his green eyes bright in the lamp light.

“Go ahead without me. I need to…rinse my hair.”

As soon as Harry closed the door, Severus let out a low growl of frustration. He wrapped his hand around his aching erection and began to stroke.

~*~*~*

The fabric smelled heavily of cedar chips and the sleeves were just a hair too long, but Harry had to admit that the British Naval uniform Albus provided fit reasonably well. The style and cut of the jacket was out of date, but still within naval regulations. He noted all designations of rank had been removed from the uniform, per proper protocol.

“Where did he get this?” Harry asked as he tied his hair back with a ribbon.

“I imagine it is his. If I remember my history correctly, Admiral Dumbledore was once a decorated member of His Majesty's Navy but he resigned his commission when the Americans fought their war for independence.”

~*~*~

Argus Filch placed the bedwarmer in its proper place beside the hearth and gave the two British doctors a truncated salute as he left the small guestroom the men were sharing. Several feet behind the servant a scraggly kitten followed him, little paws padding silently on the polished pine floors.

“Do you have any preference for the left or right, Severus?” Harry asked as he slipped a borrowed cotton nightshirt over his head.”

“I have not slept in a bed for years…” Severus plucked a second borrowed nightshirt from the side chair, looking at it skeptically before deciding he might as well wear it. “Take the left side…You'll need the lamp table for your spectacles.”

Harry settled in the bed, thanking Argus for warming the sheets. The bed was a little lumpy, but much better than the accursed hammock he had been forced to use for several months. Severus climbed into the high bed and attempted to stretch his long form out, but the bed was short and his feet rested against the chilly footboard. With a quiet good night, Harry extinguished the bedside lamp, a soft light from the hearth flickering in the white washed bedroom. Severus rolled to his side, back to Harry, and pulled up his knees. [6]

“Harold?”

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“What do you mean?”

“Prisoner of war…being in America.”

“England expects every man to do his duty,” Harry replied flatly, quoting Lord Nelson.

“Sod Lord Nelson, Harry,” Severus snapped. “You seemed to have lost yourself on the ship…are you all right with this?”

Harry rolled to his side, his back inches from Severus' back. “I am not looking forward to a Board of Inquiry and probable court martial…and I have resigned myself to the possibility I may never see my children again…”

“Are your children in any danger?”

“Not really…My godfather Sirius and my Uncle Remus would die before any harm came to my infants…Siri may be crippled, but he is not a fool.”

“You and I have nothing to fear from a court martial. We are surgeons, not commanders. Lucius and Oliver have the most to lose…As for your children…you will see them again. Maybe not this year or even the next, but you will see them.”

“You think so?” Severus could hear the slight edge of hope in the voice.

“I know so…America is at war with both England and her colonies…Canada to the north, for example…”

“You think the Canadians will march all the way down here to Newport?”

“No. Prisoner exchange…happened in the wars with France…it will happen here as well.”

~*~*~*

Harry awoke to dawn streaming through the window and a weight on his chest. For a moment, he was disoriented but then he realized he and Severus had shifted positions in the night. He wondered vaguely if Severus would be embarrassed by their closeness. Harry examined Severus through his slightly unfocused eyes and decided those who thought the dark haired man was ugly were wrong. The nose was a trifle too large, he acknowledged, but it was an honest face. With a long arm and a long leg wrapped around him, there was no way Harry could dislodge his bed mate without wakening him.

Severus burrowed against the warm body beside him. His nose identified the scent of oatmeal, honey and a familiar masculine scent. His dark eyes opened in shock, and he was keenly aware of his morning erection trapped between his body and Harry's. Severus disentangled himself from Harry's frame and looked at him apprehensively.

Harry graced him with a lazy smile. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, Sev…you're too tall for the bed…had to put your legs somewhere.”

And Severus was gratified Harry was too much of a gentleman to mention his morning glory.

~*~*~

Lillianna Potter stood apprehensively on her chubby legs. She made a few wobbly, tentative steps before toppling over, landing on her padded behind. She giggled as she was swept up into strong arms and praised.

Sirius ruffled the auburn curls and adjusted the toddler so her minimal weight was not resting on his stumps. Harry had missed his daughter's first steps and the captain wondered how many more important milestones his godson would miss before he came home.

If Harry came home.

Sirius frowned at the London newspaper folded on his side table. The HMS Macedonian had fallen to the upstart American Navy with great loss of life.

Remus plucked the offending document up and tossed it into the hearth. It would do them no good to dwell on uncertainties.

~*~*~

Days turned into weeks and the number of patients began to dwindle until only the amputees, the blind, and those with head injuries remained. They were moved out of the drafty ballroom into several bedrooms on an upper floor. Life in the pleasant, but eccentric, Dumbledore home continued in its own patterns.

Albus, Severus decided, wasn't nearly as senile as his behavior and wardrobe indicated.

Aberforth seemed fascinated by the unique surgical flap Harry performed during amputations and occasionally brought in fellow physicians to view the healing wounds. He had even assisted them in a trepanation, the removal of a small circle of bone, in a futile attempt to relieve the pressure building up within the skull of a comatose sailor.

And Argus continued to pretend not to notice the little cat following him everywhere.

*~*~*~

December 31st brought a pleasant surprise for Severus, Harry and Hagrid. The Dumbledore brothers opened their home to the officers and skeleton crew still sequestered aboard the newly renamed USS Macedonian for a New Year Eve buffet and dancing. Argus and Hagrid brought down the amputees and blind so that they could join in the festivities.

When the men arrived under the command of the newly commissioned Captain Diggory, Harry was surprised that primarily only the tradesmen remained on board. Nearly all the able-bodied seamen, English and American alike, had already shipped out on other vessels.

Charlie and George Weasley beckoned Harry toward the foyer. They were both dressed in civilian clothing.

“Retiring from the Navy, Charlie?”

“George and I are going home. The family has a small cabinet making shop on the outskirts of New Bedford and we are going to join the family business. We went to sea as a lark when we were younger, and I believe we have both had enough adventure to last our lifetime…especially now that there is a war.

Charlie pointed to a medium sized sea chest tucked against one of the walls. The box was highly polished and bore the initials “H.J.E.P.” on the lid. Harry looked at the pair in confusion.

“It's a small token of thanks, Dr. Potter. You saved my life when you forced Marcus Flint's hand…and had he not died… surgeon or not, he would have made your life unbearable.” Charlie shifted, wondering if what he had said was out of line. “Well, anyway…you made it so I wouldn't have to fight…talking to Captain Malfoy and all…”

“You're thanking me for the opportunity to be covered head to toe in blood and body parts?” Harry asked, the humor evident in his tone. “Are you sure that when poor Goyle decked you…he didn't rattle your brain?”

Charlie looked pointedly at the jagged scar permanently marring Harry's forehead and returned the smile.

“Thank you for the chest, Charlie, George.”

“You are welcome, sir. That carpetbag was a damned nuisance aboard ship…I hope the New Year finds you safe passage home to your infants in London.”

The Weasley brothers made their way to the table laden with food and casks of spirits. Harry remained in the foyer admiring the intricate workmanship of the chest; he felt guilty accepting the token. He didn't think his actions were extraordinary, but the chest was a useful item and it was a pretty piece.

~*~*~*

Harry's head swam. Too many spirits, too much food, too much music. His normal reserve lowered by the consumption of too much wine, the young man permitted himself to be spun time after time out on the dance floor. At first the fiddlers' jigs and reels had confused him, but he readily learned the steps and he had plenty of partners.

As the New Year rang out, Harry decided he had enough of the festivities. Someone would need a clear head in the morning to care for the patients; judging from Argus and Hagrid's present condition, they would be nearly useless and in need of nursing themselves.

The music and laughter grew muffled as Harry climbed the staircase and headed for the bedroom he shared with Severus. Sitting in the side chair, he removed his shoes and stockings, pulled his shirt over his head and folded it neatly. He missed his wardrobe back in London; none of these borrowed garments fit properly. He unlaced the closures to his breeches and padded naked over to the bed, gathering up his night shirt.

He heard the sharp intake of breath from the doorway. Severus quickly closed and locked the door, licking his lower lip. His dark eyes glowed in the candlelight.

“Severus?” Harry asked as he pulled the nightshirt over his naked body. Alcohol had lowered the older man's walls and he could not hide the attraction he felt toward his companion.

“So beautiful,” he murmured as he took a step closer.

“They are just green eyes, Severus…nothing special about them,” Harry shivered involuntarily under the dark man's gaze. An unexpected arousal began to tent the front of the night shirt.

“I wasn't looking at your eyes.” Severus' arms came up and his hands rested on Harry's shoulders.

“What?” Harry's protest was muffled by the mouth descending upon his. Harry's eyes widened as he was backed up against the wall, the taller man invading his personal space, the scent of rum on his breath.

Severus' inquisitive mouth and teeth explored Harry's lips, his throat, his sensitive earlobes as his hands explored elsewhere. Confusion and desire warred in Harry's dazed brain. Severus' cold fingers slipped beneath the hem of the night shirt and Harry let out a low growl when the cold digits touched his warm skin.

“Severus, stop.” Harry raised his hands, attempting to push the tall man away but the wandering hands would not be deterred. Severus' hands rested on Harry's hips, his thumbs making erotic circles on the pelvic bones. Harry's cock hardened almost painfully, but it still brought a shock when one of the surgeon's hands wrapped around his penis and began to stroke.

No one except Susan had ever touched him there before and her soft hands had always been gentle. Severus' strong hand did not tease and soon, too soon, Harry felt his testicles draw up.

“Oh God!” Harry gasped half breaths. Severus' other hand wrapped around the back of Harry's head, his lips crushing down on the younger man, muffling Harry's sudden cry as he climaxed – ending almost a year of self imposed celibacy.

~*~*~

His long fingers clutching a handful of bedding, Harry keened as Severus' cock breeched him. Good Lord, it hurt, Harry thought as his passage was uncomfortably stretched to allow a rather persistent intruder.

“Bear down, Harry,” Severus breathed into his ear. “Don't fight me…”

Fully seated, Severus paused to catch his breath and to quell his excitement. Harry was so tight and he was so close; he didn't want the experience to end prematurely.

Holding Harry's hips for balance, Severus withdrew. Harry let out a breath as the pressure eased. Laughter drifted up from the festivities below and the fiddlers began another reel. Harry wondered if anyone even noticed that they were missing.

All thoughts of the New Year's party disappeared as Severus' long cock breached him again. The discomfort did not dissipate, but it was joined by an outburst of pleasure as Severus' cock brushed repeatedly over Harry's prostate.

A driving rhythm established, Severus slid one of his hands across Harry's flat stomach and reached between the younger man's legs. To the pace of his thrusts, Severus pumped Harry's erection.

Harry pressed his face into the bedding to muffle his moans of pleasure. He was overwhelmed by the sensations of Severus' dual attack. Harry's second orgasm tore through him. Nearing his own release, Severus' hips pistoned harder, the slap of flesh and the creak of the bed frame playing out an odd harmony. Severus bit back a shout as he exploded, his frantic rhythm slowing considerably as his softening cock emptied itself in Harry's now quiescent channel.

Severus collapsed beside Harry, a soft pop as his spent cock released itself from Harry's well stretched hole. Shivering as the chill of the bedroom hit his overheated skin, Severus pulled the rumpled quilts over them. With a brief kiss to the scar on Harry's forehead, Severus quickly fell asleep, aided by the sexual release and too many spirits.

Harry breathed to the measure of Severus' loud snores. He rolled Severus onto his side and the snores grew quieter. The physician focused on the sounds of the party finally breaking up below him. He stared out into the darkness as quiet slowly enveloped the house. Harry wrapped his fingers around his locket and waited for a feeling of guilt that did not come.

~*~*~

January 1, 1813 broke as a bright clear morning, sending rays of golden light into many of the windows of the Dumbledore house. Severus tried to roll away from the light but found himself pinned to the bedding. His head pounding from a night of excess, he opened one bleary eye. Harry was laying across his chest, using him as some sort of a human pillow. His overfull bladder making itself known, Severus shoved Harry off of his chest and stumbled from the bed in search of a chamber pot.

Awoken rather abruptly, Harry reached for his spectacles, wincing at both the sunlight and the unexpected ache in his backside. He propped himself up against the headboard, watching Severus stumble naked across the floor. Where was Severus' night shirt, he wondered. For that matter, where was his?

Severus looked at Harry, a cold horror twisting in his stomach as he remembered his behavior the night before. In his inebriated state, he had taken advantage of an equally intoxicated Harry – a man still in mourning for his beloved wife. How could he ever apologize for that gross breach of trust? What would happen to him if Harry pressed charges?

“Severus?”

Severus looked guiltily at the bed, confused by the awkward smile Harry sent his way. The physician lifted a corner of the bedding. “Come back to bed, Sev. You are going to freeze your arse off standing there.”

Numbly, Severus climbed back into the warm bed. His nervous fingers plucked at the top quilt.

“Oh God, Harry. I am so sorry…”

He stilled when Harry kissed his bare shoulder. Severus stared at the bright green eyes and the pink lips that quirked in amusement.

“You think I did not see the way you would look at me when you thought I was not looking?” Severus backed away, his cheeks flushing.

“Look at me,” Harry ordered kindly. “We both over indulged last evening…but neither of us took advantage of the other…I could have stopped you at any point, but I did not.”

“You don't hate me? Won't bring me up on charges?”

“For what?” Harry asked bluntly. “A fuck between consenting adults? At least there is no worry about an unexpected pregnancy.”

Severus felt his rapidly beating heart slow down. Harry did not hate him. Harry's sudden bark of laughter echoed in the silent room.

“What is so amusing? Is it something I said?” he sulked.

“Oh Severus, it wasn't any thing you said or did to make me laugh…I just remembered something my father told me years ago when I was much too young to understand.” Harry snuggled against Severus and wrapped his arms around the thin chest, feeling the stiffness slowly melt from the older man.

“I never understood it, but I do now…Potter men, Father said…Potter men love their women to have red hair…” Harry's eyes flickered to Severus' face. “…And like their men to have black.”

~*~*~

Soapy flannel in hand, Harry ran his fingers over his chest and down across his stomach. He pushed away memories of Severus' hands and mouth following the same trajectory. What they had shared was a mutual release of sexual tension. It was wonderful and unexpected, but he would not become maudlin and expect anything more.

As horrific as the past few months had been for Harry to experience, it pulled him out of the depressive spiral Susan's death had caused. The harsh reality of life was that no matter how skilled a physician you were, you could not save everyone. People died and there often wasn't a thing you could do to prevent it.

Blaming himself for his wife's death was the natural reaction of a grief stricken husband, but it did not make him a murderer. He had to get on with his life for the sake of himself and the sake of his children. Humans, by design, were sexual creatures and his attempt to deny that part of himself had led him right to Severus.

Harry methodically washed his reproductive organs, wincing when the rough flannel brushed the bruised flesh between his cheeks. Harry smiled, thinking about what his father had said about Potter men and their lovers. Obviously, he wasn't the first Potter to find occasional comfort in the arms of another man.

A sharp rap at the door jolted him out of his musings and he realized the water had grown cold.

“Harry,” Severus' voice came through the door. “Have you drowned in there? It's almost time for tea.”

~*~*~

Harry wrapped the silver frame in a length of soft flannel and tucked it securely into his Weasley chest. It was several days into the New Year and orders finally came down from the United States Navy. The USS Macedonian was leaving Newport Harbor, heading to one of the larger shipyards to be refitted and put back into service. The English officers still sequestered aboard her were to be sent to join the remaining officers in New London and then on to Jamaica to face a court martial. The remaining injured were to board a ship heading to Boston and a large naval hospital situated there.

Argus Filch's little cat rubbed against Harry's ankles one last time, as if to say good bye.

Severus and Harry climbed aboard the single wagon containing Hagrid, the wounded, and their worldly possessions. It was crisp and cold as the wagon jolted down snow covered cobblestones and icy ruts. Beneath the blanket they shared, Severus squeezed Harry's fingers, both seeking and offering comfort.

~*~*~*

Captain Cedric Diggory waited on the dock with the British prisoners of war and a Marine escort. Harry looked on in confusion as he was ordered back to the wagon with the injured. Only Severus and Hagrid were to board the ship with the junior officers and the midshipmen to New London.

Severus gave him a quick hug and joined his former shipmates. Harry stood beside the wagon and watched all but Diggory board a 28-gun frigate bound for New London.

“Argus, what's going on?” Harry asked softly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

Argus shook his shaggy head. “Don' rightly know, Dr. Potter. Cap'n Diggory might not know either…he's just following orders.”

Ordering the wagon to a ship at the other end of the wharf, Diggory invited Harry to take a walk with him.

“Captain Diggory, why did I not go with the others?”

“Someone needed to accompany the wounded to Boston.”

“Why me and not Dr. Snape?”

“Your rather unique method of amputation has attracted some interest in medical circles. The naval surgeons want you to demonstrate the technique for them.”

Harry paused beside a crate of chickens. “And then I will be sent to join the others?”

“No, Dr. Potter. You will not join them in New London or in Jamaica.”

“Why ever not?” Harry demanded.

Diggory paused to let a cart pass them. “You are not a commissioned British officer, Dr. Potter…and the ship's muster book proves you were aboard the Macedonian under highly irregular circumstances…As a result, you are not subject to an inquiry.”

“Am I a prisoner of war?”

Diggory looked like he wished to be anywhere but standing beside the irritated British physician. “Yes and no.”

“I either am or I am not,” Harry was growing exasperated.

“You are a bit of a novelty, Dr. Potter, and some politicians hope to use you as a puppet. In much the same way a pressed sailor is kidnapped from his ship, you were kidnapped from a public coach. The politicians desire to parade you around as an example of British cruelty – silencing all opposition to this trumped up little war.”

“I don't want to be a sodding novelty. I want to go home.”

“The sodding – as you so crudely put it – novelty is what is going to get you home. Sending you from naval hospital to naval hospital to teach your lifesaving surgical technique will keep you out of the hands of the politicians and your continued cooperation with the United States Navy moves you to the front of the list for any prisoner exchange.

“You stepped in front of a loaded pistol to save the life of an unjustly pressed American sailor…and I saw what you were up against in that surgery aboard the Macedonian …officer or not, sailor or not…you are now one of us and we take care of our own.”

They had reached the nearly empty wagon, the wounded being carried aboard by members of the crew. Diggory extended his hand to Harry and shook it firmly.

“I hope to meet you again, Dr. Potter, at a time when we are not at war…May God bless you and give you safe passage home.”

Harry stepped aboard the frigate and presented himself to her captain as a prisoner of war. He did not know if he hoped the frigate arrived safely in Boston, or if he hoped a British vessel would intercept her. Harry just wanted to go home and he did not much care how he got there.

~*~*~*

EPILOGUE

~*~*~*

Physician and Surgeon Harold James Evans Potter stood on the main floor of the surgical theatre at the Royal College of Surgeries in London. The twenty-eight year old physician looked up into the sea of faces populating the gallery. It was a mixed group of residents, practicing physicians, barber surgeons from all branches of the military, and the just plain curious gathered at the Royal College to hear Dr. Potter lecture on Battlefield Surgery and to demonstrate newer surgical techniques.

Harry searched the gallery and his eye stopped when he spied a familiar face in the crowd. He gave a small smile and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

And in the third row, dressed in a black waistcoat, Severus Tobias Snape returned the gesture.

FIN

~*~*~*

A Few Definitions:

[1] Dialogue taken directly from Samuel Leeches' biography “A Voice From The Main Deck”.

[2] A pinnacle is a 28 foot boat used for transporting a captain or officers ashore.

[3] A son of a gun – a boy born aboard ship with no identified father – a bastard.

[4] A Loblolly Boy was an untrained medical assistant to a surgeon. His title was derived from a thin gruel – loblolly – used to feed the sick. A loblolly boy fed and cleaned the patients as well as held them down during unanaesthetized surgical procedures and amputation.

[5] Salt was not rubbed into a wound to cause further pain but used for its antiseptic quality. In a time before antibiotics and sterilization, salt was one of the few products available to stem an infection.

[6] Before homes and inns had central heating and insulation, it was not uncommon for unrelated members of the same sex to share a bed. Shared body heat helped to keep them warm.

A Brief History Lesson

The surgical procedure used by Harry in the story is based upon an actual medical procedure that was considered radical in 1812 and did not come into widespread use until much later.

The real officers and men of the HMS Macedonian were taken from New London to Jamaica where they faced a court martial aboard the San Domingo on May 27 and May 31, 1813. The officers and men were praised for their courage and resolution in the face of overwhelming odds and were all honorably acquitted.

Upon his eventual return to England, the captain, John Carden, faced public criticism for his imprudent actions and for his inability to out maneuver a ship known as “the Wagon”.

The HMS Macedonian held the dubious distinction of being the only captured British vessel to be brought back to American shores during the War of 1812. Renamed the USS Macedonian , she did not see action in the war, but in 1815, she was part of a fleet sent to stop harassment of American ships by the Barbary pirates. In 1819, she was the first ship to serve in the Pacific on a trade mission and later protected U.S. commercial interests in South America. Broken up in the Norfolk Naval Yard in 1828, her figurehead and anchors were salvaged for use on a new ship being built, also named the Macedonian .

With the decline of hostilities, British impressment of sailors ended in practice in 1815 and by law in 1835. Flogging was not abolished in the British forces until 1881. Unruly midshipmen and cadets are still occasionally caned as punishment today.

An excerpt of Samuel Leeches' biography “A Voice From The Main Deck” was the reference used to create my version of this historical event. If you wish to read Leeches' excerpt in its entirety, it can be found at a wonderful website devoted to British naval history http://www.nelsonsnavy.co.uk/engagement.html and contains a rather graphic first-hand account of war.

~*~*~

FIN