The Match and the Spark

9. Mr Josiah Abbott

Hermione wasn't sure what to expect that following morning. She sat in the bar of the Maltsters Inn, alone, sipping a cup of tea. She'd already settled the bill for the rooms with the landlord. All that remained was for Snape to show his face, and truth be told, she was getting a bit concerned. Had he taken off in a fit of pique without her?

She stifled a yawn; her sleep had not been easy last night. Not only had her thoughts been consumed with the prospect of what faced them today, but their conversation from the previous evening had lingered with her well into the night. It had put her in the frame of mind that sought to dwell on all that had happened during the course of the War. Such periods of reflection were not uncommon to her. They came upon her with a certain frequency. She suspected it might always be so, even years from now.

But she truly hadn't expected his reaction to her bringing up the topic of justice. Although, she supposed her surprise stemmed not from the realisation that he was personally affected by it, but by the fact that he'd let her see it. If ever there was a man skilled in giving the impression of cool indifference and an almost sneering aloofness, then it was him. It was often easy to forget that even he must have limits.

She thought back to when the news had broken that he had survived the end of the War. For her own part, she'd been quietly relieved. But for Severus Snape himself, it seemed things were not so clear-cut. She wondered if he knew the whole truth of how he'd come to be rescued from the Shack. He'd not said anything about it, and, well, she felt it was probably for the best. She did not want to be at odds with him any more than she already was.

The Ministry had decided not to send him to trial, but even as he had been recovering, there had been a Public Inquiry. Harry, amongst others, had been called to give evidence to a selection of ministers, but that was as far as it had gone. Hermione tried to recall, but she could not remember there being any particular outcry at this. There'd been no baying for blood—his blood, and… it seemed that was his problem. Then again, she knew very little of his life since the final battle; she did not know if he faced frequent opposition from certain quarters. There was a lot that she just simply did not know.

The sound of footsteps drifted towards her and she wondered if this would be him. She was relieved to see that it was. He looked to her as if he'd slept just as well as she had, if not worse. She wouldn't be afraid to venture that the latter was likely true.

'There's a, um, tea, there, if you want it.'

He held his scarf in one hand and, as he moved to pick up the cup, she caught a glimpse of the scar on his neck, peeking out over the collar of his shirt. It startled her for a moment, but then it was gone as the ends of his hair fell forward. He did not sit down to drink his tea, and Hermione sensed that he did not want to hang around, so she got to her feet and picked up her bag. She followed him outside whereupon she shrunk the bag and placed it inside her handbag hanging on her shoulder. 'I suppose they might come in handy, later,' she observed.

He only grunted in reply.

They continued walking towards the sea front in silence. The day was a clear one and the sun shone weakly. There was a crossing at half past nine and would get them to the island within an hour. According to the map, Blackwaterfoot was several miles away from the ferry port; but they should hopefully know where they stood by eleven o'clock with regard to Thistledown cottage.

'I phoned Harry from the telephone box this morning. He managed to find out a great deal, actually. Apparently, the population of witches and wizards on some of the Scottish islands has decreased significantly in recent times. The remoteness was often a draw for magic folk, but with the rise in the Muggle tourism industry, things have changed. It seems likely that the Mortimers may have visited the cottage when it was owned by a witch or wizard, but now it is very possible it is a Muggle home.'

Snape was silent for several moments, and she wondered, perhaps irrationally, if he was going to refuse to speak to her. But eventually, she heard him clear his throat quietly.

'Actually, it is rare that houses formerly belonging to magic folk fall into the hands of Muggles.'

Hermione felt slightly puzzled. 'Oh?'

'Indeed, there's a whole host of thorny issues to contend with. For one, it's hard to explain to the Muggle authorities why there has not been a record of former occupants—deeds etc. Similarly, it's always a difficulty when a witch or wizard tries to buy a Muggle house. Notwithstanding the issue of taxes and so forth, with Muggle properties, we are restricted in how we might use magic to improve it.'

Hermione thought of the Burrow and all of the improvements and adjustments the Weasley's had made. 'Muggle planners would have something to say…'

'Quite.'

'So, what are you saying? It is unlikely that Thistledown cottage has changed hands between both magic folk and Muggles?'

'I'm not saying it doesn't happen, and if you say the magical population has declined, then the chances are more likely, but I am saying it is not practical to make assumptions.'

Her first instinct was that he was being unnecessarily pedantic, but the more she considered, the more she realised he had a point. They needed to know who had occupied the house during the time Eliza Mortimer would have known it. It was not practical to make assumptions that would, in turn, bias them into making further assumptions.

'I wish we knew the date of the painting.'

He nodded his head in agreement. Hopefully the current occupier of Thistledown cottage would prove to be either a font of knowledge or Selwyn himself. It wasn't too much to hope for, was it?

She rolled her eyes at herself; of course it was too much to hope for.

The ferry crossing was uneventful. They'd both sat in silence for the duration of the journey. Hermione had sat with her face towards the window, watching with mounting anticipation as the coastline of the Isle of Arran drew progressively nearer and nearer. It was fanciful, maybe, but she had an encroaching sense that they were getting closer to… something.

It was a thirty minute journey from Brodick to the village of Blackwaterfoot. Hermione was loathe to use any more unauthorised Portkeys—they could not afford to draw any unwanted attention from the Ministry towards themselves. She suggested they get a taxi, to which Snape did not seem particularly enthused. But he only sucked in a breath and dryly remarked that it would cost her a 'pretty penny'.

She ignored him. The whole jaunt was beginning to cost her a pretty penny.

Once in the taxi, every time they passed a road sign for Blackwaterfoot, Hermione felt a tingle of excitement. Periodically, she would glance at her watch to determine how much time had elapsed and how much remained. Eventually, as they approached their destination, Hermione caught sight of the coast. She stilled with expectation, picturing the painting in her mind and gazing hard out of the window. The taxi drew up over the crest of a hill and Hermione straightened in her seat, peering anxiously around the front passenger seat to see through the windscreen.

'This is it,' she whispered, looking at Snape with wide eyes.

He only looked at her blandly.

'These cliffs… The landscape… It's in the painting.'

She looked out of her window at the sea and smiled triumphantly. She didn't care; he could be as unflappable as he wanted. But she was thrumming with energy suddenly, more so than she had when discovering the existence of John Mortimer. They'd found it.

This was… Bound to be an anticlimax, she told herself pragmatically.

'What I wouldn't give to live over there,' said Snape suddenly, and rather loudly too. He even sighed. Hermione looked at him in disbelief.

'Such a charming little house,' he continued, with what suspiciously sounded like longing. 'Wouldn't you say?' he looked at her meaningfully and moved his head slightly so she could see out of his window. Hermione fairly froze still.

'Oh aye, that there's Thistledown cottage,' said the driver. 'Got some fantastic views if that's the thing ye go in for.'

'Don't suppose it's up for sale?' she asked with a laugh.

'Nay; you'll never shift him that lives there. Been there 'is ole life he has.'

'Lucky man,' said Hermione carefully.

'`Bout the only thing that is lucky. Mr Abbott doesn't leave his cottage, far as I know. There's something a bit wrong with him, ye know, up here.' He put a finger to the side of his head. 'Always has been, ever since he were a child.'

'I see.' Hermione exchanged a brief glance with the man beside her. That information wasn't particularly inspiring.

They left the taxi in the village and headed north out of it towards the cottage. The walk was a fairly brisk one, taking them away from the most visible signs of life and through some empty fields. They could see the house long before they reached it, and as they got closer, Hermione began to feel disheartened.

'I have a feeling it's going to be empty,' she commented.

'I fear you may be right.'

The signs were not encouraging. There were no indications of life. There was nothing coming out of the chimney, and it looked like… Yes, the gate at the end of the front path was padlocked.

'But the taxi driver spoke as if this Abbott person was still living here!' Hermione rattled the gate in annoyance.

She was about to ask whether they should try and open the gate by magical means, when she heard the approaching tread of someone on foot. They both turned to face the road, and shortly, an old woman came past the hedge clutching several shopping bags. She stopped when she saw them and looked them over officiously.

'Oh aye, what do you two want?'

Hermione heard Snape mutter 'Interfering old bag,' under his breath. 'We were hoping to speak to Mr Abbott. We were led to believe that he lived here.'

'`Appen he might, yes,' the woman replied carefully.

'Do you know where we might find him?' asked Hermione patiently.

The woman considered for a moment, and jerked her head towards the cottage. 'That's where he lives, right enough.'

'But the gate is padlocked.'

'`E don't leave the house much, and doesn't like to be disturbed with visitors. The Postmaster in the village could tell yer more—`e's the only one who ever sees him much.'

With that, she took off without a backwards glance. Hermione sighed and stepped away from the gate. She'd known, deep down, that they'd come away with nothing. And what could they do?

'Do you think he is inside, after all?'

'It's possible, but…'

She shook her head in a gesture of both frustration and exasperation. She could not justify getting inside some old man's house who, like as not, had absolutely nothing to do with Selwyn.

'That's it, then. I don't know what else there is to be done.'

Snape stayed silent.

'I suppose we can try the Postmaster, seeing as we're here, but I'm not holding my breath.'

By unspoken agreement, they headed back down the narrow road in the direction of the village, and Hermione was fully aware that this would probably be her last stab in the dark. They would be back to square one if this proved a dead end, and it was very possible she would have to admit defeat as far as her own enquiries were concerned. She was filled with disappointment at the prospect, but Snape, she supposed, would be glad to be rid of her. At least in that respect he had something to look forward to. She couldn't blame him. In fact, she could hardly believe she had imposed upon him as much as she had and got away with it.

But Ron… She did not want to go back and tell him that she could not see a way forward—that the only people fighting his corner were, ironically, a group of potentially vengeful Muggles. Still, Hermione was sure Ron featured absolutely nowhere on their list of priorities. And she had to wonder at times how far down he was on the Ministry's list. She was quite sure they would be content simply to have Selwyn dealt with once and for all—one less burden on the taxpayer.

The roar of an engine could suddenly be heard, and Hermione had only moments to step to the side as a car sped past. Muddy water splashed up her leg from the puddle she'd unwittingly stepped in.

'Idiots!' she hissed as the car disappeared around a bend. 'Why do people always insist on driving like maniacs on country roads?'

Snape seemed to ignore her, but she detected a trace of scowl on his face that she took to mean he agreed with her. Discreetly casting a Cleaning charm on her trouser leg, they continued towards the village without mishap. They'd just found a sign directing to the Post Office when Hermione groaned aloud.

'Oh, for crying out loud—it's Sunday! The bloody Post Office won't be open today!'

Snape huffed out an impatient breath and Hermione fully empathised, feeling full of defeat. 'Let's just call it a day. We're obviously getting nowhere.'

'It doesn't seem to me that Selwyn would have any connection here, anyway. They're all Muggles… I think we've picked up the wrong thread.'

Hermione looked at him. 'I think you may be right.'

Merlin, she'd hoped he'd contradict her. She'd hoped he'd seen something, or deduced something that she hadn't. She was deluding herself, she knew; there was nothing to see. She supposed that summed up things rather adequately.

The taxi ride back to the harbour in Brodick was spent in silence. Mostly silence, anyway, Hermione was left to field the attempts by the driver to ignite some conversation. Her heart simply wasn't in it, however, and she was left with the impression that the taxi driver thought them two extremely self-absorbed people. It couldn't be helped; her thoughts were inexorably drawn towards Ron.

Was he going to lie there forever? It was a very real possibility she realised. Her throat suddenly burned and she looked determinedly out of the car window, screwing her eyes tight for a moment. Now was not the time to lose her composure. She'd speak to Harry, and maybe they could find another way… somehow.

There was a wait for the ferry back to the mainland, which they spent on a bench overlooking the harbour. The continued silence was beginning to cause Hermione some consternation, and in a bid to distract herself from her own pessimistic thoughts, she sought to draw her reticent companion into conversation.

'What do you normally do with your time, sir? If you don't mind me asking?'

She recalled that she wasn't supposed to call him 'sir' but, it was just easier to ignore that point. He sent her a rather put-upon glance. It hadn't been an unreasonable enquiry, had it? He was clearly no longer a teacher.

'Is this really necessary, Miss Granger?'

Hermione bit her lip. 'No…' she said slowly, looking away and fighting the urge to roll her eyes. Still, she felt a reluctant stab of admiration at his completely unselfconscious rudeness. Next time someone tried to draw her into conversation and she didn't feel like it, she would try a laconic 'Is this really necessary?' Though, she was sure she would not manage it nearly so well.

They continued to sit in less than companionable silence and Hermione willed the ferry to get into the port as soon as possible. She had resorted to idle people-watching when something happened that caused her to start in shock.

A voice, as if from nowhere, sounded in her ear. 'Well, well; fancy seeing you two here,' it said.

Hermione snapped her head around to find Oakshott standing behind their bench with wry smile on his face. Snape looked furious, especially when Thomas, Oakshott's Sergeant, sat down next to him.

'Now, let's not do anything hasty, we're in a public place after all and I'm sure your Ministry would not appreciate the clean-up.' He walked around the bench. 'Perhaps you would be so kind as to move up, Miss Granger?'

Hermione clenched her jaw and shuffled closer to Snape. Oakshott took a seat next to her and folded his arms over his chest whilst stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankles.

'There's just no keeping a lid on you two, is there?' This was from Thomas, the erstwhile silent sidekick. His tone was one of such deceptive flippancy that it made Hermione uncomfortable.

'It was you in that car, wasn't it?'

Oakshott chuckled. 'Very good, Severus. May I call you Severus?' He didn't wait for a reply either way, but continued. Hermione didn't dare turn her head to establish Snape's expression. 'We followed you to Blackwaterfoot. You see, we've been waiting for you here ever since you took that painting from Selwyn's home in Cumbria.'

Hermione couldn't help but flinch.

'Oh yes, you see, we photographed the house from top-to-bottom—standard procedure, you know. A study of them showed the discrepancies with that fake painting you left behind. We'd been to see old man Mortimer many weeks ago, of course, but had not made the link between the paintings. We commend you for that.'

Hermione wasn't sure if he could have sounded any less sincere.

'The old man was good enough to explain it to us, and here we are. Now, the crunch of the matter—you've been warned about obstructing our investigation—'

'Seems like we've given you a helping hand…' She couldn't help it; she wanted to take him down a peg or two.

'But your presence has no doubt frightened Selwyn off.'

'No more than you bringing Mortimer into the equation,' observed Snape snidely.

Hermione noticed Oakshott pause ever so slightly. 'Don't you worry about old Mortimer. But yes, if Selwyn has been hiding here, your presence will have flushed him out before we are ready and that is something we cannot allow. As such, we have been forced to inform your Aurors as to your interference. Indeed, I believe someone may be waiting to escort you home in Ardrossan.'

He smiled humourlessly.

'We were planning on going home, anyway,' said Hermione stiffly, but cursing the man, inwardly.

Oakshott straightened on the bench and rubbed his hands together. 'Good… we shall let you get on your way, then.'

Hermione eyed him warily before glancing quickly at Snape beside her. Was that it? Snape seemed to shrug infinitesimally in response. They both made to get to their feet.

'Ah, only you Miss Granger. We'd like it if Severus could remain here with us for a little while longer.'

Thomas had put a restraining hand on Snape's arm to prevent him from standing. Hermione watched Snape shrug it off with an expression of anger on his face.

'What is the meaning of this?' he snarled.

'We just want a little chat, Severus; nothing to get anxious about, I assure you…'

'But why do I—' began Hermione.

'You are not needed, Miss Granger. In fact, your presence is merely a hindrance, so I suggest you hot-foot it onto the ferry before it leaves without you.'

Hermione looked at the tableau in front of her feeling confused. But there was one thing she was clear on. 'If you think I'm just going to leave—'

'Oh, I think Severus can take care of himself, don't you?'

The man in question fairly radiated fury. She had no doubt he could take care of himself, but he was outnumbered—who knew who else was involved? And they were also armed. She could not just leave him.

'Thomas, here, will be glad to escort you onto the ferry. And no funny business, eh? We have eyes and ears aplenty, Miss Granger, if you get my drift?'

She got his drift perfectly well.

'If you only want a chat with him, why can't I wait until you're finished so that we might travel back together?'

'Because it is none of your business, see?' Thomas got to his feet and advanced towards her. 'The ferry is this way.'

Merlin, they had them cornered, well and truly. She should not draw her wand in broad daylight, but she was willing to take the chance… Snape was suddenly looking at her, she realised. With a small movement of his head, he indicated that she should just go. It was the last thing she wanted to do, but…

'After you,' said Thomas quietly, his voice indicating her indecision was superfluous.

Resentfully, she considered that it would be best to play their game—for now. She nodded her head fractionally and began walking towards the quay. Thomas was right behind her and she cursed viciously to herself. The walk was only a short distance and eyes followed her as she boarded the boat. Immediately, she headed onto the deck, to the portside, and scanned the harbour wall. She could see Snape and Oakshott still on the bench. Thomas stood sentinel on the quayside to ensure she did not get back off the boat.

He needn't have bothered. She soon felt the engine shudder beneath her feet and then the ferry was pulling away from the quay. Hermione clutched the railings in frustration. What did they want him for? Did they think he knew something? Something that he was keeping to himself?

Hermione shook her head. He didn't; she was sure of it. He had been on their side all along; she believed him to be trustworthy.

What right did they have to keep him there like that? What could she do?

As the boat chugged further away, Hermione watched in horror as a car pulled up alongside the bench and into the back of it, disappeared Oakshott, Snape, and Thomas.

Where were they taking him?

The car pulled away and Hermione stared at the churning waves beneath her, feeling faintly panicked. Should she wait and speak to the Auror who was supposedly waiting for her on the other side? But they were all in on it, apparently. What use would they be? They'd like as much fob her off and make her return back to London.

She needed to get off the boat. There were not many passengers aboard, but she wondered whether any of them were there to see she arrived in Ardrossan. Was that too paranoid? She wasn't sure. Though, in light of other events, prudence did seem to be the most sensible course of action.

The fact remained that she did have to get off the boat, somehow, and find out where that car had gone. She couldn't just leave him—as if she could without another thought; it was inconceivable, really. While they may only want a 'little chat,' as they so delicately put it, the fact remained that she did not trust them one jot.

Hermione turned from the railings, and as nonchalantly as she could, surveyed her fellow passengers. Was anyone watching her?

Because one thing was for sure, when the ferry docked at the other side, she would most certainly not be amongst those disembarking.