Part Twelve

AN: As always, thank you so very much, Lariope, for all your hard work on our behalf.

Having remembered "and he is willing to take his life into his own hands by eating whatever monstrosity I set before him" from one of her letters, Simon had turned down Hermione's offer to help prepare their evening repast. Carrying a plate containing a modest variety of sharp and mild cheeses, he placed it precisely in the middle of the table before sitting down. It wasn't much, as desserts go, but it was what he liked.

"I do hope you weren't expecting a concoction of froth and sugar," he advised while filling a wine glass for her. Setting the bottle down, Simon gestured in the direction of the lighter colored Gouda while choosing a slice of Gorgonzola Dolce for himself.

"That particular cheese should go well with your wine. At least that's what Lucius informed me once." A small huff of amusement was closely followed by a slight smirk.

"Of course, with Lucius, one never knew quite what to believe."

The throbbing in his temples had ceased, at least for the time being. Simon didn't know if he'd been that hungry for food, or if it had been the ceasefire brought about by the meal itself. He was thankful Hermione apparently hadn't picked up the disgusting habit of talking with her mouth full from Weasley.

Speaking of which...

It was time for Hermione to provide a few answers of her own. Swallowing the last bite of his cheese, Simon tilted his head and sent her a questioning look.

"How is it that you're not a Weasley by now? Potter, from what I hear, has already tied the knot with the youngest one. No happily ever after ending for you and the red headed Quidditch goalie?" Simon asked with only a trace of the sarcasm he would have normally used.

-~8~-

Hermione froze, wide-eyed at the unexpected direction the conversation had suddenly turned to. Earlier, while she'd watched Simon prepare the simple, yet delicious meal, she had peppered him with the questions that had been uppermost in her mind.

What had he done to his appearance? And was it at all reversible?

She'd been relieved to hear that the majority of the mostly superficial changes were not permanent, in so much as they were caused by potions and salves that he had to administer on a regular basis. A few skipped doses and the only difference between Simon and Severus would be a straighter nose, better teeth, shorter hair and a tragic lack of billowy, teaching robes. Although Hermione had to admit that while he had been preparing their meal, she had much enjoyed the view provided by the Muggle slacks. Who would have thought that Professor Snape had been hiding such a lovely arse under those robes all these years?

Hermione had decided it would be best to hold on to her questions about his nightmares until after dinner, not wanting to sour the meal with unpleasant topics.

Apparently Simon had no such qualms.

She swallowed the piece of cheese that had been sitting like a rock on her tongue and set the rest of it back down on her plate, taking the time to carefully wipe her fingers on her linen and sip her wine while she considered whether or not to tell him it was none of his business.

"Ron and I had an insurmountable difference of opinion." Her tone was the coolest it had been since she'd arrived that afternoon. "He felt I was an unemotional cold fish who couldn't understand his needs, and I felt that he was a boorish lout who couldn't understand mine. He called me frigid; I called him a pig and... Eventually, we realized we were better off as friends than lovers."

Hermione reached for her wine glass and took a sip, watching him over the rim. "How is it that you're not dead? I very clearly remember seeing you bleeding to death in the Shrieking Shack, and yet, here you are."

-~8~-

Hermione's letters hadn't conveyed the full extent of her current feelings for the youngest Weasley male. Her tone did. Both of Simon's eyebrows had risen during her explanation, completely unaware that the mere asking of the question might have caused the mood shift.

Frigid?

More fool he.

Placing his tea cup back in the saucer, Simon refrained from touching his throat at her question. He knew the high necked jumper he wore covered the scars, but the slight wince on his face, as remembered fangs pierced his skin again, wasn't controllable.

Raising shadowed eyes from the depths of his cup, Simon fed her a small smile.

"Come now, Hermione. The 'smartest witch of her age' shouldn't be flummoxed by a simple problem. You found an answer for the protection of your parents. What would you have done in my position?"

-~8~-

What would I have done? I'd probably have died.

She had seen the wince, and it had made her feel just a bit guilty for striking back at him with a question guaranteed to poke at an old wound after he'd asked about Ron. Even though she cautiously considered Ron to be her friend, thinking of her failed relationship with the only man she had ever loved still had the power to make her overly defensive, and she'd taken it out on Simon.

Hermione took a deep breath and set aside her empty glass. "I don't know what I would have done in your position, Simon. When we couldn't find your body, I wondered, obviously, but I'd seen – what I'd seen, and there really didn't seem to be any reason to hope that you might have survived. We all assumed what was left of the other side had taken and secretly buried the body. They probably assumed the same thing, actually. It's not as if we could have asked your portrait what you would have done or even wondered why it wasn't talking; it didn't survive the battle in the castle. I think Harry said it had been found in one of the rooms that had collapsed, burned almost beyond recognition.

"To be honest, I had more pressing concerns to deal with after that than what had happened to my former professor's body. Other than the occasional nightmare, I hadn't really spent much time thinking about it until recently. And even if I had, the likelihood of you surviving through the night, even if you had managed to crawl out of the shack somehow, was infinitesimal."

Hermione nodded toward the seating in front of the hearth. "Do you mind if we move? I'm suddenly feeling a bit of a chill."

-~8~-

"Not at all," Simon said quietly while standing and moving to pull out her chair. "Would you like a brandy instead of more wine?"

Hearing the cold, hard facts that no one on either side had bothered to check his status wasn't surprising. Simon knew perfectly well the chaos surrounding the final battle would have precluded anyone from visiting the shack too soon, but he still had to stifle a sigh the hollow feeling in his chest had produced.

As Simon's hand moved briefly to touch the silk of Hermione's hair before she rose, he realized he was tired. Tired of the pretense, the loneliness that was the reward he'd earned for trying to atone for the mistakes of his youth. Moving away from her before baser instincts won out, Simon walked toward the shelf that contained an adequate brandy and a bottle of Ogden's. Splashing some of the latter in a glass, he took a healthy swallow, turned and saluted her with the remainder.

"If I'm going to be forced to answer those types of questions – you'd be better off getting me pissed."

-~8~-

Her earlier guilt intensified as she sat in the same chair he had lead her to that afternoon. He obviously didn't want to discuss the events of that night or how he managed to survive what should have been a fatal wound. It was cruel of her to keep pressing for answers, yet Hermione needed to know almost as much as she needed to draw her next breath.

"Whatever you're having is fine." She suspected that Simon wasn't going to be the only one who would need something bracing to drink before their conversation was over. "Go ahead and bring the bottle."

-~8~-

Glancing once at the bottle still in his hand and then over at Hermione, Simon mentally shrugged. She kept reinforcing the statement she was no longer a child after all.

"Be it on your own head," he told her while at the same time presenting an empty glass. After sitting down and pouring himself almost a full measure, he motioned for her to raise her own. As she held it, he poured.

"Say when."

-~8~-

"That's fine, thank you." There was just over two fingers of liquid in her glass, and Hermione knew that should be more than enough to tide her over for awhile.

He hadn't told her what they were drinking, but odor was vaguely familiar. A very cautious sip – one that caused a full-body shudder – told her it was Ogden's, as she'd suspected.

Vile stuff, but it would serve its purpose. Between the Ogden's and the fire, the chill from earlier was slowly beginning to fade away.

"Right, then, you were saying?"

-~8~-

He tried to look at her and speak, but found he couldn't. Simon's gaze turned toward the fire and then into the liquid in the glass. Another large gulp was taken before he settled back into the depths of his chair. As the chairs weren't directly facing each other, it was easy to watch the fire destroy the wood he'd placed there earlier and pretend he was talking to Yorick.

"When you and Potter left – I was as good as dead," he stated flatly.

"In order to fool the Dark – Voldemort when the time came, it was necessary for me to have a dose of the Draught of Living Death on my person. It didn't take a bloody genius to know he'd use Nagini, since he delighted in terrorizing those around him with the beast."

Simon paused and took a slower sip of the Ogden's.

"Smethwyck developed a very effective antidote, you know, as Arthur Weasley can attest. It wasn't difficult to find a way to combine those two, along with a Blood-Replenishing Potion, into a concentrated solution."

He smirked slightly and chanced a glance in her direction before the fire won out again.

"Thanks to a Muggle syringe hastily emptied into my thigh, it was in my blood stream before Voldemort turned his back on me. Once he left me for dead, I slapped a patch on my neck and then you and the boy wonder popped in."

The liquid left in his glass was swirled and studied.

"When the Draught wore off, I was able to Apparate to Spinner's End my, ancestral abode, where I finished healing the wound. As far as the bloody portrait goes – it was burned before I left Hogwarts."

The glance he now threw in Hermione's direction was dark and deadly, as was the tone of his voice when he asked, "Does that satisfy your morbid curiosity enough for one evening, Miss Granger?"

-~8~-

Back to being Miss Granger, I see.

She took a cautious sip of the Ogden's and wasn't sure if she should be pleased or disturbed that it didn't burn nearly as badly as before. Perhaps her throat was beginning to go numb?

"If you're asking if I have no more questions, I'm afraid the answer would disappoint you, or at the very least, try what is left of your patience." Another sip and Hermione was feeling pleasantly warm and hardly grimaced at all. "However, Mister Sopohorous, I suspect neither of us is particularly eager to discuss such a delicate subject any further this evening."

He hadn't moved to kick her out yet. Hermione chose to view that as a positive sign even in light of the glare and his tone.

"Simon." The last dregs of liquid were quickly swallowed and the glass set on the small table before Hermione tentatively reached out to touch his arm. "Simon, thank you. For sharing that with me."

Her hand hovered over his for a moment, unsure if he would welcome her or not, before she threw caution to the wind and wrapped her fingers around his.

-~8~-

The Severus of old would have drawn his hand sharply away, and had there been a trace of pity in Hermione's eyes, Simon still would have. Finding none, he merely nodded and took another sip. He didn't squeeze her fingers, as it smacked too much of something Dumbledoreish, but his thumb did raise enough to stroke the front of her digits before gently removing his hand.

After his confession, the flat seemed smaller than usual. Simon needed the roof, and since it would be the height of rudeness to leave a guest sitting alone in the flat, Simon rose and took two cloaks from a small closet next to the front door of the flat.

"Would you care to accompany me to the roof? I can almost guarantee I won't be tempted to toss you over the side," he said with a small smile.

-~8~-

The roof. She still remembered the letter he had written just a few short months ago, when he had told her how he would visit the rooftop when he was feeling restless.

Hermione returned his smile and accepted the cloak he offered. "I would be honored. I've been curious to see it since you wrote of it, actually."

As she followed him out of his flat and up the stairs, she settled the borrowed cloak around her shoulders. Hermione couldn't help burying her nose in the fabric to see if it smelled like Simon and was grateful that he was leading the way and couldn't see her momentary foolishness.

I'm as bad as a schoolgirl with a crush on the Quidditch captain.

When they reached the rooftop, the view was almost exactly as she'd imagined it. The sounds of the city were there, but muted enough to not be harsh. The moon seemed to be absent from sky, but the city gave off its own light, making it possible for her to see Simon's profile in the darkness.

A slight October evening breeze chilled the air, and Hermione drew the cloak tighter.

"It's beautiful."

-~8~-

If he'd been a Lothario, that would have been Simon's cue to murmur a sweet nothing along the lines of how her beauty dimmed that of the city's, but he wasn't and he didn't. Instead he noticed the tightening of the cloak and remembered Hermione being chilled earlier. Stepping closer, Simon flipped his own cloak around her. The fact that it required his arm to be around her shoulders, in his mind at least, was a bonus.

"It has its moments," he said while looking down on her head. The slight wind played with her curls, bringing a few tendrils to brush against the side of his face. It reminded him of the brief touch of her fingers earlier in the day.

"You're in the crook of my arm – shall we take flight?" he asked with a raised brow and a slight smirk, wondering how she'd react.

-~8~-

He had asked her that once before, and at the time, Hermione had let her fear keep her from answering. The fear of falling, and – she had to admit to herself now – the fear of actually meeting Simon. In their letters, she could be an alluring, self-confident woman who could make Simon laugh and even desire her, but in person... In person, she was merely plain old Hermione Granger, and when he had asked his sweet, wanton, romantic dreamer if she would fly with him, she had been terrified that she would disappoint him – or that he would in some way disappoint her – and the relationship, as strange as it was, would be over.

Now, the only fear that remained was the one that had plagued her since first year – falling. It came down to one simple thing – did she trust Simon to keep her safe?

Hermione turned to press her face against him, her arms creeping around his form to hold on tight, hands grasping a fistful of jumper each. "If you drop me – I will find a way to hurt you – a lot." She had tried to sound as if she were joking, but there was a waver of unease in her voice that betrayed her.

She lifted her head to look up at him, eyes straining to make out his features in the dark. "I'm a bit nervous. That's a lie; I'm terrified. Just... kiss me first?"

-~8~-

After the confession in her letters, Simon had expected Hermione to balk and head down the stairs, tossing him a bit of sass over a shoulder. To find himself being – hugged – threw him slightly off balance, and the slight tremble in her voice finished the job. His hands rose to either side of her face and smoothed the hair back. There was an unaccustomed soft feeling in his chest that was threatening to expand to his throat.

"Bloody, foolish Gryffindor pride," he murmured roughly. "We do not need to do this, Hermione. I spoke in jest with a spirited chase down the stairs in mind as a consequence."

A brief kiss was given, and then he gave her a real smile, feeling quite safe in the dark.

"One day – when you're sure – you'll be able to step up on my boots, wrap your arms around me and then we'll fly."

-~8~-

He was giving her an out, and Hermione was tempted to take it.

So very tempted.

However, his concern only seemed to firm her resolve to do this, to fly without the aid of a broom.

In Simon's arms.

She released her hold on his jumper and pulled her arms free. Hermione looked out at the city for a moment before loosely wrapping both arms around Simon's neck and carefully placing her feet atop his. It was a pose that reminded her of dancing with her father when she was a child.

"I'm sure."

-~8~-

Simon had not lied to Hermione when he'd told her he was a creature of the dark. Its cloak was soft, sweet and more than willing to allow a multitude of freedoms the day never gave. Slipping his wand out of a sleeve, Simon held it loosely in his right hand while the left slid around Hermione's waist.

"My dreamer has finally arrived," Simon said in a voice tinged with a touch of wonder, before his mouth dipped to claim hers.

Ventus sinus ut meus mos, his mind supplied, while the wand swirled over their heads in a gentle motion. They rose, slowly turning, until he judged the moment to be about right. Breaking the kiss, he glanced to the side and down. They were a fair distance above the building, London spread out beneath their feet.

"What say you to this, wanton dreamer? Continue or return?"

-~8~-

In the back of her mind, she had registered the changes around them, had recognized what it had to have meant; but as long as Simon's lips were against hers and her eyes were firmly closed, Hermione could pretend they were still firmly planted on the rooftop.

Then he spoke, asked her a question, and she whimpered ever so softly, hoping that Simon hadn't heard the fear she was trying to control.

First one eye and then the other cautiously opened, and Hermione risked a glance downward. With a gasp, she wrapped her arms even tighter around him and found that looking at Simon, or up at the night sky above them, was easier to adjust to.

"I – uh – I'm not too heavy for you, am I? We're not in any danger of crashing to the ground in a heap of broken bones or anything?"

Simon had her, he wouldn't let her fall. She wasn't about to let him let her fall. Hermione drew herself even closer to his body and risked another look down.

It really was exciting, once she was able to get past the first waves of mind-numbing terror. "I can't believe this is even possible."

-~8~-

While Simon certainly wasn't about to object to the closeness they were currently enjoying, there was a fundamental part of his soul that remained the teacher. If he was any judge, she was closer to hysteria than was safe for either one of them.

"Hermione," he said almost sharply. "Cease the prattle and listen to me – carefully."

When he was sure he had her attention, Simon raised one eyebrow and spoke clearly and in his sternest teacher's voice.

"Do you have to believe it's possible when you conjure a spout of water out the end of your wand, or do you just do it? Do you have to believe it's possible when you cast an Incendio or use your blasted bluebell flames on an innocent professor's robes, while he's trying his damnedest, I might add, to save another student's neck?"

-~8~-

There it was again, that tone that had always demanded her attention in the classroom. It was enough to distract her, somewhat, from wondering when they would fall to the ground and die.

"I didn't know that's what you were doing at the time, did I? Wait, you knew that was me? But you never punished me for ... This is definitely not the time to get into all of that." It never even occurred to her to worry that she was no longer clutching him quite so tightly.

"Are you telling me that you can fly, something that is so rare that a large portion of the Wizarding world doesn't even know it's possible, simply because – you can? It's just something you do? Then how come everyone can't? How come I can't?"

-~8~-

"Good gods, woman," he growled, while both brows drew together. He wasn't upset, merely falling into his old teaching mode. She was going to understand if they had to stay up there all night.

"It's a wonder you passed any of your classes. Listen, and for Merlin's sake, use that bloody brain of yours and think about what I'm saying. All of those are what, Hermione? There are two I didn't mention."

-~8~-

"All of those are things I can do," she muttered under her breath, more than a little annoyed at being lectured like an illiterate first year.

She pulled a face as she worked with the problem, considering and discarding possible answers as she worried her lower lip with her teeth.

The bluebell flame was a portable fire charm, obviously. Aguamenti was another charm, this time producing water...

"Flame and water." Hermione blinked. "Fire and water, earth and air, the four elements?" It could not be as simple as that.

"This is possible because of some sort of spell that can produce air – or wind, or something of that nature – that you can control enough to lift you off the ground? I've never heard of such a thing." There was the excitement that only came from learning something new in her voice. Hermione squirmed around just enough so that she could get a better few of their feet, as if she were hoping to see some visible sign of the spell at work.

-~8~-

She was getting the idea, but not the full potential. Even Voldemort hadn't realized the extent to which it could be used.

Shaking his head slightly, Simon expounded, "It doesn't produce air or wind, Hermione. It controls it. With the right spells, in the right combination, we could build castles of air on a cloud.

"Take one of your feet and test the area between mine," he instructed her while keeping a firm grasp on her waist.

-~8~-

She'd actually begun to shift her weight to do as he asked, when her self preservation instincts made themselves known once more.

"I ... I'm not sure that I can." Her words had come out much softer than she'd intended, and the night breeze did its best to whip them away, unheard.

Get a hold of yourself, woman. You broke into Gringotts, faced down Death Eaters, survived being tortured by a psychotic bitch, and told Molly Weasley there was no way in hell you would ever marry one of her sons. This should be cake in comparison.

"Cake."

Hermione kept her eyes on her feet and her hands locked around Simon's neck, just in case, as she gently probed the space between his feet with the toe of one shoe.

"Amazing." She lifted her head and smiled at him. "How difficult is it to control? Do you think you might be able to teach me?"

-~8~-

Simon had been puzzling over Hermione's "cake" comment when she finally did as he'd asked. The resulting questions tempted him to let them drop a few meters, but as he really didn't want to be strangled to death, the impulse was resisted.

Performing a Disillusionment Charm, since they were continuing to rise and would soon be in full view of Muggles, Simon didn't answer her immediately. The trouble he'd gone through to ensure Voldemort didn't realize his latest "advantage" was no longer a secret held by himself alone went through Simon's mind. The danger it would place Hermione, and himself, in if any of the former Death Eaters learned of her knowledge...

"No," he said briefly. "And before the whys and why nots begin, I will merely state that it wouldn't be prudent for either of us to have you flitting about without a broom."

As he studied the face still looking up at him, his tongue added, "Not right now at any rate. Who, other than the great and mystical Trelawney of course, knows what tomorrow will bring."

And why the fuck did I just say that?

No was sufficient.

-~8~-

Hermione did not like to think of herself as a pouter, but when Simon said "no," she was almost positive that she had begun to pout. She suspected it was not a particularly attractive sight.

She'd been about to tell him, quite vehemently, that Hermione Granger did not flit anywhere – broom or no – and that she found his remark insulting at best, when he qualified his answer.

That brought a softer, sweeter version of her earlier smile back to her lips. She returned her foot to the top of his and pressed herself against his body; this time because she merely wanted to, rather than because she feared for her life. Her head rested against his shoulder. She felt rather bold as she brushed her lips softly against his jaw before turning her attention to the lights of the city.

For the moment, she was content.

Learning to fly could wait.

Simon would teach her – of that she was confident.

-~8~-

Simon frowned slightly while looking down at the woman snuggled against him. Wonder of wonders – there appeared to be no more questions. Only a suggestion of a kiss on his jaw. He felt almost – peaceful. While it was an agreeable sensation, and one he didn't recall having in recent memory, it made Simon uneasy.

His eyes searched the night sky, looking for the thunderclouds he was sure were waiting to descend on their unsuspecting heads. When he didn't find any reason for concern, the unease grew heavier in his midsection. For once, the dark wasn't comforting. It contained shrouded dangers he couldn't see. There was hell to be paid in some form or other.

**********