Part Twenty-Four

AN: Many thanks to our wonderful beta, Lariope. I hope this didn't interfere too much with your holidays.

Filled with his righteous fury that Hermione dared lay such a trap for him, Simon found it quite easy to watch the little temptress leave his flat. How many times had Madam Pomfrey checked him over and found him sound? He had no doubts Hermione'd invented the tale of detecting an old magic. Turning, he strode toward Yorick who'd watched, silent and unmoved.

"Does she think me a total fool to believe such an outlandish tale?" he growled at the bird while gesturing with the hand still holding the photo. "She thinks to take Lily's place in my heart!"

Walking back and forth in front of the poor bird's perch, Simon's imagination took flight.

"I wonder how many of those books filled with her romantic drivel led her to this stupid idea she's in love with me? Too damned many. No wonder it took her so long to find the books I needed. Sitting in that damned bubble bath reading and reading that – that rubbish!"

Simon shook his head before sinking back down in his chair. Lily's face drew his eyes again, and a small smile played on his mouth while his finger lovingly traced her features.

"She's a foolish, foolish girl, Lily, to imagine herself in love with me. One day, when she's married to the right Wizard, perhaps she'll be able to thank me for ruining her plans."

It was still easy for Simon, in the days and weeks that followed, to nod his head in satisfaction over his reasoning. He had, through sound deduction, figured out what plans Hermione had laid and was able to foil them. He was quite content working in his lab, filling his orders, eating when it became necessary and having no trouble whatsoever with nightmares when he chose to sleep. Perhaps because he was finally fully rested, other words came to test this theory.

"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?"

The words floated past one day while he was measuring out ingredients for a particularly easy potion on order. Shaking his head, Simon attempted to get Dumbledore's voice out of his head.

"The bloody guilt curse, you bastard," Simon muttered under his breath.

Dumbledore's laughter again rang through his mind, followed by, "That's not all, Severus. That's not all."

The ingredients were forgotten as Simon slammed out of his lab and almost ran over to Yorick.

"The old bastard was lying to me!" he yelled at Yorick while pacing back and forth. "He had to be! I've already figured out why he built a release spell into the trap he'd placed into his portrait. If he needed me again, there would have been a way. Hermione is wrong. With the guilt curse there was no need for any kind of love potion!"

Simon stopped dead as another thought occurred to him.

"But when Hermione released me... The curse was broken. Maybe... No!" he shouted as the pacing resumed. "Pomfrey! She would have..." Again, Simon halted, and as his face blanched white, he turned imploringly toward Yorick. "But, first and foremost Pomfrey worked for Dumbledore, didn't she? If he'd asked her – ordered her – and there was no harm being done to her patient..."

Sinking down onto the floor in a bout of self-pity, Simon shook his head.

"Was I betrayed at every turn? Was there no one who..."

Closing his eyes, Simon whispered, "Hermione."

"You are despicable. You can go fuck yourself, Simon, because I'm done with you."

Several hours passed before Simon rose and again addressed Yorick. "Your master is an old fool," he stated quite simply. Taking a seat in his chair, Simon's gaze sought the flames of the fire. If Hermione was right, and he now knew she was, there was the matter of what he wanted to do about it. While he loathed the idea that there was some lingering trace of Dumbledore's manipulation upon him, he was still afraid of losing what had kept him willing to fight for his life – the love that still burned in his heart for Lily.

"The aura is distinct to a powerful love potion with no known cure. Permanent, never fading, never ending, obsessive. Sound familiar?" Hermione's voiced taunted him over and over again.

"Permanent," he muttered. "No known cure. So, even if I agree to try and find a cure, chances are there won't be one."

-~8~-

No matter how many times Hermione told herself she was better off without him, how angry he made her, how resentful, she still missed Simon.

The bastard.

Missing his letters and his voice did not mean that she ever wanted to see him again, because she didn't. He could rot, lost in his fantasy of perfect Lily Potter for the rest of his life, and Hermione would not care.

Couldn't care.

Caring would lead to heartache, and she was done with that.

"That's what I said yesterday. And the day before. And the one before that. And too many to count before that. Perhaps today is the day I actually mean it." She tucked a loose curl behind her ear and looked around at the barely organized mess of her office. With the holiday season in full swing, she really didn't have time to spend thinking about her latest failed relationship.

If you can call a bunch of letters, one night and the morning after a relationship. I am such an idiot.

Mister Fitzgerald knocked on her open door and stepped into the office. "That book you ordered came in with the latest deliveries. I thought I'd bring it straight to you."

Hermione waited until he'd left to reach out and touch the slim volume he had left on her desk. The Forbidden Arte of Amore.

-~8~-

The approaching holidays didn't hold any sentiment for Simon. Quite the opposite, in fact. He'd always found them a bother, except when the great majority of the students returned home to their families. The time between their leaving and Dumbledore's infantile celebrations had been one of his favorite times of the year. It was surpassed only by the summer break between school years.

Now, he fussed and researched the days away until he was quite flummoxed. Simon had hoped to send Hermione a gift of some sort to start healing the breach he'd caused, but he had no clue what she would want.

"One of those Muggle poinsettias is no good," he muttered to Yorick one day. "There's absolutely no magical value to them at all."

So it was, a year to the day since he'd begun his correspondence with the manager of Marks and Sons, he fell back on what had worked in the beginning of their relationship.

"I'll ask for a book! In a letter! She won't refuse business," he reasoned aloud and quickly sat down at his desk. Picking up the quill that disguised his handwriting, he began what he hoped would be the road back into Hermione's favor.

December 15, 2000

Simon Sopohorous

"Yorick, here! Take this to her with all speed," Simon commanded after addressing the envelope. The blasted bird seem to hesitate before taking the letter. Simon realized he was on the receiving end of what could – just possibly – be taken for pity.

"Go, you worthless chicken! Now! She'll not harm you or give you a poison biscuit," he told the falcon. Watching it leave, Simon frowned and headed toward his lab.

"I wish the same could be said for me," he muttered, while closing the door behind him.

-~8~-

December 16, 2000

Marks and Sons

-~8~-

"Yorick!" Simon bellowed when he'd opened the letter from Marks and Sons. "Did you deliver the letter to Hermione or some idiot hanging around the front desk?"

Yorick, of course, paid him no heed other than a glance when his name was spoken and continued to preen his feathers.

"Vague. I'll give him vague along with... Blast!" Simon's frustration was evident in the crumpled paper he held in his hand.

"Either Hermione read it, disregarded what I know she would have understood, or she's instructed all correspondence from me to be given to this dunderheaded Fitzgerald person."

The chair at his desk was pulled out none too gently, and Simon sat down with less than his usual grace. A fresh sheet of parchment was drawn out, and he glared at the blank page as if it had offended him. He wasn't used to apologizing to anyone and didn't recall offhand any that he had received.

December 17, 2000

Simon

-~8~-

Hermoine was in the warehouse when Yorick appeared. Rather than take the offered letter, she shared a look with Mister Fitzgerald. The older man shook his head, then sighed and – with extreme caution – gently extracted the missive from the falcon's talon.

"Don't forget to give him a treat. It's not his fault his master is such a... Well, it's just not his fault."

Even though she had no interest in finding out what Simon had written this time, Hermione found herself hanging around the warehouse a bit longer than necessary while Mister Fitzgerald examined the outside of the letter.

"It's marked 'Personal;' perhaps you should take this one."

Her hand itched to snatch it out of his hand, and she did feel bad for thrusting him into the middle of her petty squabble with Simon. Hermione nibbled on her lower lip for a moment, then held out her hand.

The letter was quickly read, then read again. Damn you, Simon Sopohorous, I can't do this again. I can't let you in, because you'll just rip me apart.

"Please let our client know that I'm simply too busy to reply to each and every missive addressed to me personally, and thank him for his patronage."

December 18, 2000

Marks and Sons

-~8~-

"Fine!" Simon growled as the latest letter from Marks and Sons was delegated to the rubbish bin. "If that's the way she accepts an apology, she'll receive no more from me."

This resolve held until the day Simon was forced into the outside world to forage for volatile ingredients his supplier refused to send by owl. Normally, it would only take an hour before he was safely ensconced in his home once more, but he'd never ventured forth during the holiday season before. Simon was somewhat dismayed to find so many witches and wizards out making merry fools of themselves. The fact that they seemed happy in each others' company didn't go unnoticed, nor did the sappy songs being played on every corner improve his mood. It all only served to emphasize his – aloneness.

When Lily died and he'd been cajoled into protecting her – Potter's – brat, he'd accepted he'd be alone for the rest of his life. Hermione's fleeting friendship had changed that, and he was finding it difficult to readjust. A glimpse of a witch outside a pub had Simon's heart racing for a moment when he mistakenly thought it was Hermione. Luckily, she'd turned in time before he made an arse of himself by yelling her name.

After carefully placing his purchases in the lab, Simon returned to the sitting room to remove his cloak and hang it up. Walking over to the front windows, he stared into the street and watched as the crowds thinned.

"It's quite early for everyone to be heading home, Yorick. I wonder what... Ah, of course. Christmas Eve," Simon stated quietly after looking at the calendar on his desk. "She's probably home, in the bosom of her family, drinking that dreadful egg concoction and passing around gaily wrapped parcels. Or do they do that on Christmas morning?"

The streets were barren and cold looking when he finally turned away and threw a few more logs on the fire. Special biscuits, usually only eaten by Simon, were shared with Yorick, while a glass of brandy and a good cigar were the presents he chose to give to himself.

Perhaps it was because of that glass of brandy that Simon found himself with quill in hand, sending a letter he had sworn he never would.

December 24, 2000

Simon

-~8~-

December 25, 2000

The note was short, and cheerful, and at great odds with everything she really wanted to write. Hermione smoothed her fingers across the words one last time before carefully folding the piece of her personal stationary. Next to her was a small parcel wrapped in brown paper, containing The Forbidden Arte of Amore.

The book had provided a wealth of information about the love potion that Simon had been given, but nothing that led her to an antidote. Perhaps Simon would have more luck, assuming he bothered to read it.

"He can burn it for heat, for all I care." The words didn't have a ring of truth to them, which only served to annoy her further.

Hermione ripped the note into little pieces and dumped the bits into her rubbish bin. Seconds later, a reluctant Leontes was called into service and pushed into the cold winter air to deliver a parcel with no return address or letter.

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