Hello again!

I'm very sorry for the long delay. For starters this chapter did not want to play very nicely BUT I got it done. A BIG thanks to GaeilgeRa for helping me get this shaped up properly! Life has been a little upside down lately but I'm hoping that getting this chapter off of my plate means that I'm starting to find balance and getting back into the groove of writing. However, I am currently planning a cross country move, a wedding (I'm engaged!), and attempting to juggle everyday life, so if I'm not quite as regular as we'd all like me to be, that's why!

This is a slightly shorter chapter simply because to make it any longer would have been forced and wouldn't have flowed quite as well. Typically, I avoid taking lines directly from the books, unfortunately with this chapter it was a necessity even still I tried to keep it to a minimum. But what you recognize comes straight from the Goblet of Fire. There's also some interactions that are setting the groundwork for the story going forward so if it seems a little out there, I promise, there's a reason for it. I know that's a little vague but I don't want to be a spoilsport either.

Anyway, without stalling you any further, here is Chapter 8! Let me know what you think!

ABD

Simon Says

Chapter 8

One evening. That's all it had taken for all of his self-loathing to resurface. Even in the moment, Simon had known that he would inevitably hate himself once the light of day shown on his actions. He had never intended to become involved with Emmaline once more. He could blame loneliness or the alcohol, but he knew the only true blame fell on himself. The days following were an endless stream of self-flagellation. And then, as he knew he would be required to do countless times in the coming months, Simon tucked the fury into a box in the back of his mind to atone for at a later date.

Settled behind his desk, he took the time to address correspondence from Gringotts and pretended for a short time that everything was normal. The little witch tucked away in the castle had used their communications as a way to vent about lessons, teenage boys, and one pesky reporter. It did his troubled mind good to be able to offer support and advice to the young witch. Though, were he honest, said reporter would probably not enjoy the private introduction that he was considering. Simon smirked to himself at the thought before tucking it away for later consideration.

He had only just filed away his letters and pulled the ledger books for review when Linky alerted him to a visitor. How he missed the days when no one had any reason to call on him unannounced.

"So this is where you disappeared to," a feminine voice announced her presence before she had fully entered the room. "I guess I should have expected you to retreat back to your isolation."

"Emmaline," Simon greeted, rising politely from his chair as she approached. Ever the man that he was raised to be, he ensured the witch was settled before retaking his own. "I wasn't expecting company, what brings you by?"

The witch smirked coyly. "Why wouldn't I want to relieve you of your self-incrimination?"

Simon looked up, trying to carefully hide his surprise and confusion. Her rich laughter told him that his attempts were lacking, at best.

"Come now, Simon," she smiled, coyly. "I've known you for far too many years not to know exactly what this is. You're getting cold feet again."

"Em…"

"No, no, I'd expected it," Emmaline interrupted thoughtfully. "For an Avery, you've always been awfully noble. I imagine you're getting squeamish about getting involved with me, but you seem to forget that I'm the type of witch that gets what she wants. And that has always been you. So when you're done with your little pity party and remember who you are, we might actually be able to get back to reality."

Simon found himself staring blankly at the witch seated on the opposite side of his desk. He was somewhat dumbfounded if he were honest. This woman was a force of nature when she chose to be. He carefully thought over his options. Association with her was a guaranteed way to find himself amongst company that would allow him to learn information and help Severus and Hermione in the long run. In the short term, however, was he willing to lose himself?

He cleared his throat and called Linky for a tea service before turning his attention back. "Very well, shall I have Linky prepare another place for dinner this evening?"

A wide, heated smile was his answer.

He was damned to repeat his history, wasn't he?

As had become the norm over the preceding several months, Simon found himself seated at the dining table across from Emmaline, enjoying another quiet meal with the witch. At times, it disturbed him how quickly he had fallen into the decades-old habit of enjoying the witch's company. That night was no different, truthfully. Conversation flowed evenly and friendly enough. He had still managed to somehow get away with not inviting her into his home for too many extended periods, so he absolutely counted that as a win.

Their discussion had gradually shifted back to the politics in the Wizarding world when Simon had the most bizarre sense of disorientation. One moment, he was defending his passionate belief that Magic made no mistakes and the very next he found that he'd curled around his left arm that he had pinned against his chest, bracing himself against the long-forgotten pain. Surely this must be some twisted form of muscle memory. He had nearly convinced himself that it was an imagined pain until he raised his attention to his companion. While bracing similar pain, the witch's expression had caught fire. There was a tinge of fear, but it was decidedly overwhelmed by the pure excitement and enthusiasm.

Simon swallowed a heavy bought of fear and pasted what he hoped was a neutral façade. "Em, I'll meet you there. I must go quickly lest I be late."

The witch, however, had already fled the room to prepare herself.

With haste, the wizard Floo'd to his home. "LINKY!" he bellowed as he promptly apparated himself into his study. As soon as the elf appeared, Simon turned in a panic, "Linky, I need you to bring me the robes and mask. Quickly, please. It's happened."

Without allowing his mind to panic further, he hastily snatched a quill and parchment and quickly jotted a note:

Hermione,

By the time you get this, you'll no doubt be aware of what has happened this evening. I do not know what the immediate future holds for me. Do not reply to this letter until I can send you an update. Keep yourself and your boys safe. Severus will no doubt update me on what has happened from the side of Light. Protect your mind and stay safe.

Yours,

Simon

Quickly tying the note to his owl, Simon turned as Linky arrived with the requested, hated items. Withshaky hands, he attempted to dress himself. When his fingers failed him for the third time, Linky, ever the rock during Simon's storms, snapped his tiny fingers and both robes and mask settled themselves properly into place on the wizard. He gripped the edge of the desk and took a deep, grounding breath. Reaching inside himself, he took hold of the Magic and begged for the strength necessary to see this nightmare through to the end.

Not giving himself the opportunity to think further, as he said lest he be late-a deadly mistake if there ever was one-Simon focused on the pain in his left arm and apparated directly from his study to the location that the summoning had guided. A very brief, cursory glance told him that he was in a graveyard. Odd, but he'd hardly question it at the moment. Surviving this night had quickly become the top priority in his mind's list. He quickly fell into a kneel alongside his arriving brethren, grateful that despite his nerves and the dash home, he wasn't the last to arrive. After the required groveling, Simon took what had become 'his spot' prior to the fall thirteen years prior with Emmaline to his left, Nott just behind her and McNair a step behind and to the left. He'd always hated having McNair at his back. The man was a ruthless brute but not an unintelligent one.

Keeping his eyes low, he studied the area. One young boy was clearly dead. At this point, he could only hope that it had been quick and painless, for the boy's sake. And there, that he was certain was Harry Potter. Which did not bode well in the least. For anyone. Those beautiful eyes, though, that boy truly could be no one but Lily Potter's son.

His thoughts were promptly interrupted "Welcome, Death Eaters," said Voldemort quietly. "Thirteen years…thirteen years since last we met. Yet you answer my call as though it were yesterday…We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?"***

Simon tried his hardest to tone out his Master's castigation of him and his brethren. The cloud of fear among the gathered Death Eaters was entirely too easy to pick up, as potent as it was. Near the end of his Master's verbal berating, Simon stiffened, feeling the obvious feel of the tip of a wand pressing into the center is back. Damned if he didn't loathe that bastard who thrived on the humiliation of his brethren more than Lucius Malfoy ever did. Should this coup succeed, Walden McNair was at the top of a long list of deaths that Simon would be more than pleased to see. Before he could react, not that he honestly could have without drawing his Master's ire, Simon felt the floating feeling of the Imperius Curse descend upon his mind. His fear that he had been suppressing since his Mark had burned at dinner evaporated and all was peaceful.

"Master!" he shrieked, "Master, forgive me! Forgive us all!"*** And then, almost instantly, the Imperius was gone, and the Cruciatus took its place. Bastard. Pain that he had once thought that he would never forget wracked through his body like he hadn't remembered. Pain was all his mind could register. Even his anger towards the wizard who had cursed him initially had fled at the onslaught of pain. And then, so quick he might have thought he'd imaged it were it not for the lingering aftershocks, it was gone. When his Master bid him to his feet, he did so promptly if not shakily. His mind now easily tuned out the rest of the lecture as he shakenly retook his place among the rest.

He had already been watching Lily's son as discretely as he was capable as he pulled himself together when the attention of the masses was drawn to the small, scrawny boy. He grimaced behind his mask at the boy's obvious pain. He knew there was truly nothing that he could actually do. Not without forfeiting both of their lives. All it would take would be getting the boy back to that cup. But the immediate situation left no openings to even discretely assist.

Simon had honestly forgotten how long-winded his Master could be once he got into a 'storytelling' mood. While he was genuinely fascinated by the lengths in which their Master had gone to return to the world of the living, he was equally horrified that such a thing was possible. He was hit with the absurdity of his situation. His evening started with a casual, albeit comfortable, dinner with a witch he both enjoyed and loathed. It was seeming as though it was finishing in a spectacularly awful way.

"Crucio!"

He clenched his hands into tight fists to keep himself steady. It would do no good to try to stop the wizard currently. Nothing more or less than his death. He repeated that in his mind, a mantra. He refused to let himself block out the boy's cries of pain. A pain he knew all too well. He would not disrespect Harry Potter, or his late parents, by not recognizing the agony he was facing. So he remained vigilant and observant. He watched his Master mock and toy under the guise of a duel. There wasn't a soul in that graveyard that genuinely believed it would be a fair duel. Cat and mouse sounded unfortunately accurate.

There were very, very few occasions during which Simon could truthfully say that he was glad to be wearing his mask. However, the moment when Harry Potter not only threw off their Master's Imperius but also dodged, ducked and avoided the round of the Cruciatus that had been thrown his way, Simon could genuinely say that he was grateful. His mask, after all, hid the grin of relief and approval at the teenaged wizard's presence of mind that many grown witches and wizards were incapable of having.

"Expelliarmus!" "Avada Kedavra!"

Simon held his breath as the vibrant green spell hurdled towards the boy wizard. He attempted to brace himself for the inevitability that he had failed his promise from over a decade prior. He felt a crippling pain in his heart, his soul at the very thought. Except…except Harry Potter didn't die. The curse hadn't even hit its mark. How very peculiar. Simon followed the mass of his brethren circling the beautiful, vibrant circle encasing his Master and the son of his first love.

Speaking of his first love…

Lily

He felt stunned, his breath exiting in a rush, watching the misty image of the long-gone witch and her husband encircling the pair of wizards. She was speaking to her son. But Simon felt the weight of her gaze on his soul. Even though there was no true way for such a thing to happen, Simon felt a soothing pressure in his mind. As though the panic and depression he had lived a decade with had been momentarily washed away. We accepted your Vow, Simon. Magic has not forsaken you. Remember your promise. He felt the presence say. He'd never seen such a thing, not known it was possible even. At once he felt both at peace and ready to crumble. He blinked rapidly to force back tears that the sensation had brought forward. Just as quickly as it came, the webbed sphere that had encircled the dueling wizards vanished.

And then there was chaos.

Turning his back on the vestige of the long-dead witch in favor of her son, Simon drew his wand. With very careful aim, he targeted the boy with a stunner…just in time for one of his brethren-Crabbe, judging by the size-to run directly into the jet of light created by the spell. Between the barrage of spells and the shrieking of his Master, it was not entirely difficult to be clumsy with one's spell work, after all.

Simon could barely stifle the sigh of relief with the two boys, and the cup disappeared at last. For his own sake, he managed to hold it in, but it was a near thing. He would likely be punished, alongside everyone else, for allowing the escape. But it was a punishment he would gladly take. The boy was safe. For the time being anyway.

The Death Eaters stood haphazardly throughout the graveyard-turned-battlefield, panting with exertion. Simon had attempted to keep himself in relatively decent physical condition, but it seemed as though many of his brethren had allowed themselves to grow comfortable with inaction. Reluctantly, Simon approached the stunned Crabbe Senior and revived the man, offering a hand to help him to his feet.

As one, the assembled Death Eaters turned to face their seething Master and fell into the submissive kneel at the wizard's feet. Each of the gathered Death Eaters knew that there would be no escaping the coming pain. Not one expected to leave this graveyard without punishment.

They were all wise, it seemed, in their expectations.

Simon Avery clung to the memory of the earlier presence in his mind as he lay on the muddy ground at his Master's feet. Panting, attempting to breathe through the pain.

It was several days following his Master's return before Simon was permitted to return to his own home. Alone, thankfully. Linky met him in his rooms and banished the robe and mask ensemble to be thoroughly cleaned while Simon took advantage of both time and necessity to shower thoroughly. As he scrubbed the stench of fear, pain and his own sick from his body, he allowed his mind to recall and categorize the experience and information obtained.

By the time he was cleaned as close to his standards as possible and redressed in clothing meant more for comfort than style, Simon apparated to his library only to find it already occupied.

"Severus," Simon nodded by way of greeting. Without a word in response, the Potions Master handed over a sealed vial with a nod. It wasn't hard for Simon to recognize a healing draught and he nodded in thanks before downing the contents and sighing in muted relief when it eased the worst of the pain. "What happened? From your end, I mean?"

"The Dark Lord already told you of his cleverness in hiding Crouch as Moody for the term," Severus sighed, leaning back heavily in his chair. "Minister Fudge is already going above and beyond in his denial. Dumbledore and Potter are officially the targets of a smear campaign. I don't know if it's orchestration from the Dark Lord or if he's simply that lucky but, for now, the public is unlikely to be of any help either way. Dumbledore is reestablishing his Order. But they'll essentially be working blindly for the foreseeable future."

"What are your orders for the summer?" Simon asked curiously.

"The Dark Lord wishes me to keep ahead of the intelligence within the Order," Severus sneered. "My role as a spy has officially begun."

Simon winced in sympathy. To be a double agent was dangerous at the best of times. Being torn between two madmen was even more so.

"How's Potter?" he asked tentatively.

"Back with his relatives for the time," Severus confirmed. "I suspect nightmares will become a reoccurring problem for the boy going forward."

Simon nodded in agreement. "It looks like his boyhood has been officially ended, far too soon but we had anticipated it. What about Hermione, is it safe to continue training her?"

"I am uncertain as to the Order's plans so far as the children are concerned. I would suggest caution, however. Being locked in his own trunk has given Moody all the necessary validation to be ever the more paranoid."

"I'll write her today," Simon decided. "If possible, it would be smart to get a handful of in-person training sessions in before they lock her away."

"She's likely to feel the need to know the events of the past several weeks from our end," Severus pointed out.

"And I shall tell her. No sense hiding the gory details of a war that she's fully invested herself in before any of this happened."

"Shall you inform her of your current and future involvement with Ms Selwyn?"

Simon sighed heavily, guiltily and ran a hand through his hair, "I probably ought to, but I find myself rather reluctant to expose her to that."