Part Twenty

AN: Lariope – as Jackie Gleason would say: "You're the greatest!"

Saturday, the 18th of November, found Simon in something of a tizzy. He hadn't seen Hermione since the morning after breakfast at her flat, and he was a trifle nervous.

If she actually makes an appearance.

It was getting rather late for her to cancel, which calmed his nerves somewhat, but there was still too many things to do before she showed up. Putting clean sheets on his bed, making sure there was an adequate number of towels in the bath, and a good scrubbing of the kitchen counter were among the tasks he assigned himself. A small smirk lifted the corner of Simon's mouth as he gave the counter surface a final buffing.

If I'm lucky.

A quick peek in the oven let him know the potatoes were almost roasted to perfection. The chicken, sans sauce, was waiting in a stasis field to keep warm, as were the vegetables and rolls. The small chocolate cake he'd ordered from the Muggle bakery down the street was hidden as a surprise.

"Well, Yorick? Will I pass muster?" he asked as he slowly turned in front of the falcon's roost.

-~8~-

Hermione tried to convince herself that the tempest gathering force in her stomach was from using the portkey and not caused by nerves.

She knew she was lying.

Once the world had stopped spinning and Hermione was once again able to stand straight without swaying, she took in her surroundings. Simon's home was just as she remembered it, as was Simon. She felt inner heat war with the nerves at the sight of him, torn between the urge to throw herself at him and the urge to immediately launch into an explanation of what she had done and why.

The heavy box cradled in her arms forced her to choose a third option. Hermione carefully settled it onto the small table near the fireplace, then turned to face Simon. Her unease was temporarily overwhelmed by her happiness at being near him after all these weeks.

"I know I'm a few minutes early, but I -" Couldn't stay away any longer. "I hope you don't mind."

She wasn't sure what she should do. If this had been the beginning of a normal date, Hermione imagined she would have already wrapped her arms around him and been well on her way toward kissing one of them senseless.

Screw it. Who knows where things will stand between us after tonight; I need this.

Hermione crossed the small room quickly and reached up to pull Simon down to her kiss. "God, I missed you," she whispered, almost desperately.

-~8~-

Simon had taken one step toward his dinner guest when his focus became the box in Hermione's arms. The question hovering on his lips was dispatched to obscurity when her mouth took his, and any leftover worries that Simon had about Hermione not wanting to see him again quickly evaporated beneath the heat of her kiss. Quite when his arms had found their way around her body, he didn't know, but when she finally broke the kiss, they were very determined to keep her within their grasp. Simon, in his infinite wisdom, didn't object at all.

A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth as he gazed down at Hermione. Something quite similar to mischief pushed him to say, "And I you – surprisingly enough." The smile on his mouth grew a little broader, and the warm glow in his eyes wasn't from the thought of dinner yet to come.

-~8~-

She should have been annoyed at that "surprisingly enough," but she wasn't. In fact, her lips tilted upward in a smile that matched his.

How could I have stayed away as long as I did?

How will I stay away if he refuses to see me after...?

The smile slipped from her lips, and sad regret overwhelmed her features for the briefest of moments before Hermione dropped her head to rest it against his chest. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves, then pulled out of Simon's arms, reaching out to take one of his hands in hers.

"There's something I need to tell you, something I need to show you, and –" Her momentary surge of bravery faded. "I think it might be best if we put dinner off until we get back."

Even as she said it, Hermione knew there wouldn't be a romantic dinner for them tonight, no matter what the outcome of the evening.

"Simon, do you trust me?"

-~8~-

The moment the smile was wiped from Hermione's mouth, Simon's spine tensed in response, and he wondered if he'd carried the teasing a touch too far. One hand had risen to stroke the hair on her lowered head, but Hermione retreated before it had completed its journey.

"Simon, do you trust me?" started a maelstrom of conflict in his chest and mind. Those words, in Simon's experience, never brought good fortune in their wake.

Simon frowned lightly before he turned and walked silently into the kitchen. The pretext of putting their dinner on hold bought him the needed time to sort it all out.

Do I trust her?

Simon's first gut instinct was to simply say yes, but the ghosts of the past wouldn't let him.

She's not the Dark Lord – or Dumbledore.

The potatoes joined the rest of their dinner under a renewed stasis field, and he was out of time.

Do I trust her?

As much as I can anyone.

As he stepped back into the living room, Simon wasn't exactly at peace, but he was no longer frowning. Walking over to Hermione, he raised one of her hands to his lips before giving it a light kiss.

"Our dinner will be waiting. Might I inquire where you're planning on taking me?"

-~8~-

It had taken a lot to keep her from following him to the other room, to keep the flow of persuasive, pleading words on the tip of her tongue from flowing free.

When he returned and reached for her hand to bring it to his lips, Hermione felt as if the ground had shifted under her feet. He might not have said the words, but his actions told her all that she needed to know.

He trusts me. For now, at this moment, Simon trusts me.

Her smile was soft and full of some emotion that Hermione refused to even consider naming.

She gently pulled her hand free and reached into the box she had brought with her, pulling out a bundle of slick, silvery fabric. Hermione held Harry's invisibility cloak out to Simon.

"I thought you might be more comfortable if you had this. We're going to Hogwarts."

-~8~-

At first Simon's mind refused to interpret the words his ears brought him. He gazed at Hermione and blinked a few times before his mouth opened of its own accord.

"You're bloody insane if you think I'm going anywhere near that pile of rocks!" he spat while stepping back and away from the bundle she held out. Taking a deep breath, Simon pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and then tried to explain.

"If you're dead set on taking a stroll through memory lane, I'm sure either Potter or one of your other friends would accompany you. I've never been back there, and I don't intend to start now," he said much more quietly.

-~8~-

A stroll through memory lane... Hermione winced as she thought of the Pensieve that was carefully packed in the box.

"Trust me, if there was any other way to do this, I would have jumped on it. But I need you to come with me, Simon. Not Harry, not Ron. You."

She held out the invisibility cloak once more. "You can stay under this; no one will see you. No one will know you're there but me. I need to speak with someone, and I need you there with me when I do."

Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, then tried one last time. "Please?"

-~8~-

She needed him and it tore at his resolve never to return to Hogwarts. There had to be a god or a meddling little fate somewhere rolling on the ground in laughter at Simon's expense.

"Not Harry, not Ron. You."

The chewing of the lip and the soft, "Please," finished the job of killing any hope of resistance he had left.

Simon took the cloak from her hands while a muscle jumped wildly in his cheek. He glared at the item, instead of her, while running the soft fabric through nimble fingers. Narrowed eyes lifted and took Hermione's measure before he nodded his head once.

"I take it this is Potter's?" he asked with a slight snarl. "First you give me his leftover Ogden's and now this? What next?"

Tucking the hated object beneath his arm, Simon held out his hand.

"If we're going to go, let's go. I've never been one for procrastination."

-~8~-

Hermione wasn't looking forward to this any more than he seemed to be, but she agreed that there was no point to delaying. She lifted the box and settled its weight against one hip so that she could free the other hand for Simon.

"I'll take us up the road from the gate so that you'll have time to put that on. There's a Quidditch match today, so the castle should be relatively empty by the time we arrive. With any luck, we'll be gone long before it ends."

With a deep breath, she took his hand. "Ready?"

Hermione didn't wait for an answer, just focused her thoughts on their destination and Apparated.

-~8~-

The faint cheering noises from the Quidditch pitch penetrated as last and broke the hold the sight of the castle had placed on Simon. He hated the sight of it – almost as much as he loved it. It had been his home, the only real one he'd ever known, for so long and yet the site of so many things he'd rather forget.

Releasing the tight grasp he'd held on Hermione's hand, Simon wasted no more time putting on Potter's cloak. He sniffed once and then commented in a dry tone, "You might tell Potter to use a cleansing spell on this now and then."

-~8~-

He had held her hand so tightly it hurt; Hermione carefully flexed it after he let go in an effort to return normal circulation, but she didn't complain.

"I'll mention it when I give it back." She pulled out her wand and set the box to levitate behind her, far enough away that any doors they might pass through would have to remain open long enough that Simon could slip through undetected.

She wished she could see him, wanted to see his face to reassure herself that he was all right.

"Minerva's waiting." Hermione led the way through the gate to the castle, then through the deserted corridors and stairs to the Headmistress' office.

Minerva McGonagall looked older than Hermione remembered, and she realized it had been nearly a year since she'd last seen her former Head of House.

She settled her box on the desk and accepted the brief hug the older woman offered, thanking Minerva once more for the use of her office.

"As I said in the letter, no problem at all. Stay as long as you need, and if you're still here when the match is over, you're welcome to stay and join me for a late meal." Then Minerva was gone.

Hermione listened until the sounds of the stairs stilled, until there was no hint of stone grinding against stone. She was pleased to see that all of the portraits were empty save one, just as she'd asked for.

She reached into her box and lifted out the Pensieve.

Once it was in position on the center of the desk, Hermione pulled several stoppered vials out of the box with extreme care. These were placed very precisely next to the Pensieve.

Only then did she lift her head to greet the large portrait behind the Headmistress' desk. "Hello, Professor Dumbledore."

-~8~-

The sights, sounds and smells were all there. Simon found, much to his chagrin, that he was the one who wanted to stop and savor the stroll down memory lane, and there were a few times he had to hurry to make it through doors that wanted to close in front of him.

Minerva.

One of Potter's champions, true, but a colleague he was only now finding out he'd sorely missed. The extra lines and signs of age on her face made him pause. He had to literally bite his tongue as she passed him on the way out of the office, so great was the desire to speak. Simon watched Minerva as she left and didn't turn back around until Hermione spoke. Only then did he note the empty frames lining the walls, and he eyed the items she'd placed with such care on the desk.

What the bloody hell is going on, and how does it involve Dumbledore?

As he studied his former master's portrait, memories of hurried consultations during Simon's own reign as headmaster passed through his mind and caused dark eyes to narrow.

Whatever it is, it bodes nothing good.

He moved closer, not entirely at ease with any of the proceedings, until his mouth was a hair's breath from Hermione's ear.

"What are you up to?" was barely a whisper when it left his mouth.

-~8~-

Somehow she managed not to shiver when Simon whispered.

Dumbledore replied to her greeting, saving Hermione from trying to find a way to answer Simon without giving his presence away. While Dumbledore's "Hello, my dear" was friendly enough, she thought the look he cast toward the items on the desk was rather calculating.

"Minerva said that you wished to ask me a few questions for a book you're writing?"

Hermione took a step to the side, needing to put some distance between herself and Simon so that she could concentrate on the man in the portrait.

"I wished to clarify a few things regarding some of your actions during the war-"

Dumbledore interrupted her, settling back in his chair with an air of one who was explaining something simple to a child who should have known better. "Everything I did, I did for the greater good, child. Harry and I have already had our talk, and he understood-"

It was her turn to interrupt. "I'm not here to talk about Harry, sir."

She gestured to the vials on the desk. "I've recently had cause to review some of the memories that were given to Harry by Severus Snape, on the night he died. Specifically the ones that you appeared in, sir."

Once again, Hermione wished that she could see Simon. She was desperate to know what he was thinking.

-~8~-

The platitudes falling out of the portrait's mouth were so familiar to Simon he could have recited them while asleep. The sneer on his face shifted to one of shock when Hermione announced she'd seen memories he'd given to Potter on the night he died. He had to grasp the cloak when it threatened to slide off his head when he whipped it around to stare in Hermione's direction.

How?

That bloody brat gave her access to my memories?

Simon's eyes closed as one final thought made him wince.

Which ones?

Dear gods, which ones?

-~8~-

Dumbledore remained quiet, but Hermione had expected nothing less. She suspected that he wouldn't volunteer a speck of information. She was going to have to drag it out of him.

"At first, I didn't notice. You were always so subtle. Then I saw it, it must have been just before our sixth year, your hand – Your movements weren't as smooth as they had been every other time, you see." She moved around the desk to stand under the portrait, hands reaching out to grasp the back of the headmistress' chair for support as she looked up at the old wizard with the carefully blank expression. "You'd made him swear to kill you to save Draco Malfoy's soul, and I thought you were reaching out to soothe him, to offer him some comfort. I had to watch the memory twice to realize that the hand movement was a spell."

She looked toward the Pensieve, then around the room even though she knew that she wouldn't be able to see Simon under the cloak.

"Once I knew what to look for, it was easier to go back and find more. Trace it back to that moment, here in this very room, when he came to you after – after Lily was killed."

I know, Simon. I know you loved her. And I'm so sorry.

She turned back to the portrait, anger making her words clipped and tight. "The man's heart was shattered; he even told you he wanted to die. I saw him sitting in that chair, head bowed in grief, and I saw what you did to him. I saw you cast the spell, the first one, the one that you must have had to renew all those other times. What was it? What did it do?

"What did you do to him?"

-~8~-

"The man's heart was shattered; he even told you he wanted to die," stabbed a piece of his heart, while it made Simon's stomach churn harder.

She knows all.

Is that what he...

The deep down hurt and bewilderment he felt at the possibility of another betrayal made him want to leave the office before any more words could be spoken. So many pieces of his life had been played out in that room, and he didn't know if he could stand for it to be privy to even one more.

No.

Please!

"Calm yourself, my dear. I'm sure you've convinced yourself you saw something sinister, but I assure you there wasn't. Severus, Merlin rest his soul, was a key element in the fight against Voldemort. I risked everything when I stood up for him at the Wizengamot, young lady. Now, why would I do anything but attempt to help him?" Dumbledore asked in a soothing tone as he relaxed slightly and smiled down at Hermione.

Simon's eyes flicked to Hermione, and he held his breath in preparation for the blast he was sure was heading Dumbledore's way. She was furious, and she was apparently making no attempt to hide it from the former headmaster.

She looks incredibly beautiful, Simon realized, more than a little stunned. The heat generated from the fire in her eyes would warm the dungeons for weeks.

-~8~-

"Don't you dare say his name," Hermione hissed through clenched lips. "You risked nothing. You sat here like an ancient spider, twitching the strings of your web while the rest of us risked everything to fight your battles, to win your war."

She took a deep breath, then another, and another. Suddenly she didn't want to be that close to the portrait and moved back to the other side of the desk to get away from it.

"I'm not Harry, sir. I know exactly what you're capable of. You used Severus Snape, just like you used Harry."

Hermione braced both hands on the desk and leaned forward. "How did you cause the nightmares? Did you create them completely, or did the spell just find something in his head and make it worse?"

-~8~-

If Simon hadn't know better, the bafflement currently crossing the portrait's face would have convinced him. There was no hesitation in its voice as it blatantly lied to Hermione, and it didn't surprise Simon when it did.

"What on earth are you blathering on about, child? Nightmares? What nightmares? Would you like me to have one of the elves bring Madam Pomfrey to take a look at you? Are you sure you're not the one having the nightmares?" Dumbledore asked as a concerned look came over his face and his voice became even more soothing. "All those things you had to go through as a mere child have finally taken their toll, haven't they? I'm sure they'll be able to help you a great deal at St. Mungo's – if it comes to that."

If that's not a veiled threat, I've never heard one, Simon decided as he drew his wand. He didn't know exactly why, but it felt right to have it in his hand.

Oh, for fuck's sake, man. It's a bloody portrait, not Dumbledore. He can't harm her, he decided, but couldn't bring himself to slide it back inside his sleeve.

So, I hold the damned thing. No harm in that, is there?

-~8~-

"Oh, I do have nightmares. I doubt there's a single one of us who doesn't have one once in a while. Except, perhaps, you."

Hermione tilted her head to the side, lips pursed. "You know, you really are good at this; I might have fallen for the concern if I hadn't seen with my own eyes just how concerned you were when he came to you – how sympathetic as you made him promise that he would do anything for you, as long as you kept Lily Potter safe. But you didn't, because that wasn't part of your great plan, was it? If Lily didn't die, you wouldn't have had your perfect weapon. You didn't even try to save her, did you?"

A foul taste was growing in her mouth with every word.

The eyes of the figure in the portrait flicked around the room, as if making sure they were still alone, then he leaned forward in his throne-like chair.

And smirked.

Hermione felt her blood boil as her anger made her see red. Her hands shook at her sides.

"Careful, my dear. My name still carries a great deal of weight and respect in some circles. There are those who might see your allegations as – treasonous. Why are you even bothering to concern yourself with matters long buried?"

He tapped a finger against his lower lip, that hateful smirk still on his mouth. "Why this sudden crusade? I doubt Severus would have appreciated your intrusion into his privacy, were he alive today. I imagine he would have been furious to be exposed so, especially by someone he could barely stand to teach. You do know he abhorred the very sight of you, don't you, child? So any feelings you might have been harboring for him all this time, any school girl crush, he never would have returned them."

Hermione gasped.

-~8~-

"You didn't even try to save her, did you?"

Simon's grip on his wand tightened as he waited for the denial or the assurances – that never came. Only more lies tumbled from the portrait of the man Simon had once considered almost a father.

"Enough!" he growled as the cloak was thrown off.

"Enough of your blasted lies, old man!" Simon yelled as he walked toward the portrait, wand shaking, but pointed directly where there would have been – should have been – a heart.

Dumbledore's portrait looked surprised for a moment, before a crafty look found its way back. Peering over its glasses, it chuckled before settling back in the chair.

"Well, well. You always were full of surprises, Severus. I'm quite astonished to see you, if indeed it is you and not someone merely mimicking your voice."

Simon's eyes narrowed and his chin rose before he hissed, "It is indeed me, Albus. Answer her question."

Dumbledore glanced dismissively over at Hermione and shrugged before turning his attention back toward Simon.

"And which one of the thousands of questions she's always had would be the one you're interested in, Severus?" he asked while tapping that same finger against his mouth. "Let's see now – don't tell me – let me guess.

"I'd say the one that burns your soul even to this day," the portrait said while leaning forward.

"No, I didn't try to save Lily – or James, for that matter. Having Harry grow up in the wizarding world with eleven years of exposure before I could lead him? Oh, no, no. That would never have done. I needed him bedazzled and trusting only in me," Dumbledore said with a satisfied smirk. "You have to admit it worked beautifully."

Glancing down at the obviously furious wizard, Dumbldore laughed.

"So you had to endure a few nightmares. That was little enough punishment for all that you did, wasn't it? And when they became too much for your poor little psyche from time to time, I did ease them for you, didn't I?" the portrait asked in a condescending tone.

"You would have fared far worse in Azkaban if I'd let the Wizengamot have their way. Although," Dumbledore added in a thoughtful tone, "it might have been amusing to see you and Black as cell mates. You still could end up there, you know. Alongside your little friend here."

Simon's wand was still pointed at the portrait, but it no longer shook.

"You absolute bastard," Simon hissed while stepping closer.

"And what do you purpose to do with your wand, dear boy? I'm a portrait, not flesh and blood." Dumbldore sneered down at him. "You can't harm me."

"You're wrong," Simon advised with narrowed eyes.

"Contenere," was merely whispered before, "Incendio!" was said with a great deal of relish.

As the paint ran and then crisped in the magical flames, Simon took no small measure of satisfaction in remembering the astonished look on the portrait's face when it tried to escape to another frame and couldn't.

Turning toward Hermione, Simon smiled tightly before gathering up the cloak and slinging it around his shoulders.

"If we're quite done here, I suggest we leave before Minerva returns. Yorick has probably proven his cannibal ways and eaten part of our dinner, but we could stop by that Chinese restaurant you favor for take out if you like."

********