The Match and the Spark

11. Wrong Move

Hermione had been in some awkward situations in her lifetime, but none, she reckoned, as awkward as the situation she was in now. She was sitting in Professor Flitwick's office, with McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape, and it was proving no easy task for her.

She and Snape had left the gatehouse for the castle itself a couple of hours ago. It had been Snape's suggestion that they do so, but she'd not imagined the heavy reluctance with which he had said it. But, after his performance earlier on, she'd expected it, and in fact, could not blame him for it. Part of her wished she had not thought to come to Hogwarts, but what else was there? They needed to work out their next course of action carefully.

It was obvious to her now that this was the first time he had been back here, and this formed part of her regret that she had effectively forced it upon him. She recalled that it hadn't been easy when she had first returned, and she had no wish to cause him distress. Freely, she would admit that he had been a huge help to her in fighting for Ron's return to health, and for that, she would always be grateful. Therefore, she would try not to rush into things in future, and she hoped that he knew she held no malice towards him.

So, they were sat in the office, in comfy armchairs, bathed by a warm glow of fire, furnished with hot cups of tea, and Hermione nevertheless found herself longing to be elsewhere. It was the uncomfortable silences that troubled her. Initially, she'd discussed with the two professors what was happening with regard to their search for Selwyn. It was, of course, the edited version. She was not sure how much Snape wanted her to reveal, and the problem was, he was saying nothing. Indeed, she was sure he had not moved an inch the time they had been sitting there.

McGonagall and Flitwick seemed woefully unsure as to whether they should address him directly, and subsequently, they ended up addressing most of their questions to her. She observed McGonagall many times turn her gaze to the dark man, and Hermione thought she would say something, but she did not. She wasn't sure she could blame the older woman; Snape's emphatically aloof behaviour seemed to have thrown her for a loop, and Hermione remembered that this was the first time McGonagall had seen him since the end of the war.

Still, the tension was beginning to cripple Hermione and she did not know what to do to alleviate it. His accusations from earlier were fresh in her mind and she did not want to attract them again by sticking her nose in. Instead, giving up seemed the better option, and she planned how she could make her, perhaps their, excuses and leave. They were staying the night in the castle, at McGonagall's behest. It seemed to Hermione practical in the circumstances—Aurors were possibly waiting for them elsewhere. Snape had only shrugged dismissively in agreement.

In the end, McGonagall, evidently also suffering, claimed she needed to get back to her tower. Hermione watched her stand and straighten her robes, and then there was the steel of determination taking over her features. 'You, ah, know of which rooms I speak that have been prepared for you, don't you, Severus? You will have to avoid fourth floor and the east wing, because they are still out of bounds.'

Hermione willed him to voice a reply, but he only nodded before getting to his own feet. He was at the door before Hermione had even replaced her cup back onto the table.

'Thank you; good night,' she said hurriedly.

Two pained smiles was all she received in reply.

She caught up with him in the corridor, but did not dare say anything for the time being, believing that silence was the best way to go. She ventured a quick glance at him, but his eyes were firmly fixed forward. She sighed silently. Eventually, they came into a passageway that Hermione was sure she'd never visited as a student.

Snape stopped outside one of the doors. 'Here you are.'

Without further ado, he disappeared into the room opposite and the door was swiftly closed and locked. Hermione was left standing there dumbly. She sucked in a resigned breath and entered her own room.

They'd agreed they would travel back to Berwick tomorrow, to see Mortimer. By all accounts, their stay in the castle would be a short one, and in view of certain persons, it was probably for the best, she realised.

She sat down on the bed and wondered what would happen in Berwick. Did Mortimer know his nephew was spying on him—had entered his home to charm his painting in order to do so? Had Mortimer been lying after all about not seeing his nephew? Was he even involved in actively shielding his nephew? She thought back to their previous encounter with the old man and decided that she could not believe he was involved so thoroughly.

Why had Abbott disappeared from Thistledown cottage? Was it because Selwyn had been able to see anyone who had come to visit Mortimer? He would know about the Muggles being involved, and he would also know about her, and Snape's involvement. But what did Abbott have to do with that?

Another thing that bothered her was that it was obvious Selwyn had managed to locate a wand. Furthermore, it would seem that it worked pretty well for him. That was slightly disheartening. It could have been a strong advantage for them had it been otherwise.

She would contact Harry in the morning. There was a possibility Aurors had turned up on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place looking for her, and she did not want him to worry. But on top of that, she had a little job for him that she was sure he wouldn't mind doing.

The next little day, after a not entirely peaceful sleep, Hermione went to the Headmistress' office to ask if she could use her Floo connection. McGonagall happily allowed her the use, and left her alone for a few minutes.

Harry's voice was filledfwith relief when he exclaimed her name at the sight of her in the Floo. 'Hermione! We have had the Aurors here looking for you. What on earth is going on? Where are you?'

'Listen Harry, we're at Hogwarts, but you mustn't tell anyone else that, just in case. We ditched the Aurors and the Muggles yesterday, and they're not happy about it. It's a long story, which I will explain when I can, but we'd rather not have to face the Aurors yet.'

'Are these Muggles still involved, then?'

Hermione nodded vehemently. 'I need you to keep an eye out at the Ministry, Harry, especially in the Auror office. I need you to find out anything you can about the Muggle detectives and their involvement.'

Harry indicated his ready compliance, but an expression of doubt clouded his features. 'I'm not sure that it will be easy to uncover anything there, but I will certainly try.'

'I must go, but I will contact you again soon.'

'Good luck, Hermione.'

Hermione closed the connection, not wanting to trespass on McGonagall's time for too long. It was only when the flames turned back to orange did she wish she had remembered to ask Harry to say hello to Ron for her. It occurred to her that for the first time since he'd fallen ill, she'd not seen him for several days in a row.

Before she could dwell on the point further, McGonagall re-entered the office.

'Everything all right, my dear?'

'Oh, ah, yes, thank you.'

The older woman took her seat behind the desk and Hermione approached her. Before she could speak though, McGonagall looked at her with a smile and spoke. 'I got the impression last night that there was more to this investigation that you are undertaking then you let on.'

Hermione smiled despite herself. Teachers can tell a prevaricator a mile off.

'Now, I don't wish to pry, but I hope you are not in any trouble.'

Hermione knew she could trust her old Head of House. If Snape found out and didn't like it, well, he could lump it. 'The main issue is that Muggle detectives have taken over the case from the Ministry.'

'Muggles?'

'Professor Snape thinks that Selwyn may have infiltrated the Muggle government and they found out about it. That is why they are so eager to find Selwyn.'

'Dear me,' said McGonagall, taking off her glasses.

'The Aurors, we believe, would like to seek to ensure that we do not make it publicly known that they have enlisted, or allowed, the interference of Muggles.'

'Well, there are certainly many who would react against Muggles being involved in our world, even if they are only assisting us. It is a contentious issue for many reasons. What are these Muggles like?'

Hermione snorted. 'I have a had an encounter or two with the Muggle detectives, and my impression is that they are very well informed. I am not quite sure whether there is more to it than meets the eye. For instance, they know all about Professor Snape, right down to his address.'

There was a significantly troubled look on the elder woman's face. 'It was very important that the Death Eaters were rounded up swiftly following Voldemort's demise. The Ministry was in such a mess at the time… Maybe we should have questioned the efficiency with which they managed their success.'

Hermione nodded in agreement. 'Who knows how far this help runs?' A thought occurred to her and she frowned deeply. 'The Aurors wouldn't try and Obliviate us, would they?'

'Unfortunately, I cannot say, my dear.' McGonagall looked concerned. 'I would like to think not, but it is quite a serious matter. I will just say, be careful.'

With those words ringing in her mind, Hermione went in search of Snape. She'd created yet another unauthorised Portkey, but now wasn't the time for guilt. They'd agreed to meet at the gatehouse at the back of the castle, during the time when most students would be in their first lesson of the day, to avoid being seen.

He only lifted his head in greeting, when he arrived; she only smiled a small smile. They Portkeyed to Berwick, and as soon as they left the castle behind, Hermione felt a little less tense in his presence. Snape himself still remained stiff-shouldered and grim looking, but then, was it not his perpetual countenance?

She was reminded of something he had said to her yesterday, when he had taken offence at her bringing him to Hogwarts. 'Do you truly think we should give up, sir?'

He did not reply for several moments, not until they were nearing the gate to Mortimer's cottage. 'Ask me again in an hour.'

It was not the most encouraging reply he could have given, but then, he'd never been the one to look to for encouragement.

She knocked on the door, wondering where exactly they would be in an hour's time.

'Hello Mr Mortimer,' said Hermione.

The old man's eyes widened with surprise. 'Oh, Miss Granger, Mr Snape. How nice to see you again.' His expression seemed to suggest otherwise.

'May we come in?' Snape asked.

'I don't think—'

'Thank you, it's very kind of you.'

Snape brazenly brushed past the old man in the doorway leaving Hermione to smile awkwardly at Mortimer. 'There are things we need to discuss, Mr Mortimer.'

He nodded tightly. 'Very well.'

When they reached the living room, Snape was already inspecting the third of Eliza Mortimer's paintings.

'Why is everyone so interested in my sister's painting all of a sudden? I told those Muggle detectives that it was nothing important.'

'On the contrary, Mr Mortimer…' said Hermione, resizing the copy they had from Thistledown cottage.

Mortimer's mouth opened when he saw it. 'Where did you get that from?'

Hermione ignored him. 'The Dark Lord.'

Mortimer clutched a hand to his chest and spluttered. He fell back into his armchair and his lips trembled. 'What is the meaning of this?' He looked between the both of them in shock.

He seemed so utterly shaken that Hermione was prepared to accept on the spot that he had been unaware that Selwyn had forged a connection between the houses in Arran and Northumberland.

Snape, however, came to stand in front of Mortimer. 'When did he come?' he demanded.

'What?' Mortimer began to look afraid.

'Come now, he would have had to gain access to your copy of the painting.'

Mortimer shook his head. 'Well, he could have done it when I was out.' He took out his wand. 'Now, please leave, before I call the Aurors.'

'Mr Mortimer—' Hermione began in a conciliatory tone, but Snape interrupted her.

'Hex me.'

Hermione looked at him stupidly, wondering what on earth he was playing at.

'Go on, Mortimer; hex me.'

Mortimer was looking at his raised wand with a look Hermione could not decipher. He began moving it in a pattern, and she was prepared to take out her own wand to cast a Shield charm, when impotent sparks appeared out of the end of the wand.

'It was as I thought,' said Snape quietly.

Mortimer's face crumpled completely. Snape sat down in a chair and folded his arms, a dark frown on his face. Hermione also sat down, wishing she could catch up with the conversation.

'Do you remember, Miss Granger,' Snape said, looking at her briefly, 'when last we visited, our friend here could not Banish the tea tray? He put it down to old age, which I suppose might be plausible. But we have been wondering, have we not, about where Selwyn might have obtained a new wand? Well, how about getting one from his uncle?'

Hermione looked at Mortimer in surprise. He had a hand on his brow.

'That is not your wand, is it, Mr Mortimer?'

Mortimer shook his head sadly. 'No, it was my father's.' He pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose shakily. 'It doesn't work very well for me, but I was too afraid to go and buy another one, in case questions were raised.'

'When did he come?' Snape repeated.

The old man heaved a great sniff. 'It was some months ago. He took me by surprise—he was waiting for me in here when I got back from a walk.'

He looked at them helplessly, and Hermione couldn't help the burst of pity that she felt.

'I of course took out my wand, but he was too quick for me and… well, I was overcome, and he took my wand off me. I tried to reason with him, but he Stunned me, in the end. That is when he must have put the charm on the painting, because I never saw him do it. Has he really been watching me all this time?'

'As far as we can ascertain, yes,' said Hermione quietly.

'But to what end?'

'He knew you would be the first point of call in an investigation. It is possible that our recent visit, and that of the Muggles, will have spurred him into action. Indeed, Thistledown cottage is now deserted.'

'You should have told someone about his visit, Mr Mortimer.' Hermione wondered if he had done so, whether they could have tracked him down a lot sooner.

Mortimer looked at her. 'I am sorry, Miss Granger, but I was ashamed and… I did not think he would go to the cottage in Arran—I had no reason to believe he even knew about it!'

'Tell us your connection to the place,' Snape put in.

Mortimer rubbed a weary hand over his face. 'My mother grew up in Blackwaterfoot, on the Isle of Arran—she left there when she married my father. However, she grew up, and was very friendly with, Genevieve Macready, a Muggle, who was the current Josiah Abbott's grandmother. Their friendship continued for many years, and my mother would take Eliza and I to visit every so often. Eliza used to love it there. The Macready's had a daughter, Abbott's mother, with whom Eliza was very fond of. They continued the tradition of friendship that their mother's had begun, I suppose. After Eliza got married, she went there less and less frequently. Her husband did not condone her visiting Muggles, of course. Indeed, I did not think Horatio would even know about it.'

'Where does Josiah Abbott fit into this? Were the Abbott's aware of magic?'

'We never told them about magic, though I do wonder whether Eliza may have confided in her friend at some point. I have never met Josiah Abbott. I remember Eliza writing to me about him once. A very sickly child, by all accounts. It is possible that Eliza took Horatio to the island, but if she did, she never told me about it.'

Hermione was considering it highly likely that if Eliza had not taken her son to Arran to see the Abbotts, then she had at least told him all about them. Had he thought he could dupe Josiah into taking him in in his time of need?

'I will say…'

'What?' Hermione urged, when the old man looked unsure.

'Well, I vaguely remember that I only heard of Josiah Abbott's birth three or four years after the fact. I always thought it strange that Eliza should not have mentioned it before then. But it is possible Eliza had lost touch with his mother for a while. It's likely nothing, but…'

It certainly seemed to Hermione to be nothing, but it was clear that more research into the Abbott family might prove enlightening, and she would bear it in mind.

When they left the house, Hermione turned to her companion. 'Do you think Selwyn turned up on Abbott's doorstep with sentimental tales about how their mother's were great friends? Was that how he gained entry to Thistledown cottage?'

'It's possible,' Snape agreed. 'But don't forget, although we are unsure as to the precise timeline of events, it is possible that he already had Mortimer's wand at that time. He may not have needed any stories.'

Hermione frowned. He was right. Abbott may never have had any say in the matter from day one. 'It seems he's struck gold with Mortimer's wand, too. Those charms on the paintings were not simple ones.'

'It does seem as though he's been lucky on that score. But wands can be unpredictably temperamental when they are not being wielded by their rightful owners.'

'The question is—where now? What now? We do not know where Selwyn has gone. We have uncovered much, but are we really any nearer to uncovering him?'

Was he now going to say that they should give up? Hermione knew she was not ready to accept it. He did not reply immediately, so she spoke again. 'Do you think we should focus on Abbott?'

He sighed heavily and she shrank back from the evident indifference held in it.

'Maybe…' he said. 'Regardless, we know the Aurors and Muggles will still be on guard for the moment, so what else is there? Perhaps some harmless research would be the best for now.'

'Back to Hogwarts, for now, then?'

A low sound of irritation was all she received in reply, but she took it be a noise of accord, nevertheless.

Hours later, Hermione sat in her room staring at her notebook in front of her. It was full of notes, information and observations that she'd compiled on Selwyn over the last few months. If they could just work out where else he might flee to now that Thistledown cottage was out of bounds to him.

She'd been mulling over the problem for most of the day. On returning to Hogwarts, Snape had disappeared off to Merlin only knows where. She'd left him to it, but some time later, when McGonagall enquired after him, she'd had to tell her she had no idea where he was. The Headmistress had looked concerned, but also resigned. Hermione had wanted to say something encouraging, but she did not know what had gone on between her former teachers. It was not her place to interfere, but she rather thought McGonagall was perplexed over the matter.

Finally, after feeling like her brain was about to burst, she put her books away and settled down to sleep. She briefly considered knocking on Snape's door to see if he had come back, but he would not appreciate her mother-hen qualities, she was sure. There was something she wished to talk to him about, a plan she felt they might have to enact to get some information on Abbott.

She could not sleep, however. What sleep she did have was fitful and frustrating, and, in the end, she gave up trying. She felt it would perhaps take less energy to stay awake than it would to try and get herself to fall into unconsciousness.

There was just so much to think about that her mind could not let any of it go for one moment. What did Oakshott have in mind to do now? she wondered. Would their paths cross again? They may even have had someone watching Mortimer's house in Berwick, she considered.

Hermione punched her fist into her pillow and sat up with a groan. It was possible to over think things, she realised. She put her feet into her slippers and shrugged on the dressing gown the house elves had provided for her. She stepped up to the windowsill and lifted her wand to the candlestick stationed there. She did not light the candle, however, preferring to simply stand and watch the moon shine down onto the surface of the lake. It was a sight she'd always been fascinated with as a student, and she was grateful to see it again now.

Resting her elbows on the sill, she leaned her chin down onto her hand and just watched the lake ripple and sparkle. Now and again, a bat would flutter or an owl would swoop through the air. But otherwise, the stillness of the night represented to her an intoxicating sense of serenity. She smiled.

Momentarily, she saw that it was not only animals at large to interrupt the stillness. It was with some dismay that she spotted the dark figure walking towards the shoreline of the lake. Hermione stepped back from the window with a start, as if frightened that he would suddenly turn and look right at her. She didn't need to see his face to know it was Snape. She wasn't surprised at his apparent restlessness, though she rather thought its source was far different from her own.

The polite thing to do would be to leave him to it, she knew that. Whatever contemplation he was putting himself to, she would not be welcome to partake of it. She bit her lip and squinted at her watch; but it was two o'clock in the morning in the middle of November. And she'd seen enough of him lately to know that his frame of mind at times could be… sketchy.

He would not appreciate her interference; indeed, he would probably be angry. But all she knew was that it would be freezing outside and she wasn't even sure if he had a coat on. Resigned to the fact that her mother-hen qualities could not be restrained this time, she looked about for her clothes and outer garments.

The air outside was crisp and bitter, and Hermione dug her hands deep into her pockets when she let herself out of the castle. She walked slowly over the grass, careful not to slip on the dusting of frost that covered the lawns. She could see him standing at the edge of the lake, but he made no sign of hearing her approach. When she was only a few metres behind him, she cleared her throat and mentally steeled herself.

'Sir, it's very cold out here. Have you been outside long?' He did have his coat on, but it was not buttoned. She frowned with disapproval.

He deigned to look at her briefly. In the moonlight, his complexion looked even paler than usual, contrasting starkly with the darkness of his eyes and the stubble on his cheeks. He exhaled one long, impatient breath and it wisped into the air in front of him for a few seconds, before dissipating.

'I like the cold,' said he in a low voice. 'It hurts.'

Hermione stilled, sure her surprise at such a suggestive remark was written all over her face. He saw it and he snorted derisively.

'Relax; it's not willful self-destruction on my part. You just wouldn't understand.'

Hermione watched the reflection of the moon on the water, quite lost for words. He hadn't bitten her head off, but she rather wished he had. She knew where she was with that. Perhaps discomfited by his own words to her, Snape turned to leave.

'Sir,' she said abruptly, feeling that this exchange, short as it was, was not one to leave unfinished.

He paused, but Hermione hardly knew where to begin.

'Are you not cold, Miss Granger?' he asked into the silence.

She shrugged. 'I have a Warming charm on my scarf.' She touched the scarf, feeling the pleasant warmth in it. 'Incidentally, I wish you would at least wrap yours around your neck, instead of just leaving it hang there! Or do you really want me to believe it's not self-destruction on your part?' She stepped forward, irritated, and grasped one end of his scarf to fling it across the opposite shoulder, so that it covered his neck. Feeling rather conscious of herself, and her actions, she made to look haughtily away, as if not embarrassed.

There was silence, then, and partly she was glad of it, but she did want to say something else—something she had been mulling over for a while now.

'Sir, you're not yourself of late, are you?' It was a bold question, even for her. How could she even profess to know his 'normal self'?

'I beg your pardon?' The ice in his voice, she was sure, was not a product of the frigid air around them.

'Please don't be cross.' She forced herself to look at him and his expression was one of warning. 'There are times when I have noticed that…' she faltered.

He nodded curtly. 'Oh, do go on; I'm intrigued. What have you observed?'

Hermione drew up her courage. 'Sometimes you are very distracted—unusually so. You don't look well. You look tired… You could not face Hogwarts…'

The muscles in his jaw tightened, but Hermione ploughed on with a deep breath. 'Have you ever heard of what the Muggles term… post-traumatic stress disorder?'

Suddenly he was laughing—bitter chuckles that he eventually stifled by putting a hand to his mouth. 'Oh, Miss Granger. Never let it be said that you do not try to see the best in people.'

Hermione frowned, not understanding him.

He shook his head. 'Fancy Muggle medical terms and outlandish diagnoses need not apply here, Miss Granger.' He leaned towards her here, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a secret. 'No, what I'm suffering from is merely good old-fashioned guilt.'

The smile he gave her chilled her more than the freezing temperatures did. She was filled immediately with indecision and could not say anything. Eventually he started walking away and Hermione sought hastily to halt his progress.

'So, let us talk about guilt, then,' she called out to him, a little querulously.

He spun around as if she'd surprised him. 'I'm sorry?'

'How can you deal with your guilt if you don't talk about it?'

He simply stared.

'Guilt doesn't have to be debilitating, it can be worked through, and—'

He moved quickly towards her. 'I'm warning you now, Miss Granger, do not presume to tell me by business! And I care none for your pointless philosophising!'

Hermione opted to ignore his bluster as best she could. 'I remember your words from the other night, about justice for Death Eaters. Is that part of your guilt—walking free?'

'You know nothing, you insufferable—'

'On the contrary, I know a good deal! It was decided you did not deserve to go to Azkaban, why should you feel guilty for that?'

'Miss Granger—'

Hermione was quickly becoming unsure as to the risk she was running, but she found herself continuing, hardly letting him get a word in edgeways. 'Do you think punishment would ease your guilt? Do you? And what of Professor McGonagall—why won't you speak to her? She is—'

His face was twisted with anger, and her words died abruptly in her throat when his wand appeared between them. She couldn't help but flinch at the sudden movement.

'Shut up,' he snarled, 'or I will make you.'

She looked at his wand and then to his face. His lips were set into a hard line, denoting the depth of his resolution, but Hermione did not feel anxious. 'I am sorry to cause you distress,' she said quietly. She meant it, especially now that she could see that her tactic had failed. 'You cannot frighten me, however, because… I am not afraid of you.' She meant that too, even if she did sound less decisive.

He stared at her for the longest time and Hermione felt herself redden even in the cold. Eventually, he scowled and lowered his wand. 'Well, you should be,' he muttered quietly but forcefully under his breath, as if jealously guarding some preconceived notion that had just taken another hit.

He took off without another word and this time Hermione did not stop him. She put her gloved hands up to her face and shook her head with disappointment. It had not gone to plan one bit. What was she saying? She'd had no plan! She'd thought being direct about things might help, but instead, she'd probably just spoiled whatever tenuous rapport they had going.

Oh Merlin; hadn't she, only hours ago, determined it was not her place to interfere? But it was so difficult when she was continually getting drawn into his… She wasn't sure what to call it, but there was no avoiding it. She was not the type of person who could ignore what was going on in front of her. He could call her an interfering busybody, or worse, if he liked, but that was her nature.

She only wanted to help, but it seemed painfully clear that she was not the right person to do it.

Folding her arms across her chest, she started walking back to the castle. It was freezing, and he was right; it certainly did hurt.

It was only when she got back into bed to try and fruitlessly search for sleep, that she considered she may have finally alienated him enough to abandon her to her search alone. Had she considered so before, that potential prospect might have induced her to bite her tongue and distance herself from matters, which, perhaps, would have been to her advantage. Because, clearly, she needed Snape's help with searching for Selwyn.

But she'd not thought of Ron at all when confronting her former teacher.

The conclusion she reached from this was, perhaps, obvious and straightforward, though she felt she could nevertheless defend her actions thus far. But still, it was with a sharp stab of something that felt uncomfortably like disloyalty that it occurred to her that not everything revolved around Ron.

A harsh truth, maybe, for someone desperate to help their friend, but it was a truth nonetheless.

AN: : )