The Match and the Spark

12. Caught in the Crossfire

He'd known his fair share of impertinence in his time, but none quite so galling as that displayed by Hermione Granger in the early hours of the morning. What on earth gave her the right to speak to him like that? It made him so profoundly annoyed to think of it. Just because he had agreed to help her did not automatically give her leave to judge his behaviour and attempt to give reasoning for its cause!

Did he go around demanding of her reasons for her actions? Did he relentlessly question her motives for her crusade against Selwyn when everyone else seemed content to sit back? Did he tell her that at times she looked drawn and tired? No, he kept such thoughts to himself, as any person with an ounce of tact would!

Merlin, there were times when he simply couldn't stand her.

He saw the way she looked at him, sometimes. He recognised the pity. And that supercilious way she had of talking made him want to hex her. When she spoke of justice, and of guilt, and looked down on him in her patronising way… And there were times when she did precisely that. Never again would he get into any such discussion with her. He was sure she felt justified to be the one able to stand on the proverbial high ground and preach to those less fortunate.

She may very well not have anything remotely near the blackened character that he did, but he did not appreciate being made to feel undeserving by her. From others, he could maybe stomach it, but not from a slip of a former student.

It led him to wonder at just what she saw when she looked at him. A wreck of a man? Emotionally a wreck and physically a wreck? Unhealthily repressed? Rough and angry?

But what did it signify if she did think all those things? Nothing, except, possibly, the truth. He was prepared to admit that much.

Still, he didn't have to put up with it, He didn't have to put up with her. Why was he bothering? Did he absolutely need to see this through to the end? Would it matter if he didn't?

It wouldn't matter, because he knew that for him, the same prospect awaited, either way. Solitude and quiet; listlessness and boredom.

He closed his eyes and winced. He did not know what he wanted—he rarely did. Maybe he would just continue to let life shunt him along until it got too tired to carry him anymore. It had carried him thus far. He never thought much for the future—just getting through one day to the next.

This morning he had overheard Granger talking to Minerva, and they'd talked about him, of course.

Granger had said, 'I'm afraid I said some things to Professor Snape that I shouldn't have. I think I offended him, greatly.'

He'd been torn between wanting to shout 'Damn, right!' down the corridor at her, or to go up to her, grasp her by the shoulders, and tell her once and for all to stop bloody calling him Professor Snape!

But he'd mastered himself before he'd committed either of those things, and he'd retreated to the dungeons, specifically, to his old office.

He was still there. He'd seriously considered leaving her to it, but if anything, it was the thought of Oakshott that only made him more determined. He could endeavour to put up with Granger, as long as, henceforth, she kept a lid on her infernal do-gooder attitude.

He'd been drawn to his former office. It was mostly bare now, apart from some furniture that belonged to the school. How often had he sat in this room dwelling over so many things, from petty school business, to ultimately life-changing decisions? Even in its empty state, there was a peculiar sense of familiarity that comforted him, and was at odds with his general attitude towards being back in the castle.

It was while he was sitting in his office that he was tracked down. A house-elf appeared, disturbing his peace, to inform him that Hermione Granger was looking for him. Severus sighed loudly, mentally steeling himself, before instructing the elf to tell her his whereabouts.

Five minutes later, she was standing in the doorway. 'I never had much cause to come in here, as a student.'

He looked not at her, but straight ahead, allowing himself a bitter, silent chuckle. 'Well, I hope you consider yourself one of the lucky few.'

He heard her footsteps come further into the room. He heard a sharp inhalation, and he knew what was about to follow.

'Sir, I'm sorry about last night. It's really none of my business, and I promise that I'll try harder to remember that.'

He'd never had cause to write on her work 'must try harder,' but even she was not exempt from such sentiment. He ignored her apology. 'Want to do you want me for?'

'Well, I've been thinking about Abbott, and I think we need to go back to Thistledown Cottage to find out more about him.'

'It's too risky—the Aurors may be there.'

'I know—I wondered if you had anything we could use? Disillusionment charms, we know, are not effective enough. An Invisibility potion, perhaps—'

'Do I look like a walking Apothecary to you?' he demanded, finally looking directly at her.

She visibly moved to contain herself at his sudden outburst. 'I simply thought that considering you were the Potions master at this school, an Invisibility potion should not be above your realm of expertise.'

Her voice was merely background noise to him. His blood thrummed in his veins and he could feel the pulse in his neck quicken. She wanted him to brew an Invisibility potion. Not your run-of-the-mill Headache solution, but a full-blown Invisibility potion.

'It would take several days,' he muttered quietly. 'Can't you just borrow Potter's cloak?'

'Well, I'd hoped not to go alone… The potion was just a thought…'

'Ask Horace—he may have some in his personal collection.'

'He hasn't.'

He was about to suggest she ask Horace to brew it, but Severus knew he would not have time while he was teaching.

What could he do? He hadn't brewed a single concoction in… Well, he couldn't remember how long. He would cut off his right arm before admitting to Hermione Granger that the thought of brewing a potion made him anxious.

He could not deny that such a potion would be beneficial for them. And she was right—it was not beyond the realms of his expertise.

'I don't mind doing the majority of the work. It's just, I've never brewed it before, so I am unsure if I have the, ah, knowledge…'

Severus was looking at his hands. It was so stupid. They couldn't have forgotten how to do it in such a short time? He could not have forgotten. His ability with potion-making was one of the few absolutes in his life. Surely, he could go ten years without touching a cauldron and he would never forget.

And the fact remained that he would not give the girl before him another reason to look on him as some tired old machine not fit for purpose anymore.

'Fine,' he said, in his usual drawl. 'But you'll have to go and find a recipe somewhere, and source out the ingredients we will need—good luck finding them all in the Hogsmeade Apothecary,' he added dryly.

She took off without a word, and it was a couple of hours later that she returned. Severus had reluctantly commandeered some equipment from Horace, which was now set up in his office.

'I will have to sneak to Diagon Alley for some things, later,' she said, 'but we can begin with what we have got.'

So, they did begin. Severus gave her half the ingredients to prepare, while he did the other half. He'd set her up on another surface, so that she would not have her eyes upon him. Her surveillance was the last thing he needed at this point.

He picked up his knife and let it hover over the fluxweed. It was just chopping. He brought the knife down with determination onto the board and briskly sliced up the fluxweed. As soon as it was done he found himself hastily gathering up the pieces and dropping them instantly into the cauldron, as if afraid they would disappear.

He hated haste in potion-making. There was no room for haste.

He picked up a Shrivelfig and slowly began to skin it. Then he concentrated on slicing it finely, and assessed his handiwork critically before allowing the pieces to be added to the cauldron. He took the stirring rod and stirred the brew thoughtfully. Logic and method—concepts that he approved of, and never were they so apparent as in brewing.

He took up some snake skin and began picking off the scales.

'Sir, was Selwyn any good at potion making?'

The calm that had descended upon him burst in a second, and his knife slipped, nicking his finger. He stared at the drop of red and cursed inwardly.

'What?' he asked irritably, reaching for his wand.

'Did he have any particular leanings towards potion-making?'

'Not to my knowledge. Rich wizards do not lower themselves to brew their own potions, Miss Granger—they pay others for the privilege.'

'I see; I was just wondering about the likelihood of him using Polyjuice. If Abbott reappears, should we be prepared to doubt it's really him? I know we decided it was unlikely, but if he could get hold of the ingredients, somehow…'

Severus glanced at her curiously while she concentrated on the snake fangs she was crushing. He considered she probably thought she was the last word on all things Polyjuice. He smirked to himself, suddenly feeling a pang of Slytherin craft.

'Don't worry—Selwyn's not the type to be able to whip up a Polyjuice potion. I'm not sure it would suit his purpose, anyway. Indeed, while it is no doubt a handy potion in terms of all things deceptive, it's still remarkably limited. It's also cumbersome to produce, and besides, many just don't have the talent required…'

He watched her, unbeknownst, as she actually preened over her snake fangs.

'True…' she hummed in agreement.

He knew she was the type who could not resist a moment to show off. He'd not suffered years of her irritating hand-waving without deciphering that aspect of her character. His next words were purposefully blithe. 'I expect you would like to try your hand at it one day, hmm? With a bit of practice, you might manage it.'

He quickly moved his eyes to the cauldron before him, but the cessation of her pestle told him all he needed to know. She was feeling a pang, a large pang, he'd wager, of indignant pride; he knew it, and she would not be able to resist to set him right. It was just a question of waiting.

Sure enough, a few moments later, she spoke with an air of studied indifference. 'Actually, I have made Polyjuice potion before.'

'Really?' There was just enough doubt in his tone as to make her bristle.

'Yes, when I was thirteen, to be precise.'

He snorted and continued dismissively with his snake skin. 'Right… Did you know Dumbledore discovered the twelve uses of dragons' blood when he was ten?'

She swivelled on her stool towards him. 'I did make it when I was thirteen,' she pressed firmly.

He shook his head. 'Do I look like I was born yesterday?'

'But I did!'

'Miss Granger, you did not brew Polyjuice potion when you were thirteen!'

'I did!' She was on her feet now, eyes wide with incredulity.

Now for what he'd been building towards. He fixed her with a deliberately hard look. 'Where would you have got hold of the recipe?' He shook his head again. 'No, I don't believe you, you deluded girl. Where would you even have got the ingredients from?'

'Well, if you must know,' she said haughtily, eyes blazing, 'I got the recipe from a book, Moste Potente Potions, and the ingredients I got from your—' her words died spectacularly in her throat and her cheeks suddenly flamed red. She turned uncomfortably back to her snake fangs. 'Forget I said anything. You're right; I'm lying.'

'Indeed,' he said slyly. 'Because, otherwise, it would mean you stole from me and that is surely incomprehensible.'

Merlin, how they'd laughed in the staff room that night when Poppy had explained to them Hermione Granger was laid up in the Hospital Wing as a feline. Even Minerva had let out a few apologetic chuckles.

She coughed. 'Um, these fangs are ready; do you need them now?'

'You may add them now.'

Hastily, she tipped the powder into the cauldron without looking at him. Someone could do with teaching her a little humility about certain things, he decided.

There was something that was sickening about it, though. While he might have sought to brew Polyjuice potion at the age of thirteen just to prove he could, no doubt she had some altruistic reason for it. He'd never discovered why she'd been brewing Polyjuice, and he'd never stomach outright asking her.

Sickening; that was it. That was what he felt when he looked at her—sickened. It was harsh, maybe, but true, and in fact, he rather thought it said more about him than it did of her. Lily had had those qualities of goodness and altruism, and at one time he had been drawn to them like a bee to honey, but now he was just sickened.

He returned to preparing his ingredients, not saying another word, trying vainly to ignore the faint feeling of disquiet inside of him.

The potion would need several days for it to reach completion. So far, he'd not made a fool of himself where brewing had been concerned. He was not sure that what remained of his pride could withstand such a colossal hit as him melting the cauldron like some untried first-year. During the moments when his attention was not needed on the cauldron, Severus took to walking—the surest way to avoid unwanted confrontations with certain persons.

He did feel unreasonable where Minerva was concerned, but he simply couldn't help it.

He kept to the furthest reaches of the grounds during his walks, in order to also avoid encountering as many students as possible. He'd come across one on a late night meandering around the castle, and the boy had nearly asphyxiated with shock right there in front of him. Coming to his senses, the boy had soon taken to his heels, tearing off in the opposite direction.

It had given him a moment of amusement, if nothing else.

But he had come to a decision. He would not stay in the castle another night. Three nights had been more than enough for his liking. He didn't care about the Aurors or the Muggles—he would be returning home. Granger could keep an eye on the potion once the most difficult stage was over, and that would be later this afternoon, providing all went well. If she still required his presence, well, she could come to his home and get him. He had had enough, however, of the castle. It made him feel disconcertingly claustrophobic.

Up ahead, he saw something that wrenched him violently from his thoughts. He was on an alarming collision course with one of the most troublesome banes of his life—Harry Potter. Severus watched Potter halt abruptly when he set eyes on him. His expression was one of complete discomfort and his eyes shifted beneath those round glasses for a moment.

Those bloody eyes. He knew exactly when last he had seen them. Well, he hoped Granger would be satisfied with herself. She'd unknowingly orchestrated a meeting with yet another source of his inner conflict. Yes, another feather in her cap for her.

He'd been afraid at what he might he feel when he saw Harry Potter again. Shame, perhaps? Humiliation? Regret? Vindication, even?

He would like to think that setting eyes on Potter, Potter who was alive and who had survived the Dark Lord to live a full life, would give him a sense of justification for his actions over the years. But… it wasn't enough, because he knew, as surely anyone else who knew the full story must, that his actions had been borne out of selfishness, not any innate goodness. It was his selfish guilt over Lily Potter—his selfish need to prove himself worthy in her eyes, above and beyond anything else.

'But Severus, this is touching. Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?'

No, he certainly hadn't. He realised it might be easier if he had.

Potter was hurrying towards him now, and Severus suddenly had a fight or flight impulse. But he realised Potter was in his Auror robe, and it was curiosity that convinced him to grit his teeth and bear it.

'Sir, where is Hermione?'

'In the castle—somewhere.'

'Somewhere,' he muttered under his breath. 'Look, I shouldn't be here—you'll have to tell her for me. Selwyn has been sighted.'

Severus felt his blood freeze in his veins. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Listen, I've had my ear to the ground lately, and something has been going on. Today a report came through, but instead of dispatching a team of Aurors out, the message went straight to the top, without any explanation. Next thing we know, the boss is suddenly AWOL, and believe me, he does not get off his arse for anything less than an emergency. My guess is that he has gone to consult with the Muggles, because I saw…'

He held out a scrap of paper. 'The details don't matter. Don't ask me how I got hold of it, but I must get back before I am missed. You and Hermione must go immediately.'

Instinctively, Severus baulked at being ordered anywhere by Harry Potter. But the boy was looking at him keenly, and as Severus returned his look, he saw a flash of indecision form, as if he was suddenly considering whether he should have searched out his friend first.

Severus smirked inwardly; if Potter spent the rest of his life doubting his motives, he could rest easy. 'Very well,' he said simply, taking the paper and turning to the castle.

On the scrap of parchment was the name of a town. Severus didn't need to look twice; still, it was a small prickle of surprise that he felt when he saw it. Had Selwyn been lurking around there the whole time? Or was there a reason for where he was now?

He found Granger in his old office, tending to the potion, as he'd known she would be

'Forget the potion,' he said calmly, when he opened the door.

'I'm sorry?'

'You heard; turn the heat off and it will be fine for the time being. Potter has just informed me that Selwyn has been spotted in Kendal.'

'Well… that's in Cumbria,' she breathed, eyes wide.

'That, Miss Granger, is Selwyn's hometown.'

She was out of the door in a flash. He took off after her, and she reeled off a dozen or more questions as they rushed outside.

'Who reported him?' 'How does Harry know?' 'Are the Aurors gone after him?' 'Where was he spotted?'

Every time he tried to answer a question she bombarded him with another. 'For crying out loud, Granger, will you stop and breathe for a moment?'

'There's no time!' she muttered.

'Potter seems to think it is the Muggles who are gone after him. He also thinks they have been tracking his movements for longer than we have been aware.'

'They've been following him while we've been stuck here?'

He felt it went without saying that the only reason they were at Hogwarts in the first place was because of her.

Severus Apparated them to Cumbria, but not to Selwyn's home, to the nearby village instead.

'What now?' Granger asked. 'Do you think he was trying to get to his home? Should we head that way?'

Severus didn't know. Selwyn could be long gone in the time it had taken them to get here. He shrugged his shoulders.

'I suppose.'

They walked out of the village, in the direction of Selwyn's house. Severus privately thought they were too late, but a short while later, he was proved wrong. Just as on the Isle of Arran, a car sped past, and this time they both recognised it to be the one belonging to Oakshott and his confederates. They stood looking at each other, unsure of what it meant that they had just seen the Muggle detectives speeding in the opposite direction.

'Should we…'

But he did not finish his suggestion, for the next thing they knew, was the sound of an approaching siren. In time, a Police car, followed by an ambulance, came careering around the corner, travelling in the direction from which Oakshott had just come. It could be a coincidence, of course, but…

'Yes, I think we should carry on,' said Granger.

So they did, following in the wake of the Muggle emergency vehicles. Severus was concerned at what it could mean. He remembered Oakshott's dismissive attitude to taking Selwyn alive, his complete disregard for Granger's plight.

They walked briskly uphill, and at the top, they could see a wide expanse of farmland flanking the road on either side. But they could also see, the Police car and ambulance parked some way ahead, on what appeared to be a bridge.

'Come on,' Granger urged, nearly breaking out into a run.

As they drew nearer, Severus could see that the bridge spanned a railway cutting, and when they reached the bridge, he could see down below. There were Muggle medics crowded around what he could only assume to be a body. A train stood stationary some metres beyond. Granger looked up at him in confusion, but Severus ignored her for the moment.

There was nothing else for it; they had to know who it was. 'You stay here,' he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

'What?'

'Do as I say. I am going to see what's going on.'

He heard her begin to splutter, but he proceeded to step down the embankment to the railway below. On perceiving his approach, a policeman called out to him immediately. 'Sorry, mate, you can't come any further—this is a crime scene.'

Severus touched his wand in his pocket and whispered a Confundus charm. He reached the police cordon and spoke to the officer.

'I'm Inspector… Brown.'

A glazed look passed over the policeman, and then he was lifting up the tape. 'Sorry, sir. Watch your step along the track.'

His feet crunched along the gravel, and he kept his hand on his wand, ready to impart another Confundus charm on the next policeman he would meet.

'Inspector Brown,' he said at the enquiry from the officer standing guard. 'Off duty—but I was passing, and thought I'd lend some assisstance.'

The policeman nodded. 'We're waiting for SOCOs to arrive, but it looks like accidental death.'

Severus had no idea what SOCOs were. 'He's dead, then…' He glanced at the body, but it was partially shielded by a paramedic.

The officer nodded grimly. 'Bit of a mess he is, sir. Would have been instantaneous.'

'A jumper?' Severus jerked his head towards the bridge.

'Ah, no. The driver of the train saw him come tearing down the embankment, as if he was running from something. Probably thought he could chance it across the line, but… well.'

Severus nodded dimly. The paramedics were packing their implements away. One turned to them, brandishing a leather wallet. The policeman took it and flipped through it.

'No cards; some coins… Hang on, what on earth is a knut?'

Severus stared hard at the wallet, his blood running quite cold. 'Some foreign currency, I expect…' He turned and moved towards the body lying crumpled by the side of the rails, bending his knees to get a closer look. The face was turned to the side, and covered in blood, but Severus would have recognised the iron grey hair easily enough. The shape of the nose looked familiar. The build of the man looked about right. Moreover, he recognised the robe he was wearing to be the one he'd worn as a Death Eater; the robe he'd likely disappeared in those months ago.

'There is a name inscribed on the inside of the wallet—H. Selwyn. No other sign of identification, though.'

Severus had seen enough. They were simply too late—the bastard had finally defeated them, in the end. He took one last look at the body, unable to feel anything at the sight of it. But he knew what awaited him back up on the bridge, and for that he did feel something.

He started walking back down the track. The policeman called after him, but Severus ignored him. The Confundus charm would wear off, eventually, and he'd be forgotten about.

His steps were heavy as he climbed back up the embankment. Damn Oakshott! There was no doubt in his mind that Oakshott was responsible for driving Selwyn to his death. Had they chased him in their car? And where were they off to now? Wending their way back to London, no doubt, to congratulate themselves on a job well done.

Soon, as he knew he must, he came face to face with Granger, who stood on the road at the top, her hands clutched together anxiously.

'Well?'

He paused before her. 'I'm sorry,' he said simply.

And he was sorry. The colour immediately drained from her face and her lips began to shake. It can't be him,' she whispered, her breath catching in throat. 'It must be a mistake.'

He shook his head gently. Her face crumpled behind her hands, and when she removed them to look at him, he was sorry to see the distress spilling out from her eyes and down her cheeks.

'No,' she gasped, 'it can't be.'

'All the evidence points to it being him,' he explained in as soft a tone as he could muster. 'I expect the Aurors will come to confirm it—Oakshott is probably on his way to inform them as we speak.'

She let out a harsh sob, and Severus found himself looking away, as if her anguish were somehow indecent to him, but he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable at it.

'But if he's dead, that means… God… I can't… I can't… I have to go, I'm sorry.'

Before he could react, she'd Disapparated—disappeared into thin air. He remained where he stood for several moments, looking into the space where she had been, and he felt… well, he wasn't sure how he felt.

He sighed loudly and looked up at the sky, as if for an explanation, but there was nothing forthcoming, and he could not stand there all day. What now?

Go home, was the answer loudest in his mind. There was nothing else to be done.

And after all, there was no reason why Oakshott or anyone should be watching out for him at his home now.

It was over.

AN: ; )