The Match and the Spark

13. Unlucky For Some

Hermione sat by the bed with her arms folded across her stomach, hardly able to bring her eyes to look at the slumbering Ron. She felt like she'd failed him. Oh, she knew that technically it wasn't her fault—nothing about Ron's condition was her fault. Neither did any of the Weasley family blame her for failing to apprehend Selwyn alive. In fact, she considered that they thought the task had been too great for her in the first place.

But it hadn't been too great—she was sure of it. She was sure that Selwyn had been within their grasp, and now… he wasn't.

The Aurors had been at the hospital by the time she had arrived from the scene itself. They'd informed Molly and Arthur that it was likely Selwyn had been involved in a fatal accident. Hermione had scorned the term in her mind. It had been no accident, she was sure. Those Muggle detectives had chased him, uncaring of whether he lived or died.

Molly had simply cried, and Arthur had turned ashen.

Hours later, the Aurors returned to confirm matters, as she knew they would. Hermione had demanded to know how they could be sure it was Selwyn. What if he has fooled us?

She hated the subsequent expressions of pity on their faces. The body has been thoroughly checked for spells, they said. There is no sign of magic on the body at all.

'Where was his wand?' she had asked.

They said there was no reason to believe he had had one. Hermione had only laughed in response, hating their nonchalance .

She had wanted to see Selwyn for herself. She'd not known him, but she knew what he looked like. It didn't particularly surprise her that they refused her. Only officials and next of kin were permitted to see the body. Besides, they said the body was in a distressing state from the impact with the train, so they could not allow it.

Clinging onto any last shred of hope, she'd began mumbling vaguely about Muggles and DNA testing, but they'd baulked, claiming that she was taking things too far. Kinglsey Shacklebolt had appeared then, speaking calmly to her that he had seen the body and decided it was Selwyn. John Mortimer had also been brought down from Northumberland to identify his nephew.

What if Mortimer is in on it?

He regretted it, Kingsley said, but Selwyn really was dead.

Hermione had eyed them all with teary distrust. None of them had mentioned the Muggle detectives. None of them had questioned why on earth Selwyn should be hopping across railway lines. Maybe they did not know, themselves, but someone in the Ministry did. Someone, somewhere, knew very well what had been transpiring in recent months.

She considered having it out with them all there and then. But Harry had taken hold of her arm and the warning look in his eyes had checked her. He wanted to discuss things with her first.

A surprise had awaited her a couple of days later, however. Or rather, it was an expected surprise. She was given a summons from the Head of the Auror Office, requesting her presence, and she had defiantly sat in the office, knowing full well what was about to happen. A minister from the department responsible for co-operating with Muggles stood by.

Naturally, they'd begun by admonishing her for getting involved with matters that were 'highly sensitive and political'. Indeed, to hear the way they spoke, she should be grateful she and Professor Snape had not been arrested for obstructing 'matters of the state'.

Hermione had clenched her jaw; they'd not obstructed anything.

And then they'd smoothly began to talk down the role of the Muggle detectives. An element of co-operation was unavoidable, what with the likelihood of Selwyn lurking in the Muggle world.

Oh, she'd said. We thought it was due to your incompetence.

It had been playing with fire. The two Ministry officials had looked at her with narrowed eyes and barely disguised impatience, but she knew that to an extent she had the upper hand. They didn't know, of course, that she and Snape had been present at the scene of Selwyn's demise, nor that they had seen Oakshott fleeing that scene. So, she knew not to believe them when they said it was an element of co-operation. It was clearly more than that.

The Muggles were no mere bystanders in this piece. She would venture that they were, in fact, the ones orchestrating matters. Still, she knew that she was in no position to take on the ministers, at this juncture, anyway. She told them that she would not relay to anyone about the involvement of Muggle police. It was obvious that that was what the aim of the chat was about. But her words to them, as she left, indicated her complete disbelief about all they had said.

I've met Oakshott, and if you think for one moment I'm going to believe he's your lap dog, then you certainly have underestimated me.

She hadn't heard anything from them since, but she wondered if Snape had been treated to the same performance. She almost wished he had been there with her; she imagined some of the cutting remarks he might have come out with. On the other hand she hoped they had left him alone. It would rankle him immensely to be summoned to the Ministry, or worse, have them turn up on his doorstep.

It had been many days now since the incident in Cumbria, and she spent many hours of her days sat, as she was now, in contemplation of Ron and his predicament.

She really did feel like she had failed him. Where would they be now, she wondered, if he had not been struck down? What would they be doing? What jobs would they have? Would they… She recalled often, of course, the kiss they had shared in the midst of the battle. Would they have started a relationship?

For many reasons, she tried not to think of such things, because sometimes she did not know how she felt about them, and it was easier to just concentrate on the most important matter at hand—to return Ron back to himself, for the sake of all of his friends and family, not just her.

That prospect was now far bleaker. Still, she'd already thrown herself into the library, again, looking in even more minute detail at all that was written about the curse Selwyn had used. She looked at other curses that had similar effects; potions that induced similar reactions. Just because there was no cure beyond the caster removing the spell, did not mean there wasn't one. Everything is impossible until it is proved otherwise, and that would be her maxim for the foreseeable future.

Mrs Weasley appeared on the ward at that moment, and Hermione got to her feet. Molly gestured for her to sit back down, but Hermione shook her head.

'No, it's fine—I hog him too much.' She smiled gently.

She wandered towards the lift, intending to go outside for some fresh air. As the doors opened, out walked Neville Longbottom.

She smiled genuinely in greeting, and they both stepped off to the side, to talk. She often saw him in St. Mungo's—he popped up to see Ron after visiting his parents. Her admiration for her former classmate had only grown in recent months. It was thinking of Neville, dutifully visiting his parents year on year, that gave her strength in times when she felt particularly disheartened. It was also a sober reminder that sometimes there just isn't an answer. It gave her a lot to think about.

She parted from Neville and proceeded down to the ground floor of the hospital and out into one of the courtyards. She sat on a bench and simply watched the plants flutter in the breeze for a moment.

There was another element to Selwyn's death that bothered her, and she'd been pondering over it a lot recently. Josiah Abbott. What had his part been? Where was he now—back at Thistledown? Or had Selwyn dispatched him once his usefulness had expired?

What could she do about it? She did not like to think that he would be just forgotten about. There was one other person who knew the story as well as she, and maybe a discussion with him about it would ease her mind.

The idea remained with her for the rest of the day, and after she left St. Mungo's, she Apparated north. The house was shrouded in darkness, but Hermione knew that was no indication of whether Snape was at home or not. His house seemed perpetually to be in darkness. She wondered if he would take umbrage at her turning up on his doorstep—she considered that he probably thought their acquaintance concluded. She liked to hope otherwise; she hoped he would listen to what she had to say, if not with eagerness, then at least with amenability.

She knocked on the door and waited with bated breath. She glanced around and noticed the net curtain twitch in a house on the opposite side of the street. Nowhere was exempt from nosy neighbours, it seemed.

The door opened and she smiled wanly at him. 'Hello.'

'Miss Granger,' he said, sighing. 'What… Do I even want to know what it is that you are doing here?'

She couldn't help but feel faintly amused, very much despite herself. 'I'm sure you are very long-suffering, Professor. I have something I would like to discuss, if that is agreeable to you?'

'Very well,' he grumbled, standing aside.

She followed him into the small living room, whereupon he half-heartedly pointed at a chair for her to sit on. Every time she came into this room, she longed to study every aspect of it. But she kept her eyes focused where it would not be deemed unforgivably rude.

'How are you?' she asked sincerely, all the while knowing that she was unlikely to get a straight answer.

She was right.

'The point, Miss Granger,' he said impatiently.

She nodded to herself. 'All right… I don't know if you have heard, but the Aurors have confirmed beyond doubt that it was Selwyn on the railway line. Mortimer came down to identify him.'

A look passed over his face as if he was offended that his word had not been enough for her. In response, the strangeness of the whole incident hit her once more, and she couldn't stop herself.

'How could he have let the Muggles get on his tail so easily? He was seen at his house—why would he risk that after all this time?'

These were just some of the questions that regularly pushed through her mind, questions which she had hoped to put behind her by now.

'I should say that the Aurors abandoning the case lulled him into a false sense of security, but then, we also have reason to believe he was aware of the Muggle involvement through his mother's paintings.'

'Exactly!' Selwyn was not that careless, she was sure of it.

Snape's expression became a tad impatient, and she considered that he too had probably worked his mind over the issue in the last few weeks. 'Miss Granger… is there any need to toil over this? To my own mind, it seems somewhat of an anticlimax for Selwyn to be killed in such circumstances. But even he had to put a foot wrong somewhere. I understand that it may be hard to accept, but the fact remains that Selwyn is dead.'

Hermione lowered her gaze to her hands and sighed. She hated hearing those words from anyone, but from him she found it less easy to doubt them. Still, it was hard to accept, and every time she saw Ron in the hospital, it became harder. 'I know,' she said quietly. 'And, actually, my purpose in coming here was not even to discuss the manner of his death.'

'What then?'

'I've been thinking about Josiah Abbott lately.'

An expression of confusion formed on Snape's face.

'We thought he was involved with Selwyn—but what happened to him? No one has mentioned him. What if Selwyn had him locked up somewhere?'

He shook his head. 'It is a bit late now, don't you think? It's been a fortnight since Selwyn's death. If he is contained somewhere, it is unlikely he is still alive.'

Hermione had been afraid of that. 'I told the Aurors about him, but in hindsight, I don't think they took much notice of me.' She shifted in her seat, forming her next words carefully. 'Look, some may say that Selwyn got his just-desserts, though I would say he got off lightly. For the moment, Ron can't be helped, but even if we are too late, I would at least like to make sure Abbott is found.'

His eyebrows drew together in a frown. 'You've given up on Weasley, then?'

'No,' said Hermione adamantly. 'Not at all. But let's face it, the prospects are not bright.' That was the first time she'd ever admitted such out loud. No one had said it at the hospital, even though she knew they were all thinking it.

He didn't say anything and Hermione took that to mean he agreed with her. She hadn't expected anything more, and she hadn't come here for his advice regarding Ron, but she felt a pang of upset inside, nevertheless, that he did not have an answer. It was irrational of her, but so often in the past he had seemed to have an answer for everything.

He spoke, and her thoughts returned to the original point of their conversation. 'You are convinced Abbott was an unwilling accomplice, then?'

'Aren't you?'

He shrugged. 'It seems likely, but it is only speculation. What do you propose? He could be anywhere.'

He thought she was being ridiculous, she realised. And, probably, he was right. Abbott could be anywhere.

'Miss Granger, I'd advise you to let matters lie. There is nothing further to be done.'

She wished she could feel some irritation at his dismissal of her. Indignation; anything. But she knew he was right. She should just accept it was finished. She could not take on the responsibility of finding Abbott, especially when they were not even certain if he had gone of his own accord or not. And she knew why she preoccupied herself with the issue—it kept her mind of the problems that awaited her at St Mungo's.

She picked at one of her fingernails, her gaze focused downwards on her lap. 'Yes,' she said quietly.

The only sound then was the crackling of the small fire in the grate, and she realised that she had no other reason for remaining there. She cleared her throat and reluctantly tugged her coat about her shoulders.

'Thank you, sir. I'd, ah, best be off, then.'

He nodded, and there was nothing else for her to do but get to her feet. She wished, suddenly, that he would ask her to stay to talk about… Well, what else was there? Their acquaintance had been based on Selwyn and she was sure he would not want to prolong it, now that their common interest was no longer relevant. Why it even mattered to her, she did not know—maybe she just wanted to talk to someone who did not perpetually remind her that Ron was lying comatose in a hospital bed.

Hermione bid Snape goodbye and received very little in reply. She closed his door behind her and stood on the step feeling even more deflated than when she'd arrived. Whatever she had wanted by coming here, she had not found it. She sucked in a lungful of air and started walking along the pavement, uncaring that she did not know where she was going.

Dusk was stretching across the sky, and the quiet terraced streets, if not a typical place she would choose to indulge in a bout of mindless wandering, actually leant themselves well to her purpose. She paid little attention to her surroundings, focused only on her thoughts.

She was afraid that, despite the evidence, the seemingly incontrovertible evidence, she could not accept Selwyn's demise. She had sense enough to know that she could not spend the rest of her life chasing shadows. They had a body whom several people had identified as Horatio Selwyn. Trained Aurors had checked the body for spells and enchantments and had found none. If that was not enough for her, what the hell would be?

Everyone else seemed prepared to accept it was over. Even the Weasleys' were beginning to resign themselves to the worst. She wished she could too.

The fact remained that something bothered her—something niggled at her in the back of her mind. She was sure that Abbott was the root of it. Abbott, this, as far as she could tell, unassuming Muggle whose past held links with the Selwyn family, but who she knew very little else about. Snape could be right; Abbott could be not the innocent bystander, but more the partner in crime.

Yet, if so, that was still a good reason to trace him, wasn't it? Not that he would be of any use to Ron, though. She came to a stop at a junction in the street, but did not cross the road. Even if Selwyn were really dead, she was curious enough to want to know the full story of his disappearance. Clearly, the mystery of Abbott's disappearance was key to that. Snape felt it was superfluous, well, she could understand that from his point of view. He was not as personally involved as she.

Deciding there and then what her next action would be, she glanced around and seeing no one watching her, she crossed the road and stepped into a bus shelter. A moment later, she was standing in Ardrossan—there was still time for her to make the last crossing over to Arran.

Hermione didn't stop to deliberate over the wisdom of what she was doing, as she knew she would likely end up talking herself out of it. However, sitting on the ferry, there was nothing much else for her to do but think about it, and suddenly, she felt a little bit ridiculous.

For one thing, the evening was drawing late—she would have to create Portkey to get home. Another was that she didn't even know what she was looking for. But it was an instinct that guided her, and was it not always said that instincts should be followed? In any case, it was justification enough for her for the time being.

On arrival at Brodick, she Apparated to Blackwaterfoot and walked the short distance to Thistledown cottage.

The house was, as Snape's had been, shrouded in darkness, but this time she really felt there was no one at home. The sight of the shadowed windows gave her pause, and she shook her head, admonishing herself. What if someone saw light from her wand and decided to investigate? She'd had no qualms about invading Selwyn's privacy, but she did not feel entirely comfortable about rooting about this Muggle's house. She hadn't forgotten that she had snuck into the house before, but this was different.

But now… it just didn't feel right. She leant on the gate and closed her eyes, thinking hard. Was there anything else she could do? Soon, she remembered something. She looked in the direction of the village and wondered about what that lady had said to them before—about the postmaster knowing Abbott fairly well. Maybe her time would be better spent finding this man, instead of house-breaking.

She forced herself to walk away from the cottage and down the road into the village itself. The Post Office would be shut at this time in the evening, but she considered there must be somewhere where she could enquire as to who exactly the postmaster was.

She spied the Post Office on the corner of a street and noticed that the shop within which it was located was open. Picking up her step, she headed towards it. The woman behind the counter eyed her suspiciously when she asked after the postmaster, as it was obvious Hermione knew nothing about him, not even his name. But when she explained that she was a 'relative' of Josiah Abbott, the shopkeeper nodded and gave her a name and an address

The walk was a short one. She came upon a row of small houses and stopped outside a blue-painted front door. Upon knocking, the door was opened by what Hermione would deem to be a man in his late fifties. His expression was blank as he surveyed her.

'Can I help?'

'My name is Hermione Granger,' she said. 'I have been trying to get in touch with Mr Abbott of Thistledown cottage, up on the moor, but it looks like no one is at home. I was told you may be able to help.'

'Oh aye, and what might you want with him?'

'Mr Abbott and I have never met, but I am student of genealogy, you see, and I recently discovered some familial links between he and myself.' Hermione decided to chance her arm further. 'I wrote to him some weeks ago and believed myself to be expected.'

The expression on the Macpherson's face darkened and he stood aside. 'You'd better come in, then, Miss.'

Hermione smiled gratefully and she was shown into a small sitting room. The telly was turned off by its owner, and then he spoke.

'Old Joe's been missing for a good three weeks or so, I reckon,' he stated without preamble.

'Missing?'

'Aye lass. Never left the house, he did—too much of a recluse. Yet, now he's up and gone without a word to me. In my opinion, something fishy has happened, but the police don' believe me.'

Hermione schooled her expression into one of surprise. 'So… you would have expected to have been informed if Mr Abbott had had reason to go somewhere?'

'O' course, besides, he had nowhere to go. For years I have been taking shopping and supplies up there. I'm telling you, he had no reason to go anywhere.'

'Well, it certainly sounds like something has happened. But, what? There was nothing in his behaviour to suggest anything wrong?' Had he noticed that there may have been another person living in Thistledown?

'No nothing, Miss. I've got a key to the cottage, and all his stuff is still there—his clothes, like.'

'I understood that he is not in the best of health…'

Macpherson shook his head firmly. 'No, and not merely physically, he's a bit, well, slow, up here.' He pointed a finger to his temple.

'I see.'

'Had an illness when he were a baby. Nice enough chap as you will ever find, but he's been on his own ever since his parents passed on, years ago. Bit of a tragic past, he has—his father was killed in action during the war, when he were only a wee bairn. His mother lived well enough into her old age, though.'

'Do you think it would help if I went to the police, as well?'

Macpherson's expression lightened. 'Aye, that's a good idea, Miss!'

Hermione smiled, happy to help. If she also reported him missing, maybe it would encourage more action the part of the police, though she knew that they would not know the full story.

It occurred to her then that she had no idea what Abbott looked like. She'd seen no photographs in Thistledown cottage. 'I don't suppose you have a photograph of him?'

Macpherson shook his head negatively. 'No, I… Oh, hang on, here is a little passport-type photo that I had from him—I help him fill in all his forms, you know.'

He rummaged around in a drawer and came back with a little square photograph. Hermione only glanced briefly at it as she took it from him, but what she saw made her heart stop. Lest Macpherson notice her sudden preoccupation, she hurriedly placed the photo in her pocket. She was seeing things; she must be.

She forced out a shaky breath. 'Thank you, very much. I will keep in touch with regard to how I get on with the police. I really do hope we find him safe and well.'

She left the house and headed straight for the orange glow of a nearby lamp post. Surreptitiously producing her wand, she enlarged the small photo of Abbott. Her heart thudded in her chest and her mind was filled with complete shock as she tried to comprehend what her eyes were seeing.

How the… It couldn't be. She could not be seeing this correctly. She closed her eyes and opened them again, expecting the face before her to have changed.

But it was there in her hands, literally staring her in the face.

What on earth was the connection? What could it mean?

She closed her eyes again and thought back over every scrap of information that she could remember about Selwyn. And then an answer hit her. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place almost seamlessly, and the final picture seemed to descend on her like a ton of bricks, so much so that she almost staggered with disbelief. If she surmised correctly, then she had proof of a years old conspiracy so clever, and duplicitous, and, yes, shocking, that couldn't help but think she was mistaken.

And there were so many details that were as yet unclear to her, the hows and the whys and the wherefores, but if the gist she had determined was true, then…

Her heart bubbled with excitement, and without wasting a moment more, she Disapparated into the night.

It was, in hindsight, not the wisest decision she could have made. The distance her Disapparation covered was evidently rather large and she felt suddenly drained as she appeared once again on Snape's doorstep. Nevertheless, it was with enthusiasm that she knocked on his door.

After a moment, it was wrenched open violently. 'Merlin… What on earth do you want now, you annoying girl?'

He could have called her a whole list of unsavoury epithets and she wouldn't have cared. Her spirits were ablaze and she was sure they would not be dampened tonight.

'Sir, I can't believe it… I just can't…' Her voice was full of wonder.

His dark eyes narrowed into a frown. 'What—are you drunk, Granger?'

She was rather swaying on the spot. 'Oh, no, I just Apparated all the way from the Isle of Arran…'

Surprise flashed briefly on his face. 'Get in and sit down,' he said with a huff, not looking at all pleased.

But Hermione could not sit down. She stood in the middle of the room, hardly able to contain her anticipation. As soon as he faced her she thrust out the photograph she held tightly in her hand.

'Look!' she burst out excitedly.

He snatched the photo grimly and studied it with an air of long-suffering disinterest. His demeanour only made her smile wider.

'It's a rather gormless picture of Selwyn—why are you showing me this?'

'It's not Selwyn,' she said fervently.

'Miss Granger, this is Selwyn.' He spoke so adamantly and it was exactly what she wanted to hear, because it went some way to confirming her suppositions and the reasoning behind Selwyn's actions.

'Look harder, sir,' she urged, and in her excitement, she stepped up to him and touched his arm so she could see the photo herself. 'This is…'—she could hardly get the words out—'This is a picture of Josiah Abbott.'

'You are mistaken…' He trailed off, confused at her firm shake of her head.

'This is Abbott. Now, who but a relation could have such a striking resemblance to Selwyn? Who, but a brother, maybe…'

'A brother?'

She looked at him, hoping that he would not laugh when he heard her next words. 'Sir, I have good reason to believe that this, this man who is known as Josiah Abbott… I mean to say, providing there are no illegitimate Selwyn's anywhere, what if this is actually Arthur Selwyn?'

She held her breath at her pronouncement, watching him as he looked from the photo in his hand, to her, his eyes wide.

'He's dead…'

'Is he?' she asked quietly, doubt audible in her tone.

'You think it was this man who was found on the railway line?'

It was a tentative nod she gave in response. Oh, she knew she could have got this all wrong. She knew she could have seriously got all this wrong, but what she had in her hands was a possibility—an element of doubt. A flurry of hope rushed through her as she considered that this could potentially mean all might not be yet lost for Ron, and it was quickly followed by a warm feeling that was induced by the fact that Severus Snape was looking at her like he'd never seen her before.

And then, as deep down she had secretly feared must happen, a shadow fell over his face and he looked away from her. Her spirits, formerly aflame, now flickered.

'Miss Granger…'

She took the photo off him and clutched it to her. 'Please don't…' she said, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice.

She should have known he'd have an answer for this.

AN: Thanks for reading : )