The Match and the Spark

5. Berwick-upon-Tweed

Hermione often wondered if Ron could hear what they were saying when they spoke to him. The Healers didn't know; although, she suspected they secretly leant towards 'no'. For her own part, Hermione wasn't sure what possibility was worse—that he was completely unaware, or that he was aware but unable to make any response. Regardless, she spoke to him all the times that she visited. It had been odd at first, talking to someone who could not give any sign of a reaction. But she'd got used to it, eventually. She might sit there reading passages from Quidditch Through the Ages or from the Chudley Cannons newsletter, or simply chatter on about her day. She felt sure she could predict some of the responses he might have come out with, had he been awake.

'You're mental, Hermione,' always featured high up there.

It was certainly not the same as hearing it come from him, however, and she hoped, as she always did, that soon he would be able to tell her that she was mental.

Today, she squeezed his hand a little tighter and leant forward more eagerly as she spoke. 'I told you I was going to find him for you, Ron, and I've already made a start. You're not going to believe this, but Professor Snape is going to help me. Admittedly, I'm unsure as to just what his help constitutes, but we'll see.'

She decided not to tell Ron that Snape had made it clear she would owe him one. Really, she didn't want to imagine what that would favour might eventually entail. Who knew with him?

'He's already taken me to Selwyn's house and we've found one of his relatives to speak to. To be honest, I'm glad to have someone else with me, even if being around the man is a little bit awkward, sometimes.'

Hermione paused to reflect. There was something inherently… weirdabout her whole experience with him so far. Other than the issue of Selwyn, they'd never talked about anything else, and yet, she felt that there was often some elephant in the room, something that was being left unsaid. Was it just a case of her imagining things? No, there was definitely something. And his behaviour… she'd never seen anyone appear so disconnected at times. His gaunt, stubbly face popped into her mind and she frowned. There was something not quite right. Not only because it seemed wrong, somehow, to see him in a Muggle jumper and his hair to be not as she remembered, but something in his manner, too. She was so used to seeing him as one thing that to see him as another was oddly unsettling.

'He's a shadow of his former self,' she murmured quietly, as if the thought had only just occurred to her, but the evidence had been right before her eyes from the off. It all came down to one thing in the end—the war and Voldemort. But he would not want her to bring attention to it. Anyone could see that he did not want people prying into his personal matters, and, really, what could she do? What couldshe possibly say that would leave any impression with him? He would tell her it's not her place to concern herself in his affairs and he would be right.

She sighed. 'There's such a lot left to still sort out, Ron. Such a lot.'

She watched the slow rise and fall of his chest for a moment. There was a lot left to sort out between them, too. In the few days between Voldemort's demise and his hospitalisation, there hadn't been time for anything. But time would come, she hoped...

'Well, I've told Harry some of what I'm up to and he worries of course, but you know what he's like. He's promised not to tell your mother yet, so that's all right, as I'm sure she will have a few things to say to me about it! Anyway, I should be back tomorrow to see you and I'll tell you how I got on then.'

Hermione stood up, smoothed his hair back from his forehead and then left. She was off to 'Spinner's End.' She kept meaning to find out precisely where that was. From the little she had seen, she would point to it being in a town in the Midlands, perhaps, or maybe farther north.

She was wary about knocking on his door again. He'd had a couple of days to ruminate on the situation this time. Would he have changed his mind again? She wasn't even sure what it was that had inspired him to agree to help her in the first place. Mostly, he'd seemed like he couldn't give a toss about anything, but something must have struck a chord within him. Maybe, when she became more confident around him, she might ask him. Though, she wouldn't maintain high expectations of getting a comprehensive answer.

He opened the door without a word and let her enter. She only quirked the corner of her mouth in greeting—pleasantries were clearly wasted upon him. She sat down in an armchair and slowly removed her gloves, ears pricked for the expected speech proclaiming he would no longer offer his assistance.

It never came.

He sat in a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace without comment. Still, judging from his expression, he was not particularly happy. She'd never known someone able to look so preoccupied when doing nothing but sitting there silently.

She cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. 'I've, ah, sorted out the Portkey to take us to Northumberland.'

Hermione removed a plastic wrapper from within her pocket and placed it on the arm of her chair.

'Very well,' he said, looking markedly unenthused.

She fought not to sigh resignedly in response. 'I've done some research on the Mortimers and there's not much to say, really. That old Who's Who of Pureblood families you gave me pointed to them being one of the lesser lines, because of their lack of wealth and resources, mostly. It may be possible to suggest from that, then, that the match between Eliza Mortimer and Selwyn's father was, for them, a successful one.'

He wasn't even bothering to look at her as she spoke. Hermione clasped her hands together in her lap, trying not to feel perturbed.

'Um, John Mortimer is ninety-eight years old, lives alone, and is the last of the Mortimer line, having never had children…' She trailed off, having exhausted all her pitiful knowledge on the subject.

He stirred in his chair, deigning to glance at her briefly. 'It is suggestive that he is the last of the Mortimer line.'

'Oh?'

'Indeed. We may infer that he is not one who is particularly bothered with Pureblood ideology. No self-respecting Pureblood would allow his family lineage to die out, not if he could help it, anyway.'

'So you think it is possible that he does not share the same views as his nephew?'

'Perhaps. More important, however, is our pretext for seeking him out in the first place. Are we to fabricate one? Do we go disguised?'

He raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'I hope you've thought about this!' It also suddenly threw her back to his classroom when he used to ask her for her homework, looking as if he had been hoping to catch her out for not doing it.

'I've considered a few scenarios. One, we could pretend to be working officially on the investigation. However, that way is fraught with pitfalls—the biggest one being that the Ministry could find out. It is also likely that he will recognise us, but even if we were disguised, we have no official knowledge of the investigation. No doubt he would smell a rat, eventually. I'm sure the Aurors will have interviewed him at some point.'

'One would hope the Aurors did have the wisdom to take such a course of action.'

'Quite. We could create a different reason for wanting locate Selwyn. Perhaps he owes us money or something…?'

Snape narrowed his eyes.

'But, really, I think it best to just go as we are.'

'That he will recognise us is almost a given. Should he take offence at our visit, he would be able to report us to the Aurors.'

Hermione frowned. 'It is certainly a risk, but I think one worth taking. It may even work in our favour.'

Snape snorted. 'We know nothing of Mortimer's biases or prejudices—not really. We may be the last people he wants to see.'

She suddenly felt a palpable tension materialise in the small room and wondered if he was considering that it was he who would be the last person Mortimer would want to see. She didn't think she'd imagined the edge of bitterness in his voice. Had people been unfavourable towards him after the fall of Voldemort? The general consensus towards him, she'd imagined, had been positive, but then, what did she know? She wasn't living his life.

'Still, do you not think the truth is best? I'm sure that most people would be understanding to our purpose and could not really take too much offence, as long as we go about it courteously, of course.'

He made a flat sound of agreement. The only noise then was the crackling of the fire and Hermione fidgeted in the silence.

'Well, I suppose we might as well go, then.'

He got to his feet without a word. As he was tugging on his overcoat, she could have sworn she saw him stifle a yawn, despite him having his back to her. It was only half-past ten in the morning… but she supposed he did not look like a man who got much sleep. She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, beginning to see that there were maybe pieces to a different puzzle here, but she had to abandon her musings when she realised he was looking at her expectantly.

She cleared her throat and stood, gathering her gloves to her. She removed her wand and tapped the plastic wrapper.

'Ready?'

They both touched the Portkey and, some moments later, they'd been transported to the edge of the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, whereupon Hermione withdrew a small Muggle road map from inside her pocket.

'The house is a short walk out of the town centre—this way.' She pointed west, stuffing the map back into her pocket.

Her companion only nodded in acknowledgement and they set off. They walked at a modest pace and Hermione was grateful that he didn't appear to be in any hurry. Eager as she was get on Selwyn's trail, she was feeling a bit nervous about the impending visit with the uncle. There was so much that could go wrong. He could slam the door in their faces and they would be powerless to do anything about it. He could report them to the Aurors. He may not even be at home—that, certainly, would be a let-down.

She ran through her speech in her head. She had planned how she would begin her appeal for information. He was a ninety-eight year old man—she did not want to come across as threatening, but then again, turning up with Severus Snape, of all people, could perhaps come across as an intimidation tactic. She glanced up at him out of the corner of her eye. Definitely intimidating. At least he didn't have those robes on that he wore at Hogwarts—that coat he had on could only flare out so much, after all.

The wind blew his hair back from his face and she could see the deep frown on it. His eyes seemed to dart around, assessing everything from passers-by, to the cars on the road, to the buildings around them. What his purpose was, she didn't know, but it was a subtle change in him, she noticed, compared to his behaviour in his own environment. He looked a little more on edge. She'd noticed it at Selwyn's house too. It was maybe, not unexpected, in the circumstances, but she couldn't help but think that he was a man who was not normally prone to edginess. She'd bear her observation in mind, along with the many others she had been making about him recently.

Awful as perhaps it sounded, she felt she was glad that his presence might be a little off-putting. Not many people, if any, could walk all over him and get away with it. Still, she hoped he would show some patience with Mortimer; though she wouldn't be surprised if he ended up saying not a word at all. But, at least it would be another pair of ears and eyes, and maybe he would see something that she might have otherwise missed on her own.

The road became less busy as they took a turning that led them into a residential area.

'There is a lane leading to the house at the end of this street, I believe.'

She was not used to associating with someone so quiet, familiar, as she was, with the bickering between Harry, Ron and herself. It unnerved her slightly and it was a bit of a task for her to also keep silent.

To her relief, they soon came upon a gate with the name 'Six Bells cottage' attached to it. Hermione pushed it open and moved up the path to the front of the small house.

'Please be in, please be in,' she muttered to herself, unable to take any time to appreciate the colourful flowerpots and hanging baskets that adorned the façade of the house. Her anticipation building, it could have been a wooden shack for all she noticed.

Hermione raised a hand to the knocker and sent a small encouraging smile to Snape standing nearby. Why she'd bothered, she didn't know. He just looked at her blankly.

Eventually, she heard the sound of movement from within the house and she breathed deeply. A short, white-haired man appeared as the door opened. He peered up over the glasses perched on the end of his nose, glancing between the both of them with some surprise.

'Mr. John Mortimer, I presume?' asked Hermione politely.

He nodded slowly. 'Well, bless me,' he began. 'No need to enquire of your names.' She noticed his eyes become a shade wary. 'Nor to enquire as to your business, I fancy.'

'We are sorry to intrude, but it is about your nephew, Horatio Selwyn, Mr Mortimer.'

His expression darkened momentarily, but then his mouth lifted slightly and he stood aside. 'Well, you may come in, my dear.' He motioned a hand inside. 'You too, sir.'

'Thank you, very much,' replied Hermione, stepping over the threshold. She felt Snape follow her, but he made no comment to Mortimer as he passed. She fought not to wince—couldn't he at least be perfunctorily civil?

The old man led them into a sitting room and bade them sit down.

'You are friends with that young man my… nephew has injured. Is that correct?'

Hermione nodded.

Mortimer removed his glasses and sighed heavily. He sank into an armchair and shook his head. 'I can only say how sorry I am about the awful business, Miss Granger.' He looked at her sadly. 'Indeed, for that and more.'

Hermione was suddenly rather alarmed to see the glassy sheen form in the old man's eyes and she rushed to appease him. 'Please, Mr Mortimer, you don't have to apologise for behaviour that was not your own.'

'Thank you, my dear. But how may I be of help to you?'

'As you may know, the Aurors have put the investigation into your nephew's disappearance on hold. I'm just trying to do all that I can to help my friend.'

'A noble cause, Miss Granger. And Mr Snape…?'

'Has been, ah, good enough to assist me in the matter.' Hermione looked at the man in question. He was openly studying Mortimer.

Mortimer nodded. 'You want any information I can give you on Horatio?'

'If you are willing to provide it.'

He nodded again. 'I say quite wholeheartedly that I have never condoned my nephew's behaviour, Miss Granger. In fact, it thoroughly shames me to be even associated with him.'

Hermione tried to detect any sign that he was lying, but to her at least, he seemed in earnest.

'I shall talk to you, but I fear that I will not have anything of use to you. Shall I arrange us some tea, first?'

'Oh, that would be lovely.'

In the chair next to her, she sensed Snape shift. Inwardly she groaned. She'd obviously just done something he didn't like.

'Just a moment, then.' Mortimer smiled and got to his feet, shuffling out of the room.

Hermione looked at Snape cautiously. 'You don't think he's gone to escape out of the window or something?'

'No; but you've given him time to recoup any advantage we had with the element of surprise. He's probably getting his story right in his head as we speak.'

She closed her eyes tiredly. 'He may not have a story to get right, you know. He seems genuine enough.'

He merely raised his eyebrows and looked away. Hermione bit her lip, frustrated, and looked away too.

Mortimer came back into the room, a floating tray of cups preceding him. He offered a plate towards her. 'Biscuit?'

'Thank you,' said Hermione, taking one.

Snape declined when it was his turn and Hermione suddenly felt the biscuit turn to ash in her mouth. Resisting the urge to spit it back out, she chewed uncomfortably as the old man settled himself back into his chair. What if the biscuits were poisoned? Or the tea?

She chanced a glance to her left. Snape was smirking at her.

She was being ridiculous; they tasted fine. Nevertheless, she casually placed the half-eaten biscuit on her saucer. 'Mr Mortimer,' she said carefully. 'Would you mind if I asked when the last time was that you saw your nephew?'

'Certainly not, my dear. I remember it distinctly because it was at the funeral of Horatio's wife and son. Frankly, I only went out of loyalty to my dear departed sister Eliza—Horatio's mother.' A pitying expression appeared on his face. 'Must be six or seven years ago, now, I'm afraid.'

Hermione looked at her hands. 'Oh.' Merlin, what a disappointment. 'I see—you were not close?'

Mortimer shook his head negatively.

'When my sister married Horatio's father, the advantage was considered to be all on her side. We did not have the wealth and status to compare with the Selwyns'. Still, my sister had beauty—the one thing the Selwyns lacked. I did not approve of the match, Miss Granger. My sister was impressionable, quiet—she allowed her husband to distance herself from her family. The gist of a long story is, I rarely saw my sister over the years of her marriage, and likewise her son. What I will say, is that whenever I did see her, I barely recognised her. She lost her first-born, you see, to Dragon Pox—she never really recovered from it.'

He sipped his tea pensively.

'There were times when she brought Horatio here when he was very young, and then he was just like any normal boy. But I saw him less and less when he was older. There were stories that filtered their way back to me, though. How he bullied people. How he abused his position in the Ministry. Not to mention his strong, political views, shall we say. He was always clever and ruthless, Miss Granger; took after his father in that respect. The death of his wife and child wastragic, but for him, it was merely an excuse for his intolerable behaviour.'

The old man appeared to be getting agitated now and he looked at Hermione, particularly, with deep regret.

'But I did not know that there such an intractable thread of evil running through him.' He blinked several times. 'I did not know the depths of depravity to which he was capable. I wonder, all the time, where it came from—what should have caused it. I assure you both, that had he the effrontery to show up on my doorstep after everything he's done, I would not have hesitated in turning my wand on him!' His voice became raised. 'I would have made him pay for his wickedness and the complete shame and disgrace he has brought upon my poor sister's memory!'

He seemed almost precariously close to tears now, and Hermione instinctively moved to the edge of her chair, leaning over to touch his hand.

'It's all right, Mr Mortimer,' said Hermione soothingly, struck by his upset. 'I'm sorry to have had to bring it up again.' The actions of one certainly had long-lasting implications for many, she thought. Snape, she noted, wasn't looking at either of them. A finger moved slowly over his mouth and he appeared absorbed in some reverie of his own. She found she wasn't sure she would like to know where his thoughts were turned to at that moment.

'Mr Mortimer,' she continued with an encouraging smile. 'You would have no idea as to where your nephew might find refuge?'

He pulled out a handkerchief from his sleeve and cleared his throat. 'No, my dear,' he admitted quietly. 'I wish I did.'

'There's nothing that strikes you as possibly significant—relevant?'

He shook his head sombrely.

'All right.' She squeezed his hand comfortingly.

He dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief and smiled a watery smile. 'Forgive an old man—it doesn't take much to upset me these days.'

He self-consciously busied himself with loading up the cups onto the tray. Hermione helped him. She felt sympathy for him, but she also felt extremely anticlimactic. Mortimer took out his wand to Banish the tray, but the tray only rattled when he waved his wand over it.

'Damn thing,' he muttered impatiently, looking at his wand. 'Don't get old, Miss Granger, whatever you do—isn't that right, Mr Snape?'

Hermione held back an amused smile as Snape only glared in response.

'Well, ah, thank you very much for your time, Mr Mortimer,' she interceded before Snape could decide to voice any umbrage at the comment.

'You're welcome, my dear. I only wish I could have been of more assistance, but you're welcome to come back again, if you need anything more.'

Hermione smiled as genuinely as she could, getting to her feet. 'That's very kind. Goodbye, Mr Mortimer. Don't worry, we'll see ourselves out.'

'Goodbye, Miss Granger; Mr Snape.'

Snape only nodded.

They went out into the hallway and Hermione opened the door. She breathed in a deep breath of fresh air and walked with heavy steps down the path to the gate. Once into the lane, and beyond the view of the house, she paused and leant against a wooden fence.

'Well, that was a waste of time,' she commented with a loud sigh.

'Was it?' asked Snape blandly, rearranging the scarf about his neck.

Hermione raised a questioning eyebrow. 'You think he may have been lying when he talked of Selwyn with such disgust, then?'

He shrugged in that casual, patronising way he had that she was quickly beginning to find insufferable. 'On the contrary, I think he was being entirely truthful.'

She wondered if that assertion was from instinct alone, or from more subtle, magical means.

'But we are not any closer to Selwyn. We can maybe rule out that he came to his uncle for help, but that leaves us with very little—in fact,nothing at all.' She'd had such a feeling that they were heading in the right direction!

'He was never going to tell us where Selwyn was, Miss Granger. Neither was he likely to tell us if he had seen him since his disappearance.'

'I know, but I'd hoped he'd have more insight into his character… Something…'

'I confess myself rather taken with that charming painting of the little house by the sea.'

Had she heard him correctly? Hermione pushed herself away from the fence and folded her arms. 'I'm sorry?'

'Oh—did you not see it? Hanging above the fireplace?'

He was an art connoisseur in his spare time, was he?

Hermione frowned. 'What are you—' She broke off suddenly. She had noticed the painting in question and she knew now—she knew she'd seen that painting before. Very recently, actually.

She stepped into the middle of the lane, where he stood, her eyes wide. 'But, surely, that is one hell of a long shot?' she asked, a note of wonder in her voice.

'That our Mr John Mortimer should have the same painting hanging in his house as in Selwyn's house? It is the longest of shots, Miss Granger, but the only one we presently have.'

'But what can it mean? Should we not have asked Mortimer about it?'

Snape shook his head vehemently. 'Certainly not. Consider the facts, Miss Granger.' He began walking down the lane, so Hermione followed. 'It's a Muggle painting—it does not move. It is unremarkable in Mortimer's case, but why should the Selwyns, who have an extensive Magical art collection, retain such a, probably worthless, piece?'

'But the painting was hanging in what would have been Eliza Selwyn's bedroom—Mortimer's sister.'

'Quite so; clearly, the painting holds some significance for the both of them. What could that be? We may infer that the house in the picture is real. Was it where they grew up? Perhaps. Another property belonging to the Mortimer family? Probably not, given their financial situation.'

Hermione's mind was whirring. 'It must be somewhere they both visited in some capacity. Probably regularly to produce such sentimentality.'

Snape nodded. 'And, we do not know that Selwyn himself did not visit there, with his mother, maybe.'

Her step faltered and she looked at him seriously. 'You think it's possible that, providing Selwyn also has some connection to the place, he may have gone there following his escape from Hogwarts?'

There was an element of doubt on his face now. 'Well, it is a credible hypothesis, at least. What would you have done in his shoes? You're on the run, wandless, you'd want to be seen by as few people as possible. You can't go home, just in case the Aurors are waiting—but you need somewhere.'

'He had to have gone somewhere,' Hermione repeated to herself. 'Somewhere—but that's exactly it. We have no idea where that cottage is. It is also unlikely that he has any ownership on the cottage as all his assets were seized by the Ministry.'

Snape nodded thoughtfully. 'Only those in his own name, mind. And, yes, it may very well be that we shall not discover the location that painting depicts. And it may be that it is just a painting. But I would hesitate drawing Mortimer's attention to it, just in case he is in contact with his nephew—willingly or even unwillingly so.'

She hoped for the old man's sake that he had not been coerced into anything by his nephew. He'd seemed a nice enough man.

'If he is in contact, then Selwyn will know we are after him,' she observed darkly.

'A risk, indeed.'

And one that she was unsure of the potential repercussions for, at present. She would continue to hope that Mortimer had been entirely truthful about not having seen his nephew for six or more years.

'So, what now? Back to Cumbria to see the other painting?' she asked Snape.

'It is not too far to Apparate from here directly, so yes, we might as well go.'

Hermione took his proffered arm and within seconds, they were standing in the same spot as they had stood only a few days ago. The walked up to the front of the house, Hermione's thoughts centred on hoping that something would materialise from this one possible clue. It was tenuous at best, but right now, she'd take tenuous with good grace.

They were moving around the side of the house, to the door they had used previously, when Snape stopped abruptly and looked upwards.

'What's wrong, sir?' She looked up to where his gaze was directed and could see nothing. The house looked was as desolate and silent as it had been before.

'I thought I saw something move, out of the corner of my eye.'

'In the house?'

He shook his head. 'No…'

A little pulse of apprehension sounded within her, but she knew that it was unlikely to be anything portentous. 'A bird, maybe…' she offered.

Snape didn't seem to accept that readily. 'I don't think we should dither, Miss Granger. Let us get in and get back out again.'

Hermione nodded and quickly undid the Locking Charm on the door. Wands out, they moved swiftly through the house, up the stairs to the first floor, and then up again to the second. In the bedroom, they found the painting hanging over the dressing-table.

'Do you know what? I've just had an awful thought,' said Hermione, staring at the painting. 'We think Selwyn has been back here to get rid of the speaking portraits, but why not take this one away too, if it could provide a potential clue? He must know Mortimer has one.'

Snape also stared at the painting and sighed pessimistically. 'I don't know; it seems the logical thing for him to do, but he may have simply forgotten about it, or he may not have been intending to go to the cottage at that time, who knows? Best not to over-analyse it yet, we—'

Hermione had heard the creak of the staircase, too.

They stared at each other with wide eyes for a moment before Snape motioned to the painting, whispering, 'We'll have to take it with us, but no one must know it's missing. Duplicate it, but let us keep the original.'

Hermione, in quick succession, Summoned the painting towards her, charmed a replica to appear, and then levitated it back onto the wall. She shrunk the original down into the size of a postage stamp and, while Snape was occupied with peering out of the window, she stuffed it down into her bra for safekeeping.

'It's not high enough,' she heard him mutter angrily to himself, as he left the window. He stepped silently over the carpet to the doorway and peered through the small gap onto the landing.

He turned around and indicated for her to join him behind the door. 'Two men,' he whispered. 'Muggles, from what I could see.' He nudged her into the corner between the door and the wall. 'As soon as they come in, we Stun them, all right?'

Hermione nodded, clutching her wand tightly. Her heart was beating a tattoo in her chest, but she told herself to calm down. She'd been in tighter situations than this before, far tighter. The soft sound of footsteps were on the landing now, heading directly for them. She wished they would carry on going, but soon, too soon for her liking, they paused right outside their door. Hermione glanced up at Snape, but there was only a look of complete focus on his face. She braced herself.

'Mr Snape, Miss Granger, we would suggest that you put down your…wands, for your own benefit.'

Hermione felt herself start slightly as the unfamiliar voice travelled through the wood of the door. How on earth did they know who they were?

Her confusion soon transmuted to horror, however, when, seconds later, there was the unmistakeable clicking noise of a gun.

AN: Thanks for reading!