The Match and the Spark
16. Losing Touch
His small living room reverberated loudly with silence after she had left.
He hated that he had let his mouth run away with him. As soon as he had comprehended what it was he was saying to her, he had felt ridiculous. No doubt she thought him ridiculous, as well.
But he had felt so suddenly angry—so unaccountably incensed that he hadn't been able to check himself. The anger that seemed to be always slowly festering inside him had been inflamed today. Yes, to an extent, she was partly to blame. Her words from last night were still impressed upon him, but the more he'd dwelt on them, the more bitterness he had felt towards her. It was all well and good for her to sit there and pontificate. She didn't have to live his life.
He should have known his early morning irritation would set the tone for the rest of the day. Finding out he was being spied upon by some Muggles had only worsened matters. He was willing to bet the Ministry had been more than happy to know someone was keeping an eye on him. Clearly, he was a man who would never be fully trusted, and while he had always reconciled himself to that, to have proof that he was right, was hardly encouraging.
The note from Minerva had been another reminder of his shortcomings. She had sent her regards, as she always did. There she was, thinking of his own welfare, and yet he had barely been able to bring himself to look at her, let alone speak to her. And then to have Granger waft in, always looking so carefree, even though he knew that she was not untroubled, but it taunted him, nevertheless.
It was that what he hated. He hated that it seemed so easy for everyone else. Everyday life seemed so easy. Why did he have to struggle? Why couldn't he get past himself and move on? He was afraid the answer might be that he simply didn't want to. Where could he go from that?
In any case, his anger had not really been meant for Granger. It was all for himself—it was always for himself. He could see how completely unreasonable it was for him to denigrate her, simply because he considered her a better person than he was himself. But then, he was not new to succumbing to feelings of envy. Envy was something he had lived with for many years of his life.
He could manifest his anger into self-loathing, but it was not satisfying to trap it within oneself. And there she had been, a new outlet for his ire, his frustration—his pathetic thoughts.
He was pathetic.
Still, as unwarranted as it had been, he felt better for it. The tension had left his body, and now he felt almost boneless, slumped in his chair as he was. Almost peaceful, ironically. He wanted to forget everything for a time and enjoy the listlessness that had so often come upon him before. A quiet moment before the guilt and recriminations would come.
His moment of peace was to be woefully short-lived, however. A loud banging on his front door startled him into life, but he did not get to his feet. He would ignore it, this time.
The insistent knocking continued, however, and a voice shouted from the other side. 'Sir, it's Harry Potter, please let me in.'
Severus wanted to laugh. Of all the people for it to be, it had to be him. Harry flaming Potter. How dare he come banging on his door behaving like it was his God-given right to be listened to!
He forced himself to his feet and he wrenched the door open with a fierce scowl. 'What the deuce do you want with me Potter?' he hissed. 'You and your little friends are trying my last nerve!'
'Well, it's about my 'little friends,' unfortunately,' said Potter irritably. 'Where's Hermione?'
'Not here.'
'Yes, so I've heard,' replied the bane of his life. 'I have a message from her saying she has gone to Selwyn's old house—alone.'
Severus felt a feeling of foreboding wash over him, even as Potter continued speaking.
'I realise I don't know half of what is going on here, but what the hell is she thinking? Selwyn's dead, for one thing. As much as I hate to say it, she cannot keep running about chasing at any little thing—she has to accept there may be nothing we can do for Ron.'
Potter looked suddenly ashen, as if the import of his own words had never signified to him before. Severus barely registered the grief on his face, however; he simply turned and headed back into his living room.
She'd taken the phials. His neck started to throb and he pressed at it with restless movements.
What had you expected her to do?
He looked behind to find Potter watching him with narrowed eyes.
'What's going on?'
'We… She's…' He must have sounded like a gibbering idiot, and he struggled hard to bring his mind into focus. There was no time to explain everything now. 'Look, Potter. I know where she has gone—I shall go and fetch her.'
He Summoned his coat and shoved his arms into it, ignoring the sharp flare of pain he received from his injured arm as he did so. But Potter evidently noticed his wince, for he looked at him searchingly.
'Wait,' he cautioned. 'I want to come with you—I want to know just what you and Hermione have got yourselves into.'
Severus glared at him with undisguised impatience. 'Your presence, such that it is, can only be a hindrance, Potter. You will go back to wherever it is you came from and wait there.'
'No, I can't—'
'Potter! Just go!' Severus exclaimed loudly.
The boy stared at him mutinously, but eventually gave in. 'Fine; you have an hour, all right?'
Severus nodded tersely, and then he was left standing alone. He cursed loudly to himself. Holding his wand tightly, he started to Apparate, but paused mid-turn when his eyes caught sight of the drawers beneath one of his bookcases. Without thinking twice, he tugged the top drawer open and closed his hand around the cold metal of the gun he had retrieved from Thomas.
He looked at it in his hand and hesitated. It was only a moment's hesitation, during which the thought that he knew nothing about guns—nothing about how they worked, passed through his mind.
Nevertheless, he placed it carefully in his coat pocket.
He was sure there was no need for alarm, but he should be prepared for any and every eventuality.
Severus gave it not another thought; he Apparated straight into the Cumbrian countryside. A Disillusionment spell would be all he would have to keep himself as unseen as possible.
He walked swiftly through the undergrowth until he reached the gravel driveway surrounding the house. He squinted up at the façade. If anyone were to be inside, they would surely hear him crunching about. There was little else for it, however. He stepped steadily, but precariously, up to the front door. He was about to cast the strongest unlocking charm he knew, when he put his hand on the doorknob and twisted it. It gave way beneath his hand and the door moved open.
The fact that the door was already unlocked disturbed him. Had Granger opted to enter through the front and left it open herself? Or was it the work of someone else?
Severus stood in the hall for several moments and simply listened. Not a sound could be heard from any quarter. How he would find her while she was invisible to the eye, he did not know. And the last thing he could do was to call out for her. He supposed there were certain things he could be aware of. Sound was the most obvious. There was also the often inexplicable sense of awareness one might have in the presence of unseen persons. He'd had much practice honing that when dealing with Potter's Invisibility Cloak—past and present.
He took to the stairs first, heading for Eliza Mortimer's bedroom. Along the landing, all of the doors were pulled closed, all except the door leading to Eliza's room.
Inside the bedroom, however, all seemed as it should—still and peaceful. Severus dropped his charm for a moment, so she would see him if she was there, but there was nothing. He grimaced and stepped back along the landing, trepidation causing his steps to be less cautious than they should have been.
He headed next to the study, but again, all was silence and stillness. Severus exhaled loudly and walked along the passage to the library.
As soon as he had passed over the threshold, he felt there was something wrong. At first glance, there was nothing to be remarked upon. But then there was the smell. A fire had recently been burning in the grate, and as he peered into the fireplace, he could see the remaining embers, and what he was willing to bet was Floo powder. Severus looked along the mantelpiece and snatched up a pot.
It was empty.
Did Granger go around with Floo powder in her pockets? He wasn't convinced. But he knew Selwyn had been using Floo travel in the past. Was it here he had been Flooing from Thistledown? If so, how had he avoided the wards on the house the Aurors had maintained?
Straightening, he turned around. There was a smashed vase on the floor behind the settee. He moved closer to the mess, and as he stared at the floor, he realised he could see that the thin film of dust that covered most surfaces was much disturbed. There were some signs of footprints, but they were too indistinct to work out whether they belonged to one or more persons. But the curious thing was that the trail led to the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, and then stopped.
He rushed up to the bookcase and studied it. Was there a hidden chamber beyond? If there was, it was likely password protected.
He turned his back to the books and looked into the library. Had Granger been in here? He walked towards the broken pieces of ceramic. Surely she would have repaired the vase if she'd been responsible for its breakage?
Unless she couldn't, a traitorous voice in his mind whispered.
He bent to his knees and picked up a large shard of the vase. What had happened here? He examined the floor again; it was here the most evidence could be seen. Dust had clumped where it had been swept aside by something… He realised, then, that the disturbance was visible as one trajectory. From the bookcase, past the side-table where the vase had stood, and onwards to the fireplace. It looked like something had been dragged across the floor…
Severus swallowed against the uncertainty and crossed to the fireplace. He knelt down and stared into the black ashes that lay unmoving and inert. A picture was beginning to form in his mind, but he resisted against what it was telling him. When he glanced around the immediate vicinity, he spotted something that he recognised. He snatched at it—a small object, the size of a postage stamp. It was one of Eliza Mortimer's paintings he knew Granger to have been carrying around. Had it fallen out of her pocket when she'd…? He did not like to complete the thought, but the significance was not lost on him.
'Oh, Granger, no,' he murmured resignedly, curling his hand around the painting. He breathed heavily for several moments, as numerous scenarios flashed through his head, and with each one his confusion and anger bled into one feeling of impotent fury. He jumped to his feet and rushed to the doorway.
'Miss Granger!' he shouted as loud as he could, no longer caring for stealth. The sound only echoed emptily throughout the house. He could tear this house apart, he knew, but he would find nothing. It was that fireplace. He knew it in his bones that she had been taken through there. But how the hell was he supposed to determine where to?
His heart was pumping furiously as he raced through the passage. Wrenching open the front door, he broke out into a run to reach the perimeter of the wards. What on earth had she been doing to allow herself to be caught? The silly girl…
There was one other place to try, but he knew deep down that it would be fruitless. He Apparated straight to the Isle of Arran, to Blackwaterfoot, and when the world had righted itself before his eyes, he wondered if he might have made a mistake during Apparition. Below him, in the dip of the moor, stood not Thistledown cottage, but a smoking, charred ruin. Frozen to the spot, he could only look with horror on the exposed rafters and blackened walls of the cottage.
Almost unconsciously, he found himself heading swiftly along the road until he reached the gateway to the house. Two people whom Severus did not recognise, but who he took to be village residents, were standing gazing up at the cottage and were issuing murmurs of regret.
'Terrible sight, isn't it?' they said to him.
'What happened?' he managed to ask.
'No one knows, really. The house went up in flames early this morning. The fire-fighters reckoned they'd never seen such a blaze. Poor Mr Abbott never stood a chance.'
Severus fought not to start. 'Mr Abbott was in the house at the time?'
Two sombre nods were what he received in reply, and this time, when he looked at the ruin before him, there was graver significance to be assimilated. He stepped away numbly and walked along the lane. The further away from the sickeningly acrid smell of burning, the better.
Eventually he came to a dazed stop in the middle of the lane. What the hell was he going to do now? There was no doubt in his mind that whatever had caused the blaze in the cottage, Selwyn had been behind it. No doubt he'd wanted to destroy any evidence that had remained there. And as for the body, he had a good idea who it really belonged to. It was certainly not Abbott.
He rubbed a weary hand over his face and looked across the misty, grey waters lying to the south. They were not calm waters today, and he felt sick as he surveyed the landscape. He ventured another glance back towards the charred shell of Thistledown cottage. Where on earth was Granger?
What a mess; a complete and utter mess. He couldn't stand to remain there one moment longer.
Within a few seconds, he was back in his living room. He collapsed into his chair, craving one thing—a stiff drink. He Summoned an old bottle of brandy he knew he had lying about. It was already nearly empty, and he drained the remains in one go.
He would have to go to the Ministry—to the Aurors. Even as he conceived the thought, he scorned the usefulness of it. What would the Aurors do? They would not know where Granger was any more than he did. But what other option was there?
He should have realised she would proceed alone, but he'd been too mired in his own misery to foresee the consequences. If ever he had regretted getting embroiled in all of this, it was now. He knew he should not have taken on the responsibility.
He let the empty brandy bottle slip slowly through his fingers to the floor.
Pull yourself together, Snape.
There would be time enough for him to condemn his own actions, but this whole nightmare needed to be sorted out as soon as possible.
He was reaching for Thomas's contact card, when he spotted a square of parchment on the carpet. It had not been there earlier. How had it got there? Had Potter dropped it?
Severus bent down and picked it up, unfolding it slowly. His eyes widened at what he saw. It was certainly not from Potter. Upon it, written in a black scrawl was a location. Underneath, was a crude drawing of the Dark Mark. He stared hard at the note, knowing instinctively what it meant. Knowing what it meant, however, only intensified the feeling of foreboding he felt.
It seemed Selwyn was also looking to end it once and for all.
Severus felt an anticipatory thrill down the back of his spine that he made no move to suppress. There was a whole wealth of information to be inferred from that clipped missive. That it was from Selwyn was almost incontrovertible. That he had Miss Granger at the location named on the parchment was, in Severus's view, probable, but not certain. That the Dark Mark was present only reinforced the sense of danger which he knew she was in. He folded up the parchment with careful precision and tucked it away, feeling suddenly very composed.
Severus nodded to himself. Very well, the Ministry would not be needed after all. The course of action had been settled for him. He knew what needed to be done.
He Disapparated without further ado and appeared at the bottom of a desolate Yorkshire dale. The valley was grey and foggy and rain fell lightly around him. It was a place he'd had cause to visit a few times before.
Scattered all around the country were Death Eater boltholes. Heavily-warded, Unplottable, and, of course, Secret-kept, they were places of sanctuary a Death Eater would have retreated to if necessity required it—avoiding the Aurors, mainly. Or occasionally they had been used for… meetings. And this one, this apparently deserted old farm building, was one which, clearly, had not been overturned by the Aurors in the wake of the war.
Holding his wand before him, Severus approached the stone building. He knew very well what he could be walking in to. But he knew Selwyn; he would not stoop to taking him unawares. The door was ajar, and as he neared it, a voice he recognised immediately issued from within.
'Do come in, Severus. I've been expecting you.'
Selwyn's voice was a twisted parody of the welcoming host and Severus clenched his jaw with disgust. The door opened into a large, sparsely furnished room. Nothing adorned the exposed stone walls, nor the flagstone floor; a fire was the only source of light. Selwyn sat in an armchair, smiling. Even in the dim half light, it was possible to see that his face told the tale of his life on the run. To Severus's eye, his hair seemed whiter, and his face thinner, but even sitting there as he was, the threat of the man was not diminished.
Severus stepped inside, pointing his wand in the direction of the other man's chest. 'Give me a reason why I shouldn't finish you right here, right now.'
Selwyn chuckled carelessly. 'I can give you several, dear boy. Now, why don't you sit while I list them for you?' He motioned towards the chair opposite his.
Severus didn't move.
'You fear a trap; understandable in the circumstances, but look—' he raised his hands '—I'm unarmed.'
Still Severus did not budge.
'Very well, stand if you must.' Selwyn was speaking airily. 'Firstly, Severus… you do not know precisely what it is I have done with Miss Granger.' He smiled coldly. 'You do not know with whom she currently resides. Perhaps I have left certain instructions pertaining to her upon my capture. Would you risk that?'
Severus moved closer. 'Well,' he hissed, 'you certainly haven't left her with Oakshott!'
Selwyn's eyes flashed. 'You disapprove, Severus? It's people like that we were saving the Wizarding World from!' He gave a bitter laugh. 'Well, I say "we", but of course, that was before you became a traitor. Really, Severus? Couldn't you have been more original than becoming obsessed with some pointless Mudblood?'
Severus blinked away the red haze creeping in at edge of his mind. But it was hard. Merely looking upon the man in front of him incensed and disgusted him.
'I realise now that your obsession must be pathological, as I see you've picked up a new Mudblood. Perhaps you should consider seeing a Healer?'
Severus barely saw the production of the wand. It was certainly fast enough for Selwyn to deflect the curse he rashly sent out of his own.
Selwyn sprang to his feet. 'I am disappointed in you, Severus! Cursing a man whose wand has not been drawn? Whatever happened to your love of the fine art of duelling?'
'What do you want, Selwyn? I'm in no mood for talk, as you might be able to tell.'
'Do you like my wand, by the way? It's Granger's. Ironic, really, that it should work better for me than my uncle's. She didn't want to give it up, of course; she kept trying to talk me round, but I soon shut her up nicely. I don't know how you put up with her.'
Severus unleashed another spell; Selwyn blocked it. 'I'm sick of talking, Selwyn; where is she?'
Selwyn now had his—Granger's—wand outstretched, and he was slowly edging his way around the room. Severus knew he was being subtly directed away from the only exit in the room.
'Don't you want to hear my proposition, Severus? It's a good deal from me, I can tell you.'
'Do you think I'd trust you? You, the sick bastard who signed his own brother's death warrant.'
Selwyn narrowed his eyes. 'You're very clever, Severus, to have worked it all out, but not clever enough to let it be, unfortunately. He wasn't my brother, not really. He was just another man who had the same parents as me.'
Severus shook his head in disgust. 'I pity you.'
For the first time, there was a look on the older man's face that was not the result of careful control or consideration. It was unbridled and true, and Severus did not flinch away at the fury expressed.
'I'll admit, Severus, I've been relishing this moment. I could have done away with Granger on the quiet, but I wanted to see you. I wanted to make you pay. I won't be pitied by a hypocrite, like you.'
'Hypocrite, am I?'
'The worst kind,' Selwyn hissed, nodding. 'You were one of us, Snape. No one forced you to join. That mark on your arm will always proclaim as such, no matter what you might like to tell yourself.' His eyes glittered. 'It all falls into place now, you know. You always did think yourself a cut above, didn't you? Even above the Dark Lord. You never did like getting your hands dirty. No, your strengths, we were always told, lay elsewhere. But tell me Snape, as you should know the answer to this: what is worse—committing the crime, or standing by and allowing it to happen… time after time?'
The last words unnerved him so much, that Severus did not realise how close Selwyn had advanced on him until only a few feet separated them. He knew he should ignore Selwyn's attempt at wrong-footing him, and he fought with all his might to keep his mind focused—to keep the recollections at bay. At the same time, anger rose unbidden inside of him, and it was that he concentrated on. It was this man, he told himself, who deserved to be punished. It was men like this who had caused so much unrest—so much sorrow.
It was men like them.
'You've got it wrong, my friend.' Severus felt himself smiling; he recalled words he had heard uttered to himself only hours ago. 'I have never set myself to be anything other than what I am. I know that I am a Death Eater. I know that I am not a good man, just as surely as I know that you are the lowest of the low. That is what makes this so fitting and… enjoyable.'
With that, Severus slashed down his wand. Selwyn neatly dodged the flashing white light, but Severus wasted no time in lifting his foot and shoving the table that stood between them. Selwyn stumbled and flung out a spell, which Severus ducked to avoid. There was a look on Selwyn's face that seemed to suggest that he was unhappy with the way things had panned out, and Severus wondered briefly if he really had hoped to strike a bargain.
Severus began firing out curses at a quicker pace. He would strike no bargain.
The skirmish escalated fairly quickly. Though Severus was sending hex after hex, he could see he did not quite have Selwyn on the back foot, for curses were finding their way towards himself. Severus knew that the size of the room would prove to be problematic if they continued increasing the pace of the duel, and he wracked his brains for a way to get the upper hand. He hoped he could rely on Granger's wand failing Selwyn, but for the moment, it seemed perfectly receptive.
At the risk of undermining his own concentration in the duel, he raised his voice over the sound of clashing spells. 'Why did you kill Oakshott?'
Selwyn laughed and fired a particularly nasty hex his way. Severus only just managed to block it.
'You'll not distract me, Snape. But isn't it obvious? He knew too much; he wasn't useful to me anymore.'
Severus deflected the next curse with more intent, and this time, Selwyn had to jump to avoid the rebound of his own spell. 'Why not simply Obliviate him? Why leave him to burn to death?'
'Where's the fun in Obliviate, I ask you?'
A jet of fire streamed fiercely from Severus's wand, and Selwyn yelped in surprise as it caught his arm.
'Bastard!' he shouted, grasping a poker from the fireplace and lobbing it towards his opponent, using the distraction to douse the flames on his arm.
Severus easily arrested the progress of the poker. 'Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it would be fun.'
Selwyn furiously launched a barrage of spells at him, and this time, part of the wall behind Severus began to crumble under the onslaught. He avoided the shower of stone, but only narrowly missed losing his footing in the process.
'Where is she?' Severus demanded, breathing heavily, punctuating his words with several stunners.
'I'll never tell, Snape; not until you've bent to my will. Your precious Mudblood will rot until then!'
Severus bristled almost painfully, as he always did at any utterance of that word. 'You call me unoriginal? You're pathetic.' He changed tack, aiming his wand at the large armchair Selwyn had vacated. The man himself scrambled away as Severus sent the armchair speeding in his direction.
Selwyn did not move quick enough, however, and was knocked off-balance. His grip remained tight on his commandeered wand, though, and he shot out a hex from where he had fallen against the wall.
'This is a new side I'm seeing to you, Severus; I don't like it,' Selwyn taunted breathily. 'Time was you'd denigrate the Mudbloods along with the best of us. Do you remember?'
The best of us.
The words echoed around Severus's mind like a death knell, and he was seized in a moment of complete hatred—hatred of himself, and of the man before him, and all they had both stood for. He was paralysed by it. He would wonder later, if he'd rather unconsciously chosen to sabotage himself, because the moment of distraction was enough for Selwyn. Severus felt himself being lifted off his feet, and then he was sailing backwards through the air. Even as he landed with a hard thud on the floor, his head not quite escaping absorbing some of the sharp impact, a curious feeling of tranquillity had overtaken him.
His wand lay several feet away, but he didn't care.
Selwyn, he could hear, was rushing to his feet, and he came to loom over him, with his wand pointed downwards. Severus comprehended it all in a rather detached fashion; he felt empty suddenly, unable to care.
'Now then…' Selwyn smirked with pleasure. 'Shall I Obliviate you? Or shall I rid the earth of you instead?'
Severus blinked against the pain in the back of his skull. What would it matter either way? To lie here quietly, forever, might be nice.
'You see, I don't think I can let you walk free, Severus. If it wasn't for you and Potter, I wouldn't be in the mess I'm in now. But how's this—you trade your life for Granger's? I'll Obliviate her and let her walk away. You'd do that for your Mudblood, wouldn't you? You'd like to martyr yourself, eh?'
Severus longed to give in to the unconsciousness probing at the edge of his mind. The daze was almost liberating, both mentally and physically. She was not his, he wanted to say, but he could do it. He might even welcome it. His vision blurred, and his throat was so dry he could not speak. And to nod his acquiescence would have meant moving, and that would puncture the pleasant feeling of hazy calm he was under.
Instead, his head began to throb steadily harder and he closed his eyes against it. His throat began to hurt and he swallowed involuntarily. He felt the tip of a wand press into his chest and he opened his eyes slowly. Selwyn's face came into clearer focus above him. Severus stared into the cold eyes set in the lined face, and for the first time, he was really aware of the injustices this man had wrought. And this time, he did not feel entirely indifferent. He remembered Granger's shock at the manner of Abbott's death, and something was telling him that he should be shocked. What about Oakshott? What about Granger? Granger wanted Weasley. She wanted Weasley's return to health, and that would never happen while he allowed Selwyn to have his way.
He should be outraged. He should care. He should not let Selwyn get away with it, not while it was within his power.
He felt his fists clench at his sides. Slowly, he began to realise what he had to do.
'The Dark Lord may have failed in eradicating you, Severus, but I won't.'
'You've got it wrong,' he heard himself mumble. 'She's not mine…'
Selwyn leaned closer. 'Poor Severus, thrown over, again? Never mind…'
He had it wrong, still.
Dimly, Severus watched Selwyn's mouth begin to form the words that would end his life, but all of his focus went into fighting off the dizziness that assailed him when, with a loud growl of energy, he propelled himself upwards and swung his fist with all his might into Selwyn's face.
The sickly crunching noise of the immediate impact, and Selwyn's pained exclamation of shock as the momentum tumbled him to the floor, to Severus, was beautiful.
No, Granger wasn't his—he didn't have to bargain away his life for her. It wasn't about either of them. It was about making sure Selwyn paid for his actions. Justice, Granger called it, but right now, Severus didn't much care about to analysing the reasoning.
All he knew was that this, finally, was something he could end on his own terms.
And as Selwyn groaned and pressed at his bloody nose, he thought he might even relish it.
AN: Thanks for reviews - much appreciated : )