Part Nine

AN: I almost forgot and that will never do. Thank you, Lariope.

When Leontes delivered Hermione's latest letter, Simon was napping, or attempting to nap, on his sofa. Lily had visited him often of late. She was apparently no longer content to make him merely relive the night she died. A sad, wan Lily appeared in dreams, accusing him of forsaking the love he'd sworn to himself would live forever in his heart.

A desperate attempt to use a Muggle technique called, of all things, Positive Dreaming by thinking of the fantasy he and Hermione shared only seemed to make it worse. She would cry silently, silver tears running down the translucent skin of her face, always floating just beyond his grasp. Each time he awoke, Simon would be tangled in his sheets, breathing heavily, attempting to reach her. He never could.

Holding Hermione's unopened letter in one hand, Simon stroked it with the other. He'd actually found someone who considered him a friend. Someone who, with the way their letters had been heading, might have been more than a friend someday.

"I'm sorry, Lily. No one can ever take your place," Simon whispered as he rose and tiredly walked toward his desk. The letter lay there for several days before he decided to open it.

When he found out Hermione's birthday was near, Simon frowned in thought. Sending gifts was something he'd done many times before, as it was wise to keep acquaintances, such as the Malfoys, happy. Picking up the rare transfiguration text he'd sent her once before, Simon briefly considered duplicating it for her.

I haven't got enough potion made up. It has to go to someone, someday. It might as well be her, now.

Simon

-~8~-

There had been a mad rush to keep Yorick out of sight while Hermione retrieved her post, and she'd been most apologetic to the bird for the undignified scramble. Leontes had been left in the temporary care of Mister Fitzgerald from the bookstore, and Hermione hadn't thought to bring any owl biscuits on the chance that she might receive mail during her stay at her parents'.

Simon's letter had been extremely brief. Hermione fought to remind herself that she had no reason to feel disappointed. She read the note in its entirety several times as if searching for some hidden meaning, worrying her lower lip between her teeth until her mother told her to stop before she ruined her lipstick.

The book more than made up for the brevity of the letter. She recognized it immediately, a bibliophile's joy causing her to clutch the book to her chest as she danced around the kitchen.

September 19, 2000

I wish I had time to write more, but luncheon begins in twenty minutes, and I still need to Apparate into Diagon Alley to borrow one of the owls from the store if I want to get this sent today.

Hermione

-~8~-

Closing the last of the new books Hermione had sent him, Simon glanced over the ones left on the list. They were mostly ones he'd had to leave behind at Hogwarts, and as he was quite familiar with them, they would contain nothing new.

It's time to admit defeat.

It galled him even as the thought occurred, but defeat – no longer trying – being able to sleep – even if forever – was very tempting. Pulling open the bottom drawer of his desk, a small vial was removed from its depths.

It has the color of a ruby, he noted absently as it caught and returned the light from a lamp he'd left lit on the far side of the room. An emerald would have been more fitting.

He'd taken great care when preparing the potion. It was designed to work within seconds, and while he couldn't guarantee it was painless, it was close enough. The only thing holding Simon back was fear. Not of death or any possible pain, but as returning, possibly to Hogwarts, as a ghost.

"Gods, not there – anywhere but there," Simon mumbled as he put the vial away. "Joining Binns on staff would be more than anyone should have to bear." Straightening his jumper as he stood, Simon snorted. "If that happened, Yorick, at least I'd never have to worry about my clothes if a student's cauldron decided to explode."

An unfamiliar owl, but one that apparently had delivered something to Simon before, appeared briefly, and much as Leontes was apt to do, dropped its burden and fled.

"Is it me, or are they getting more and more rude?" Simon asked Yorick indignantly as he walked over to inspect the letter on the floor. Luckily it had landed with his name showing, so there was no hesitation when he recognized Hermione's writing. It puzzled him for a moment and then Simon remembered the rest of what she'd written in her last letter.

"Blast. Muggle relatives who don't know she's a witch. No Leontes, I'd wager."

Turning to look at Yorick, Simon's right eyebrow raised.

"And how did she explain you and the parcel you delivered, my fine feathered friend?" Simon asked as he bent to pick up the envelope and looked it over carefully. "It's not a Howler at any rate."

September 20, 2000

In reading my first paragraph again, it rather sounds as though I was in my cups. I wasn't.

Simon's eyes closed, and the hand holding the charmed quill tossed it down. Pride, one of his greatest foes, wouldn't allow him to beg.

What other choice do I have?

The bottom drawer of the desk was opened, and he sat back in his chair with hands folded on his lap. Somber eyes flicked back and forth between the letter and the now visible vial.

My bloody little know-it-all or Binns?

It didn't take long for pride to bend, but it left a bit of anger in its place that it had come to this.

Why is this so bloody difficult? I've shared far more with you than what sticks in my craw and won't come out.

Simon

-~8~-

September 30, 2000

No apology necessary, I assure you. It wasn't too difficult to keep Yorick out of sight; I had been near one of the windows that overlooked the garden at the time that he appeared, and Mum was able to come up with a suitable diversion almost immediately.

"Unfortunately, that diversion involved a handful of pictures of me as a babe, streaking about the house with a bare bottom, apparently using my nappy as some sort of parachute," Hermione mused out loud, deciding that Simon really didn't need the embarrassing details.

Having suffered from nightmares in the past, although not nearly as persistent as the ones you describe, I must offer my sympathy and insist that you do not deserve them, no matter what some uninformed idiot with more opinions than common sense may attempt to spout off.

Hermione

-~8~-

Upon the first reading, Hermione's letter was everything Simon been expecting – only more so. A scene flashed through his mind. Hogwarts' Potions classroom was the setting. Hermione's hand was in the air, rising through a sea of bowed heads avoiding eye contact. Not so Hermione. Her bottom lip was being chewed, and you could almost see how difficult it was for her not to bounce up and down in her seat.

There was something wrong with the scene, and it took a few moments for Simon to realize what it was. It wasn't Hermione the student in his fantasy flashback. It was an adult Hermione. Simon shrugged it off and returned to reading the letter.

"Having suffered from nightmares in the past..."

"Not at all surprising, considering the events," Simon muttered and then fell silent as he read the rest of the sentence. An unease settled in Simon at the concern she expressed so vehemently in her letter over the opinion some faceless, nameless person might have of him. A return to the questioning, gathering information, part of Hermione's nature made him smirk. It didn't last long.

"I do not like to think of you suffering."

Other than Poppy Pomfrey, whom Simon was of the opinion fussed merely to be fussing, no one had shown any great concern over what injuries or maladies befell him. Filch had been Simon's choice for assistance when Hagrid's ugly beast had bitten him. He hadn't seen the need to visit Madam Pomfrey, since he supplied most of the healing potions for her in the first place.

"I'd have been in the infirmary for bloody month of Sundays," he muttered while reading the last long paragraph.

"Good gods, Yorick! I think I've activated a one-woman crusade on my behalf," Simon remarked in total bewilderment. The last sentence, however, made him frown.

"Charms? She suggests Charms?" Simon sputtered while at the same time standing and walking over to the bookcase that covered one wall in the flat. It was only three quarters full, and it took only a few moments for Simon to find the volume he wanted.

I'll never live it down if one of these works, was the thought that ran through his mind as he settled down in his easy chair to read.

More than a week later, and a countless number of Charms, he admitted defeat in yet another area.

October 10, 2000

Post Script – Do you still chew your bottom lip when you're anxious?

-~8~-

Do I still... Hermione cast a guilty look around the room as she released her lip from between her teeth.

"How did he–?"

She knew there was more important things in his letter to dwell on, but it took far too long for Hermione to actually pull herself away from wondering why he wanted to know.

October 15, 2000

I would hate to take your spoon when we succeed, Simon. I'm sure you can think of something else with which to reward my efforts.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat as she wrote that last line. She wasn't sure how he would interpret that.

"Well, I'll just have to nudge him in the right direction."

Considering your current situation, I'm aware that it wouldn't be prudent to meet somewhere public for a meal, but I would be more than happy to offer my flat for a quiet celebratory dinner.

Hermione

She quickly scribbled her name and sealed the letter before she could talk herself out of leaving it as it was and tied it to her owl's leg. "Go, before it has a chance to sink in how stupid I'm being."

-~8~-

Glancing at the warped reflection in the side of the glass currently in his hand, Simon had to snort.

October 16, 2000

Simon

-~8~-

So, if someday a celebratory dinner is in order – and I could afford a posh evening, which I might – the location would not have to be your flat.

Either he wasn't getting the point that she wanted the celebration to be at her flat, or...

"Or he understood it perfectly well, and this is his way of trying to let me down gently." Hermione pouted and reached for the carton of half-melted ice cream. "And what does Ron have to do with anything?"

October 16, 2000

Not to mention, considering the things that I suspect he has been up to over the last few months, I would have to dance naked in the street, propositioning every man – or woman – I met before he would have any grounds to cast aspersions upon my reputation.

**********