Part Twenty-One

AN: I must apologize. I was getting parts twenty-two and twenty-three ready to send on to our wonderful beta, Lariope, when I noticed part twenty-one had not been posted to this site. This is through no one's fault but my own.

To those of you that have waited patiently for an update, I thank you. The extended illness, and death, of my mother made it quite impossible, for a time, to write. My wonderful writing partner, Darned Child, never gave up on me, and I guess her patience was rewarded. I hope yours will be.

Minerva was going to kill her.

Assuming, of course, the Board of Governors, the Ministry, or even just a mob of Dumbledore worshiping sycophants didn't get to her first.

Hermione had been so horrified by the things that the portrait had said that she hadn't reacted when Simon had appeared. Hadn't even noticed that he had his wand in hand until the curses were cast.

She should have stayed behind, tried to come up with some explanation – Spontaneous combustion? Portrait suicide? – instead of disappearing as quickly as her feet could take her. She'd barely had the presence of mind to snatch up the items she'd unpacked before they left.

Now they were back at Simon's, and she was pacing, lower lip nibbled raw as thoughts tumbled and turned through her mind.

"I cannot believe that you killed Dumbledore. Again. Not that the bastard didn't deserve it. Actually, he deserved worse, but I'm never going to be able to explain why and – I'm going to have to change my name and go into hiding. I'll have to live on the street, or as a Muggle, or worse."

Hermione stopped pacing and turned to glare at Simon. "You won't even be able to come visit me if I end up in Azkaban, will you? You couldn't have waited until later? We could have crept back in tomorrow or later tonight and done it; I would have gladly helped."

The last hint of color drained from her face, and Hermione felt light-headed. "We still don't know what spell he used on you. Or how to break it. And now we'll never – I should have waited; I should have been better prepared, should have done more research, should have expected..."

She knew she was babbling, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier to stop. She wrapped both arms around herself and forced her lips closed.

-~8~-

At first Simon reached for a bottle of sherry, but as Hermione's dissertation continued, he put it down and selected a different one.

Ogden's should do the trick.

Pouring two good measures, he held onto one and presented the other to his upset companion. Taking a sip, he raised an eyebrow and studied the witch in front of him. One hand reached out and caressed the side of Hermione's face.

"This needs to be made perfectly clear, and I want to you pay very close attention to what I'm going to say," Simon stated flatly and waited until he was sure he had her full attention. "No amount of preparation would have made a difference. You were up against an expert in manipulation with over a hundred years experience. As far as waiting for later – which would have been perfectly logical, I grant you – I didn't want to. I've been bound by prudence and 'For the greater good' too damned long as it is."

Turning, Simon walked over and sat down in his chair and motioned toward the other one with what he hoped was a faintly leering expression.

"Sit down before you faint, woman. Because if you do, I make no promises about what will or will not happen while you're unconscious, and we need to decide what Minerva is to be told."

-~8~-

She'd gone very still when Simon had caressed her cheek. Everything inside her had focused on his touch, his face and his words.

He had a point. When it came to manipulation, Dumbledore had probably written the book. Several, in fact.

Her lips briefly twitched at Simon's effort to keep her from working herself into any more of a panic.

"Right, we need a plan."

Hermione took a sip of the liquid that he had given her and grimaced, then took another. She headed toward the empty chair, pausing at the small table between the two chairs to deposit her glass, then turned to face him once more.

Normally, she would have sought permission first, especially since he had already indicated that he wished for her to sit in the other chair, but her heart was still racing from the fire and flight from Hogwarts, and she wanted nothing more than to sit in Simon's lap and seek comfort while they plotted.

So she did, quickly sliding her arms around him and tucking her face against his neck before he could offer protest. "So what do you suggest I tell Minerva?"

-~8~-

Simon had expected a round of discussion – broken with protests and arguments on Hermione's part of course – culminating in a decision on exactly what the headmistress of Hogwarts was to be told about the evening's events. Instead, a warm bundle of woman slid onto his lap, buried her nose in his neck and robbed him of the words he'd started to prepare. It seemed his arms had no problems determining that the best place for them were around her, and Simon's lips brushed gently against her hair.

"The truth is always the best place to start," he finally said after shifting Hermione's weight slightly. "But, in order to determine which part of the truth is the best for Minerva's ears, I need the rest of it first. What memories did Potter allow you to have?"

-~8~-

Her head lifted then, just enough so that she could make eye contact with Simon. "You should know that Harry doesn't hand your memories out to just anyone. He's very protective of your privacy. It wasn't easy to convince him to grant me access."

She didn't want Simon believing that Harry paraded the memories out for every curious gawker that expressed an interest.

Hermione lowered her head once more, resting her cheek against Simon's shoulder. "He only agreed to let me see the ones with you and Dumbledore; I asked for those specifically. You had said that Dumbledore had a way to ease the nightmares, and I had thought that if, by some chance, you had given one of those memories to Harry, that I might have been able to duplicate the effect."

Her arms tightened around him as she thought of what that bastard had done to Simon.

My Simon.

"I saw you warning him that the Potters were in danger. Later, after they died. A small handful of other meetings. I have them all with me; I brought them, just in case... Harry wants them back, but I could make up some excuse if you wanted to keep them?"

-~8~-

Vague impressions of the memories Hermione mentioned tickled the front of Simon's vision. It was all he had retained of the snippets he'd given to Potter that dreadful night. Simon could care less if all the memories he had of Dumbledore were poured down the throat of a Dementor. The revelation in Minerva's office had destroyed the last bit of...

Face it, man.

little enough..." continued to pound – in Albus' mocking tone – at the center of Simon's chest, while a far off wail sounded in his ears.

Simon glanced quickly around his sitting room and looked down at Hermione.

"Did you–" His words were interrupted by a louder wail, and that was when he realized the noise wasn't actually audible. His heart began to race, and Simon's eyes glazed while his head dropped back against the chair. The wail was coming from within, and it drew him. Drew him deeper and deeper as a weeping Lily visited Simon for the first time during his waking hours.

"Lily," was a mere wisp of air on Simon's lips as his limbs went totally slack.

-~8~-

Did I what?

Hermione didn't like the far-off look in Simon's eyes before his head tipped back.

"Simon?"

At first, the name that passed his lips didn't register as Hermione slid off his lap to her knees in a completely graceless maneuver. She was far too caught up in making sure Simon's suddenly unresponsive body was still breathing, that his heart was still beating, to fret about who he might be calling for.

Later, it would probably stand out as an important detail, but for now, there were much more important things to concern herself with.

His heart was beating far too fast.

"Simon?" Hermione pressed her hands to his cheeks; the skin was warmer than it had been. His eyes were closed now, but she could see them moving, as if he were watching something behind the closed lids.

A vision of some kind? Seizure?

Yet again, Hermione called out his name, her tone beginning to grow desperate. "Simon? It's Hermione. Can you hear me?"

-~8~-

Sitting up, Simon took stock of his surroundings. There were no buildings, no trees, no clouds. Nary a breeze stirred the hair on Simon's head even as the small ones on the back of his neck rose. Unending gray led away in all directions, except for the weeping woman no more than a stone's throw away from him. She looked alive, and her red hair was far too vibrant against the dismal backdrop.

Lily?

Rising to his feet, Simon approached slowly, cautiously. One hand tentatively reached out to brush the falling hair aside.

"Lily!" As he knelt beside the distraught Lily, his heart sang.

"Am I dead, then?" Simon asked her, completely confused when Lily shook her head no.

"I don't understand," he muttered, mostly to himself. "How can I see you, touch you, and not be dead too?"

Over her left shoulder, a vague form crystallized in the distance and began moving closer. Squinting slightly, Simon was able to make out several distinct and unmistakable characteristics.

"I should have known," he muttered again. To the still weeping Lily he said, "Stay here," even though it was quite obvious she wasn't going anywhere.

Rising, Simon reached for his wand while walking toward the wizard still some distance away. It wasn't there.

Oh, goody.

I wonder what the chances are that he doesn't have his either?

"Stop right there, Albus," he stated when they had drawn close enough that Simon could see the other man carried no wand.

"Why, Severus, you're being downright inhospitable," Dumbledore stated in surprise. "I thought by now you'd be grateful to see someone who wasn't continually crying their eyes out."

"I'm completely over the moon with joy," Simon said in his most sarcastic tone.

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed slightly while his chin rose. Spreading both arms wide, he asked, "Don't you even want to know where we are?"

"Don't be daft, man, of course I do. However, knowing you, the details will be parceled out in small doses designed to confuse and gain me only incorrect answers," Simon said and then turned to make his way back to where Lily continued to cry. "When you feel like giving me the truth in one tidy package, you'll know where to find me."

"It's not really her, Severus," Dumbledore stated flatly and watched Simon stumble to a halt.

"I know that," Simon said while staring at the woman he'd loved as long as he could remember.

"She'll never do anything but weep for those she's lost," Dumbledore said while starting to walk behind Simon.

Spinning around, Simon finally found the anger he thought he'd left in Minerva's office.

"What have you done to me this time, old man? Is this what you thought my version of hell would be? Having her here with me, but never being able to – to be with her?" he hissed while glaring at his old master. "If it is – you're wrong."

Dumbledore laughed while moving around Simon.

"Why would putting you in your own personal hell be of importance to me? You're only here now because you've discovered more than you were supposed to. As valuable as you are in the fight against Voldemort, I can't afford to have my – minor – preparations come to light, now can I? It could ruin everything if people started questioning my methods."

Simon's brows drew together in puzzlement for a moment before enlightenment dawned. This particular Albus didn't know the Dark Lord was dead, therefore, he wasn't a ghost.

Lily indicated I wasn't dead – but she...

This is all in my mind.

"How did you managed to trap me in my own mind, you pathetic bastard?" Simon asked with no small amount of heat. "Wasn't it enough that I see her in my dreams?"

Nodding his head slowly while smirking, Dumbledore turned his head away from the huddled form and looked at his former Potions Master.

"Very good," he said condescendingly. "I thought it would take a great deal longer for you to figure it out. How well have you done on why we're here?"

"Because I found out you put a bloody spell on me to have nightmares about Lily, you daft megalomaniac!"

Dumbledore began to chuckle and then to laugh in earnest. He laughed long and hard. Hard enough that tears began to run out of his eyes. Wiping them away, Albus shook his head. "That's not all, Severus. That's not all."

"That's rather obvious, given where we are!" Simon stated hotly while throwing his arms wide.

Tilting his head, Dumbledore smirked before asking, "Haven't you ever wondered why your love for Lily never, ever faded into a fond remembrance, or at most a small pang of remorse now and then?"

Suddenly on the defensive, Simon shook his head slowly. He didn't know if he should trust any of the answers he was getting from this apparition, but as they were all that was being offered – he'd take them.

"Honestly, Severus," Dumbledore said in a tone that would have suited a first-year's class. "Think, man!"

I'll bloody think him into...

A horrific thought crossed Simon's mind, and his head started slowly going back and forth.

"You didn't," he stated flatly.

"I certainly did!" Dumbledore said in a joyful tone and with a broad smile on his face.

"You would condemn me to madness?" Simon asked in an incredulous tone while walking up and staring the other man in the face. "Why?"

"Tut-tut, Severus. I took measures to make sure you never quite fell over the edge. Every time your nightmares got intense, I was able to reduce the affect. Even though to all intents and purposes, you're shortly going to be in a coma for the rest of your life, I'll still visit you I'm sure," Dumbledore said while patting him on the shoulder. "Who knows, I might even release you someday if the need arises."

"You're dead, you fucking bastard!" Simon growled while throwing the other man's hand off his shoulder. "Dead!"

Surprise flickered over the face of the faux Albus before he shrugged.

"Ah, well. I suppose you talked to my portrait then, and he gave you the key phrase that started all this," Dumbledore said while turning away from Simon and Lily and rubbing his hands together in some perverse form of satisfaction. "Before I leave you and your lady love for good, tell me how the fight against Voldemort goes?"

Opening his mouth to report, Simon paused. He owed this man nothing. Less than nothing.

"It doesn't," he said flatly. "He won when he killed your golden goose. Now you know why this is as far from hell as it can be. I should thank you, really."

Spinning in shock, Dumbledore was at a loss for words.

"I thought you were leaving, Headmaster?" Simon asked as he sat down beside Lily and took her into his arms. "We'd like some privacy if you don't mind."

-~8~-

Something was wrong with Simon. Very wrong.

"Answer me, Simon!" She shook him, hoping the movement might be enough to jar him into waking from the unnatural sleep.

If anything, he looked worse than before.

"It's got to be something – some reaction to confronting that evil goat..." Her mind raced as she tried to remember what, if anything, the portrait could have done. "He was just a portrait; he couldn't cast anything."

His hand was limp, cradled between both of her own, as Hermione fought to keep the rising threat of panic at bay.

"He couldn't cast anything new, but what if there was a fail safe in the original spell? Something to keep Simon under control if the truth ever came out. The portrait would know that, he'd know how to exploit it. Think, Hermione, think."

Hermione leaned closer to rest her cheek against his shirt, seeking the shallow comfort of the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

"If this is Dumbledore's fault, I will find a way to bring that bastard back to life and kill him myself. It can't be a potion, not this many years later. A spell. Not time released, that would be too much of a coincidence. Hand gesture? Voice-activated? An activation word or phrase? All possible, but which? Damn it, this is not my area of expertise; I don't know what to look for, Simon. I don't know what to do." She was aware that she was beginning to tremble.

"Harry might." The last thing Simon would want was Harry Potter's involvement, but if an answer didn't present itself to her soon, Hermione felt she might have no other choice.

"Did you hear me? If you don't wake up, I swear I'll go find Harry and drag him here by the ear and blow your cover out the window; you know you don't want that."

Hermione wasn't crying; she refused to cry, even though she couldn't remember feeling this helpless before. With everything she knew, all the books at her disposal, she had no clue what to look for to even begin to find a way to help him. She also had no idea if he was going to get worse.

Her arms tightened around him for a moment as she gathered together her composure, knowing that she would need a clear head if she was going to Apparate to Harry's home without splinching herself. "Yorick needs you. I – need you, Severus."

-~8~-

Dumbledore had left them without another word. Nary a peep of advice or apology. Not content to merely hold a sobbing woman until his body died, and having a great deal of mental discipline, Simon set about making their world a more pleasant prison. Being unable to track the real passage of time, Simon didn't know how long he and Lily had been isolated. If he had been forced to guess, it would have been on the order of years.

As it was, he hadn't needed to worry about wind, weather, food or any of the other problems of a mortal existence – except boredom. That he had in abundance. He wasn't able to conjure books. Oh, he could make a book appear. An exact duplicate of one in his library – until it was opened. The pages weren't blank, far from it. They were filled with words, but the greatest majority were fuzzy and so out of focus they were illegible. There were passages that were crisp and distinct, but Simon soon realized they were ones he knew by heart.

Conversations with the inconsolable Lily were anything but satisfying, as they consisted of Simon talking and Lily either not responding at all or giving a mere shake of her head in consent or denial. But – she was there, and he was not alone. Not alone counted for a great deal more than he was willing to admit – even to himself. If he did, Simon was sure she would disappear altogether.

Simon could live with guilt, in fact had done so for the greatest part of his adult life, which was something that Dumbledore apparently hadn't taken into consideration when he designed this little punishment. If he'd really wanted to plunge Simon into hell, he should have made it a solitary cell, not one inhabited by the woman he loved. As it was, Simon was almost content.

He'd found, much to his dismay, that experimental potions always turned out the way he wanted them to, not the way they were supposed to. Ever the realist, Simon discovered that theory worked almost as well as practical application. Conjuring a blank journal, pen and quill, he wrote and rewrote details of potions he'd only dreamed of trying.

Occasionally, there would be a faint noise or a disturbance in the distance that would draw Simon's attention. It would pass, but it would make him wonder what had caused it. He was sure it was something occurring in the real world. In the back of his thoughts, he'd wonder if he was being moved, fed or bathed. As he was unable to affect whatever was taking place, he'd simply shrug a shoulder and return to whatever theory was currently entertaining him. He'd long ago given up trying to guess if Hermione had tried to deal with it – him – his physical body on her own or had gained assistance.

One day, so to speak, Simon was speaking his thoughts aloud, mostly to hear a human voice, as Lily never uttered anything except sobs, and almost missed the faint sound.

I need you, Severus, echoed softly and drew Simon's attention to a slightly lighter patch of gray in the distance. He'd never noticed it before and checked carefully in all directions before focusing his gaze on it. It remained, and try as he might, Simon couldn't make it uniform again. A heavy sigh broached his lips as Simon rose from the comfortable desk chair he'd designed. It fitted him as no other ever had, and he was loath to leave it and the notes he'd been making on his newest theory.

"Lily," he said in her general direction. "I'm sure it's merely another distraction designed by our jailer to try to punish me. I'll return shortly."

The walk was not a short one. It continued for what seemed like eons while the soft, I need you, Severus, was always just ahead, out of reach. Stopping once, Simon looked back, but was unable to see Lily or the cozy little corner he'd managed to carve out of the grayness. Uneasy about being able to find her again, Simon almost turned around to return when the request – demand – repeated itself, closer and clearer.

"Hermione! That's Hermione's voice!" he shouted while picking up his pace. "If he's trapped her here... No! That's impossible. Isn't it?"

The gray was definitely getting lighter the farther he went.

"Hermione! Where are you? For fuck's sake, woman! Answer me!"

His physical vocal cords attempted to obey the shouted demands of his mind. For the most part – they failed.

*********