The Match and the Spark

2. Matters Into Our Hands

The small room was the typical sterile white of a hospital, and in the middle was a solitary bed. On it, lay a solitary figure, unmoving. Around the head of the bed, certain magical instruments floated, monitoring the condition of the patient. They hadn't registered any change for good or ill in a long while. The room, while fundamentally clinical in atmosphere, had a touch of personality. Most importantly, a Chudley Cannons scarf lay draped across the headboard.

Around the bed were several chairs, one of which was currently occupied. Hermione Granger appeared distracted as she stared unseeingly into the ether, her disquiet lulled into force by the silence in the room. Her unrest had been growing for some time, but recently she had had cause to let it grow exponentially.

She glanced up when the door opened and closed quietly behind her. After a moment, she began shaking her head sadly.

'I still can't believe it,' she whispered.

Opposite her, sat Harry Potter, who simply looked at his hands wordlessly.

'What are we going to do? What can we do?' Hermione looked at him imploringly.

'I don't know, Hermione, I really don't.'

Hermione ran a hand over her hair in frustration. 'It's nearly been six months, Harry. He's been lying there for six months! There must be something! I just can't stand it any longer, sitting here doing nothing! Can you?'

Harry looked at her in surprise. 'I do care about Ron too, you know, Hermione.'

He looked offended, and Hermione felt apologetic. 'Sorry, Harry; I don't mean to sound… I just hate feeling useless…'

He only nodded understandingly. The door opened again and in came Ginny. She smiled slightly at them both and sat next to Harry, reaching out to momentarily squeeze Ron's hand.

'The Aurors have given up the search—what else is there?' said Ginny softly, knowing what the issue of tension between Harry and Hermione was.

'But he's out there, I know it,' stated Hermione flatly, staring at the supine Ron. 'And while he is, there's no hope for Ron.'

'So what do you suggest?' asked Harry. 'The Aurors have found no trace of him, Hermione, in ages. He could be long out of the country by now and you know it. Surely there must be another way of lifting the curse? That is where we should be concentrating.'

'There's not, Harry. I've tried as best I can, you know I have.'

She must have scoured every single book on curses that she could get her hands on, and they'd all told her the same bloody thing every time.

Silence descended between them and Hermione turned her head back to the slumbering redhead who had not moved for six months. She missed him terribly. She missed his inappropriate comments. She missed his moments of ignorance. She missed his humour. She missed… well, there were lots of things she missed. But it didn't have to be that way. The possibility of Ron's recovery was out there—somewhere.

'We should never have left it to the Aurors,' said Hermione.

'It wasn't as simple as that, Hermione,' replied Ginny diplomatically.

Hermione nodded a fraction. 'I know,' she said softly.

Ginny was right. It had taken them all by complete surprise. They hadn't been able to identify Ron's ailment for several days following it's onset. Everyone had been picking up the pieces of their lives following the end of the war, and the Aurors had been confident that they would capture all those responsible. They made a big publicity gesture out of it—promising to restore harmony to the Magical community once more by bringing those responsible for the discord to justice. And of course, it had been a double-blow for the Weasley family, and they'd needed support. They just couldn't have taken the matter into their own hands. It had been, maybe, a relief to rely on the Aurors, and at that time, it had seemed the Aurors had known what they were doing. They'd had some major successes. Death Eaters were being rounded up swiftly and efficiently.

It was, perhaps, simply Sod's Law that their case would be the one that proved a step too far for them.

'If only we had the information the Ministry has on the investigation!'

'It's frustrating,' Harry agreed. 'But you know they won't give it to us. None of the details of the Death Eater investigations will be made public yet for fear of vigilantism.'

Hermione knew this, too, but she still wished it were not the case. The Aurors were steadfast. She had tried her luck with them, but they would not reveal any details whatsoever about ongoing investigations.

'I've half a mind to contact Malfoy, and see if he knows anything about him.'

'Don't go snooping around the Malfoys,' warned Ginny. 'I wouldn't trust anything they could tell us.'

Harry cleared his throat. 'Well, I've been thinking, and what about contacting Snape? He's the only member of the Death Eaters that you wouldn't have to go to Azkaban to see.'

Hermione looked at him swiftly in some surprise. 'Professor Snape? Merlin, why didn't I think of that? I never thought… Where is he? I haven't heard a peep about him for ages.'

'That's the only problem,' said Harry. 'No one knows where he is, apart from McGonagall, probably. Well, she did know a few months back, anyway, because she sent a letter on to him for me.'

'I doubt there's anything useful he can tell us,' commented Ginny grimly. 'He never responded to Harry's letter.'

Harry nodded in agreement.

Hermione ignored them, too busy mentally forming her plan of action. Any tiny piece of information could be crucial, and one piece could be all that was needed to get on the right track. She would write to McGonagall and ask her to forward a letter on to Professor Snape. She would also try her luck at requesting a face-to-face meeting with him. It could be just the breakthrough they needed.

'Don't get your hopes up, Hermione. Realistically, what could he tell us?'

'Anything, Harry. We haven't been able to find out where that bastard lived, let alone anything else, thanks to the Aurors! That would be something!'

'But then what, Hermione? Are we to run off and track him down ourselves?'

Ginny laid a fearful hand on Harry's arm. Hermione looked away.

'I don't know, Harry. Let's just see how this goes first, all right?'

She knew they couldn't just take off. Or, at least, Harry couldn't. She knew he would do anything to help Ron, but he had responsibilities now, not least to Ron's sister. And there was no way Mrs Weasley would be letting Ginny out of her sight.

Hermione got to her feet. 'I'm going to go and write that letter, now. We can do no more than try.'

She moved to the head of the bed and leaned down to press a kiss to Ron's cheek. She hated how pale he'd become—unnaturally pale. It always made her throat stick to see it.

'See you later, Ron,' she whispered, and after bidding her other friends goodbye, she headed for home. She had a letter to write.

Which, she did, and then sent it on its way up to Scotland post-haste.

She didn't wait long for a reply from McGonagall, but it wasn't very promising. The older woman wrote back saying that she 'shouldn't hold out too much hope of Severus replying.' And though Hermione could not heed the advice, it turned out that McGonagall would be right. Three weeks after the fact, she'd heard nothing from her elusive former teacher, and she was disappointed, severely disappointed, in fact. She'd had faith that he would have at least replied to her letter. She'd believed that despite however much he disliked Ron, and Harry, and herself, he would have offered whatever help was in his power to give, however small. Even if he knew nothing, he might have at least acknowledged the position they were in. But there was nothing.

And it wasn't that the letter could have gone astray. McGonagall had assured her that her owl had indeed delivered the letter into the hands of Severus Snape and no other. So,stuff him, Hermione thought. She'd find a way on her own.

Still, it didn't stop her from feeling a small pang of hope every time an owl tapped at her window. It was to be a pointless hope, however.

If that way was shut to her, she was determined there had to be another. It was when she spied Draco Malfoy in Diagon Alley that she considered she might have to go against the wishes of her friends. Maybe Draco would speak to his father for her, or his mother. Or maybe he, himself, would know something. She did not approach him that first time she saw him, however. Ginny was right to say she didn't think she would ever fully trust a Malfoy.

But Hermione began to notice a pattern. She always went into Diagon Alley before her early morning visits to Ron, and two consecutive mornings she saw Draco disappear down into Knockturn Alley. Was he up to anything nefarious? She had to wonder. Although, word was that fortunes for the Malfoy's had disintegrated significantly following the war and Malfoy senior's subsequent imprisonment. Maybe Draco was selling off some Dark items, the family silver, so to speak, to make ends meet.

Each time she saw him, she told herself to just go up to him, and the third time she witnessed him slinking off into the narrow alleyway, Hermione moved out of the doorway to Flourish and Blotts' and headed determinedly after him.

She didn't know what made her glance away from her quarry. Maybe she was concerned someone might see her disappearing into Knockturn Alley. Whatever it was, she happened to glance to her left, and at first she didn't comprehend it. It was only when the man on the steps to Gringott's bank had replaced his hood that she realised she'd just seen Severus Snape.

Thoughts of Malfoy suddenly fled from her mind. Neither did she care that she might have been mistaken in her identification of Snape. It had only been a fleeting glance, after all. But, before she knew what she was about, her legs were carrying her forward and she was calling out to him.

He indicated no response—made no sign that he'd heard her. So she shouted louder, and she moved faster towards him. He appeared almost statue-like, completely still, but then she saw his hand fold into his robe pocket. She knew it was for his wand, and maybe it was to hex her, but she rather thought he was about to Apparate.

'Sir!' she cried. Why wouldn't he acknowledge her?

Hermione took the steps two at time. He was going to turn and Apparate at any second. What more was there for her to do? Given time to think about it, she might have decided against recklessly lunging at him, but she did not have time to think about it. It was instinct that made her fling out her arm towards him.

And then it was blinding, hot pain.

Gasping aloud, she collapsed to her knees and clutched her hand close to her body.

She breathed shallowly as shock coursed through her system. And the blood… She shakily wrapped her robe around her hand to staunch the bleeding. Bile rose up in her throat—her forefinger and middle finger were missing; she winced against the pain.

Why had she touched him as he was about to Apparate? Merlin, what if he didn't come back? She whimpered. What if he hadn't realised?

It seemed like she sat there for hours, in a daze, but actually, only a few moments later, the tell-tale crack of Apparition made her start. Hermione could only stare up at him wide-eyed. The only thought to penetrate the fuzziness in her mind was to establish that at least she'd been right—it was none other than her former Potions master. Wordlessly, he reached down and, curling a hand around her upper arm, he hauled her to her feet. She could only register the throbbing of her injured hand as he did so. Another crack sounded as he transported them both to the reception area of St. Mungo's hospital.

She watched, almost fearfully, as he placed her handkerchief-wrapped fingers on the desk. The Welcome Witch took one look at them and enquired, 'Splinching?'

Hermione nodded fervently.

'Go on through.'

Snape dragged her through to accident and emergency, where they were immediately set upon by a mediwitch who sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of her. They were shown into a cubicle, where Hermione sat down on a bed and observed the mediwitch unwrap the fingers and levitate them onto a tray. Wincing at the sight of her bloodied fingers, she measured a glance at Snape and inwardly bridled when she saw he was turning on his heel. He would go, would he? He had his hand on the curtain, to pull it aside. Well, she would not let him go.

'Sir, I must speak with you,' she burst out forcefully, despite the shakes that travelled through her body. She felt like she might be sick at any moment, but she would not allow it.

She watched him pause, but he did not turn around.

'It's imperative that I do,' she continued urgently. 'I'll Splinch all of my fingers off if that's what it takes.'

She meant it wholeheartedly.

Hermione willed him to turn around. He had to be curious about what she wanted him for, didn't he? How could he just brush her off?

'Please, sir.'

He glanced at her, finally, and she had to force herself not to look away when he did so. He did not look as she remembered—he looked unwell. She decided to stare back resolutely as the mediwitch waved her wand around her wounded hand. They didn't have to talk at the hospital. It could be on his terms, and in an environment where he felt comfortable. She really didn't give a toss about where they spoke, just as long as they did, indeed, speak.

But he shook his head minutely and made to leave, again. Her reaction was immediate. She could not have stopped herself even if she'd wanted to. She launched herself off the bed—the mediwitch yelped in surprise—and almost sprung herself towards him. The movement was enough to forestall his exit, and he surveyed her as she stood before him, her uninjured arm outstretched entreatingly.

'Your, ah, hand will be as good as new in a jiffy…' observed the mediwitch carefully, looking between them as she guided Hermione back to the bed.

He seemed to take an age to decide, but eventually, he said quietly, 'Very well, I shall wait.'

Hermione breathed with relief. The mediwitch bustled around her and quickly reattached her fingers, before strapping them together with a bandage.

'The feeling will return to them soon,' she assured. 'Just keep them still, and take a Pain potion if you have any discomfort.'

Hermione thanked her, but the moment her hand was mended, she noticed Snape become rather impatient, so she stood and approached him. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and Apparated away with her. She felt a little bewildered, momentarily, and she glanced around her surroundings. There wasn't much to see. A small room, dominated by a fireplace, some chairs and some books. It must be where he lives, she decided. Where, precisely, that was, she had no idea, and she supposed he'd done it so she would not be able to come back a second time.

She stood in the middle of the room, massaging her recently reattached fingers. He removed his cloak and sunk, she would say, gratefully, into his armchair. He placed his elbow on the arm of the chair and put his hand over his eyes.

'Speak,' he said flatly.

Hermione felt hesitation. She hardly knew where to begin, and there was something about his behaviour that was incredibly off-putting.

He rubbed his brow irritably when she failed to comply. She was trying his nerves, already, she could tell.

'It's about Ron,' she said hurriedly.

He stilled. 'What,' he said in a deadly voice, 'do I care about Weasley?' He removed his hand and looked at her, as if to emphasise his point.

Her expression darkened. 'He's been under that curse for six months, I—'

She'd never seen anyone look more long-suffering. 'Miss Granger, it's a deplorable habit to start a story in the middle.'

She raised a questioning eyebrow. 'You don't know?' How could he not have known? It had been all over the Prophet. Obviously, he hadn't even bothered to open her letter.

He shrugged and rested his head against the back of the chair. Hermione sighed and sat down, looking at her hands for a moment. There was still some dried blood on her both her hands.

'It was, ah, a few days following the end of the war, actually, that we realised what had happened. The curse did not manifest itself straight away. During the battle in the Great Hall, Ron got hit quite badly by a spell—it sent him flying—but, apart from being physically hurt, he seemed fine. But… sometime later, he began unexpectedly to lose consciousness for periods of time, and now, well, it's escalated so that he's in a permanently comatose state.'

Her eyes were sombre, and her expression regretful. He looked away.

'Usually, curses such as those may only be lifted by he who cast it in the first place.'

Clearly, he thought she was wasting his time.

'I—we know. I am not here for information on the curse. I am here because we know who cast it. I am here because Horatio Selwyn, the Death Eater who cursed Ron, has managed to evade capture by the Aurors for the past six months. I am here because I want to know everything you do about Selwyn.'

She tried to read his expression, but his face was turned into shadow.

'How has he evaded capture?' he asked.

'He was disarmed during the battle, but in the melee, he managed to slip away. There have been sightings, but a few weeks ago, the Aurors officially gave up actively investigating his disappearance. They'll only reopen the case on the basis of new information.'

Hermione straightened in her chair. 'So if they won't find him, I will.'

Snape looked unmoved by her resolution. 'It may be possible to remove the curse with only his wand.'

Hermione shook her head negatively. 'The Aurors, in their infinite wisdom, snapped his wand as soon as it was retrieved. We've had it mended as best as possible, but it won't respond to anyone.'

He looked, suddenly, like he might laugh, and Hermione bristled. She hoped, for his sake, that he was merely reacting to the predictable incompetence of the Ministry, and not anything else. She'd let the incident slide, this time.

'So?' she demanded after a lengthy silence, when he said nothing and only stared into the fireplace.

He blinked, and she had to wonder if he'd momentarily forgotten her presence. His expression become one of disinterest. 'So, what?'

She frowned. 'What do you know of Selwyn?'

'It was the Death Eaters, Miss Granger, not the Women's Institute. Do you think we sat around swapping personal anecdotes?'

Hermione coloured. For the first time since she'd caught up with him, he'd sounded like the teacher she remembered. She had not failed to notice that, otherwise, there was a conspicuous lack of bite in his tone. 'You must know something about him!'

'Nothing that can be of use.'

'I think I shall be the judge of that, thank you!'

'I am not getting involved,' he muttered. 'Now, I'd like to be left alone.'

She stared, and then shook her head. 'No, I don't believe it. You do realise, sir, that regardless of whether you talk or not, I'll go after him. If neither you nor the Aurors will help me, I'll find other means of gathering information.'

'And where is Potter in all of this?'

Hermione made sure to give nothing away. 'Harry supports me and will help me in any way he can.'

Harry had no idea what she was up to, and she was unsure whether she would tell him she'd even spoken to Snape. It depended on the outcome, she supposed.

'What makes you think Selwyn hasn't fled the country, or completely changed his identity?'

Hermione leant forward, her elbows resting on her knees. 'I can't deny that it's a possibility, but consider: he is without his own wand. It's possible he's stolen one from somewhere, but there's no guarantee it will perform efficiently. He has family within Britain, but no obvious connections abroad. But more importantly, Floo stations are on the alert for him. Muggle transport is also closed to him because he has no Muggle passport—I've checked.'

He did not look convinced. 'What if he's Polyjuiced himself into a Muggle and using their passport?'

'I confess, that is a possibility. However, I should think it difficult for him to come across Polyjuice on the run. If he were going to leave the country, it is my opinion that he would have done so by now, but there was a confirmed sighting two months ago in a town in Cumbria. '

She could have sworn his eyes flickered a fraction at that piece of information.

'You can't possibly think you can track down a fugitive such as he, Miss Granger. Give up, find some other way to remove the curse, and leave me be.'

She flew to her feet and her damaged fingers gave a throb of protest at the movement. 'I cannot find another way!' she blustered. 'This is the only way, and I shall do it with or without your help.' She glared at him, and then sighed impotently. It was useless.'I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you.'

She wasn't sorry about that—just sorry that he'd thwarted her. She was not wasting his time—he was wasting hers. It was pointless.

He didn't look at her, but he did speak again. 'Have you considered fully the danger? I will not be made responsible for you encountering it.'

Her resentment dissipated slightly at that. He would not be responsible for her. She knew what she was doing—knew the possible danger she courted. She could make her own decisions.

'I am not blind to the danger,' she admitted quietly. 'But I must try—it's as simple as that.'

He got to his feet and leaned an elbow on the mantelpiece where he rubbed a hand over his chin. The gesture spoke of tiredness to her. Suddenly, she felt a small stab of regret for putting him in this position, when he clearly wanted nothing to do with it, and she didn't think it was because he held no regard for Ron, either. No, it appeared to be something else—something that made her feel like it was a completely different man standing before her. Not that she could ever say she'd known him before, but still. Something had clearly changed.

'Your giving me information does not make you responsible for my subsequent actions. If you were in my position, I think you might do the same thing as me.'

She had to keep pressing, it was clear that he must know something that might be of use, otherwise he wouldn't be prevaricating.

'Sir?' she enquired when he remained silent.

He raised a hand in a flippant gesture of surrender. 'Come back tomorrow, and I may have something for you.'

Success, finally. Hermione nodded slowly, maybe even a little solemnly. Inside, she felt a burst of triumph.'Thank you, sir. I shall be here tomorrow, then. I promise I will bother you no more beyond that.'

He didn't make any reply. She noticed the hand that hung by his side was clenched tightly, and something occurred to her that she probably should have enquired to at the start.

'Um… It was rude of me not to ask before, but are you well? No one's seen you for months…'

She trailed off when he fixed her with a look of ice. She probably deserved it, she decided. She'd come charging in without a thought for him. She had no idea as to what his life involved now, following the end of the war—nothing as to his health, situation, anything. There was, actually, a lot she would like to say to him, one day, but now was obviously not the time.

'The door is through there. Leave, Miss Granger.'

Hermione did without further ado, feeling that it was best to do just as he said. She let herself out of the front door, situated at the end of a short, narrow passage, and found she was standing in a small street. The sound of a river could be heard nearby, no doubt swollen from the amount of rain they'd been having lately. Spinner's End, the sign said. Where was Spinner's End? she wondered. She walked down the pavement to the end of the street and looked around. There were no signs of life anywhere, so she slipped into the lane running between the back gardens and Disapparated.

He would help her. He would give her a starting point from which to begin the search. And she was beginning to think it would be a search. The really was nothing else for it but for her to take matters into her own hands.

After everything they'd been through together, after all they'd done, she would not see Ron confined to a bed for the rest of his life. She could not. Somehow, she would find Selwyn and make him lift the curse, and then she would see that he paid for all the crimes he had committed.

Giving up just wasn't an option.

AN: Thanks for reading!