False Hope of Redemption

Simon's lips parted around a sound of surprise that wasn't quite a gasp for being so far back in his throat. He very nearly seized up as she pulled him around her, and it wasn't until her cheek was up against his that Simon realized that, were it not for the fabric of his shirt, she might have been curling herself right up against his Azkaban numbers. Could she? He didn't imagine Livia as the sort to want to do something like that. And he wasn't the sort to show them off, despite his refusal to alter them in any way. He didn't actually need the reminder, but those three years couldn't be done away with just by pretending they hadn't happened.

At the moment, though, Liv was mere inches away from those lines, and he felt even more guilty because of it. She was too good, too kind, to be exposed to anything like that - metaphorically or otherwise.

He nearly dropped his forehead onto her shoulder when she spoke again, apologizing like he hadn't earned the fate he'd been given. She was partly right, he felt, but not completely. Hadn't he just told her that he'd had a hand in it all? His eyebrows pulled together as she searched his face, or whatever it was that she was doing or gaining from looking at him like that.

It wasn't a bad look, by any means. That wasn't the point. The point was that he didn't feel like he deserved it. He dropped his gaze.

Her request made him nervous as much as it amazed him. His hand was resting at her side, having relaxed its way out of the embrace, and he braced himself against her. "Well, that's what I was trying to say, Liv. I've got someone looking into it. I can owl her or something if you want to help, but... I wish you would be careful about it, though. I'd rather you didn't have to be involved at all, to be honest, but if I can't stop you, it'd be best to go through Jack. She's bound to have some plan or other by now, knowing her."

Still, she wanted to leave and he wasn't going to deny her that after the evening she must have had. He probably could have gotten in touch with Jack right then without fear of her being busy, but he had no easy way of doing so. While most would go for a patronus message, Simon wouldn't be able to, so he didn't even bother suggesting it.

"We can leave if you want to, though. Can we walk round and find one?" He asked, thinking back to their wanderings from the day of the faire.

Releasing her, Simon stood, picked up the daisy, and held it out to her with one hand, holding the other out to help her up even if she didn't need it. Once they made their way out into the open, night air, he took up her arm as he had done the first time.

"Liv," he began, looking up and wishing that the city lights hadn't drowned out the stars, "are you- ... Are you sure about this? I don't want you to regret taking my side if things go badly. I would hate for you to become invested and..." His stomach turned over at the series of negative thoughts that flowed into his mind. Simon turned to look at her instead of the sky, afraid of what he might find - or, much like the stars, wouldn't find.

"I don't think I could live with myself if I ruined things for you. Not after everything else that's happened. You could walk away right now and I wouldn't blame you. You don't have to do this," Simon told her seriously, unable though he was to find a correct way of phrasing whatever their 'this' was.

The first thought that the little, brunette witch had was that, in a parallel universe, Keiran and Simon might have gotten along. Both wanted what was best for her – although ironically what they both perceived as best was her removal from the situation that involved Simon’s Great Matter. She was resolved, though. She wanted his name cleared. She wanted him to be able to see in black and white that he was the man she knew he was. Involved or not, he’d not cast the spell or committed the deed with his own hands. He was not responsible. He shouldn’t have had the blot by his name. She knew she was biased. She knew that being as emotionally tied to him as she was was a mistake, possibly – and one that she knew Keiran would probably point out eventually – but she couldn’t help it. She would have done it for any of them. Rightly or wrongly, she believed in those she cared about.

“You can’t stop me,” Livia agreed with an eagerness that surprised even herself. She was light-hearted about her words, though, even if they sounded obstinate at a first glance. She meant it in the best possible way. He couldn’t stop her because she had to do this. She had to fix it for him. She knew that her own sense of the world was irreparably broken but there was something in his life that was reparable. He could walk a free, burden-free man. She would do that for him. “But I will be careful, Simon, I promise.”

Nodding, the witch got up, taking his hand and the daisy as offered. She smiled and curled her fingers into his, keeping her smaller hand in his warm grasp even after she was on her feet again. Once they were in the cool air, she paid a little more attention to her flower, twirling it between her forefinger and thumb, a content smile on her lips at the sight of it. It made her feel lighter, as though everything would be alright in the end. The flower was so… why couldn’t she and Simon be?

“I’m already invested, Simon,” she said matter-of-factly. She shrugged a shoulder and stopped midstride, pulling him back and coming round to face him. “I care about you. I don’t want you to have to do this on your own and I wish I could’ve …” she bit her lip and lowered her gaze, feeling foolish for thinking it but knowing she had to say it. “I wish I could’ve stopped it, y’know?” She lifted her head and stepped closer to him, shivering a little under the breeze that was flying down the street. “I wish I could’ve been there and stopped it from happening for everyone. I know it’s stupid but … I just wish I could’ve. I’m not walking out on you, Simon. Not even if you ask me to.”

She squeezed his hand and started them off again, leading them to a pub that she was fairly familiar with. It was down a few residential back streets and appeared on a corner. It was a Victorian installation and had many of its original features intact. It had become a hidey-hole of small wonders and she loved the way it seemed to have its own take on history as well as nodding its head to the modern era – generally with its expansive range of beers, wines, and spirits on offer. She hopped up the step and released his hand only briefly before taking it once more, urging him to follow her over a table by one of the windows that overlooked the courtyard garden where people were sat out in the late evening sunshine.

“What would you like to drink?” She asked, one hand already in her bag, rifling after her purse. “C’mon. Let’s at least have one to take the sting out of this evening.” Then she’d maybe work out how in Merlin’s name she was going to face Keiran and Peter. Perhaps she’d press her luck and ask to kip at Simon’s tonight – though she had no idea how that one would go down when the aforementioned men in her life found out. Wait no, she knew – like a lead balloon.

As Liv stopped him, Simon had to swallow back his arguments. He didn't want her to leave. It was probably something that others would call selfish, but he just called it Desperate. Because he was, not just for Liv herself but for somebody. And if that somebody could be the beautiful, brave girl in front of him, then all the better.

She moved closer and his spare hand lifted to brush up and down her arm absentmindedly. Some part of him knew he ought to do it, but he was too focused on her words and her face. Merlin, he wanted to- he almost-. He couldn't. It would have been easy. Just a step forward, just another lift of his hand from her elbow to her neck, just a breath as he leaned in to initiate it. But he didn't. And she started them walking again, clearly uninterested in any dissent he might have given.

His face fell, disappointed in the whole problem, but he followed as he was meant to. He was probably supposed to thank her or something. Instead he just walked, silently consenting. When they reached the door he wanted to hold it open for her, but if he had learned anything about Liv it was how capable she was. She didn't need him at all. But some benevolent deity had decided that she would want him anyway, and her independence was nothing but an additional trait that built his affection for her. It was yet another thing he would've told his friends was a turn-on if he'd had anyone to tell besides her. And he wasn't going to go about suggesting such things to her.

Usually, he would've gone for Port, mainly because it was habit and didn't actually do much to him, intoxication-wise. But he was feeling a little damaged, a little wounded. It felt like he was a bird that almost got to fly free but then had his wings clipped, so he decided to forgo propriety. He didn't want to drink her out of pocket, though he knew that most drinks wouldn't put a dent in his sanity, so he just went for his cheaper, backup favorite.

"Let's do a vodka and Coke, I think. Lime if they have it, darling. Thanks," Simon resolved after humming a bit during his consideration. He reached out and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her temple before sinking into his chair. "I'm buying next time, though."

He lifted his lips into a smile for her, encouraging her to accept that arrangement. When she returned, he stood again, pulling out her chair for her and taking a sip from his glass before returning to his spot.

He looked over at her, deciding that, for now, she knew enough about Kosta. She knew everything he could tell her. But she didn't know him very well at all. So how were they supposed to be in a relationship as they claimed to be?

"Was there anything else you wanted to ask me? I realize that I haven't told you very much, which isn't entirely fair to you. I would rather you feel you can ask me anything you want to."

(I wrote this while sat half listening to train spotters talking about the freights that are running today. Good lord.)

It might not surprise you, reader, to know that Livia wasn't the biggest drinker in the world. Her brother's penchant for gin and a rough time was beginning to be noted by the circles he socialised in. She was, by comparison, the more stoic of the McCallum siblings. She had missed out on the illicit parties that had been held during her Hogwarts years. They'd been favoured by Octavia. Liv, like most Hufflepuffs, took her pleasure and mischief out of a midnight raid on the kitchens. The most they'd ever been able to rustle up was a bottle of Ogden's but she had never liked the taste. She was a cider girl, by process of elimination more than anything else. She'd never really got a taste for anything else. So, naturally, that was what she ordered -- strawberry cider of course and ice? Yes please.

She laughed a little bit at their easy switcheroo when she got back to the table, purse under her arm, spilt cider roping around her wrist and forearm. She sat down gratefully, feeling more tired after the events that evening than she would have thought herself to have been. She knew it was fair to be. She could have only imagined how Simon must've felt. She quickly decided she actually didn't want to. She only wanted to imagine him happy. She know it was foolish to want to but still...

Bringing her wrist to her mouth, Liv licked the cider away, already inwardly cringing at the stickiness. As Simon spoke, it occurred to her that they'd skipped some of the formulaic, tick-box moments that any relationship required. Though, even Keiran and Millie, whose relationship cues she'd attempted to absorb, had missed those in a roundabout sort of way. In Liv's mind, they had it all figured out. So, being even somewhat on their wavelength gave her a modicum of confidence.

"I guess everything," she considered, reaching for her drink. "Favourite things - colour, food, animal, season, what have you. Oh! Favourite book! Movie! Um... Did you ever have a tablet when you were growing up? My favourite game for a long time was this farm one. I liked looking after the little pigs. Stupid, I know." She ducked her head a little as she took a sip of the cider, embarrassment licking a path down her cheeks and disappearing down the column of her throat. She was glad for the half light because she could tell her skin was making a poor imitation of her borrowed dress. The little peep of cleavage, too, that had been thrust upon her by the fabric's cut and its owner's propensity for being a bit of a tease, had swirled a similar hue. She wished he could've said something worth blushing at, rather than having made herself flush. It was all the more embarrassing, really.

"What are the important bases to cover before ... I dunno. I've never dated, really. My, um..." She swallowed. "My sister was always better at it. Gaius, my brother, never wanted for, err, company, either. I mean... there was one time I sort of tried. I quite liked this guy in my Herbology class but he didn't turn out to be very nice so..." She shrugged, a reluctant smile on her face. "I just don't know what the normal sort of process is, if I'm making sense? Is there a list or some sort of ... I dunno." She sank back embarrassedly, colour deepening once more.

(Linds, there's just too much freight.)

Simon's eyebrows flew up as he tried to keep track of the questions that were thrown at him. The information about her family was interesting, though he found it odd that she only named one of the two siblings. Why did he feel like her brother would automatically hate him? Everyone else in her life certainly did. And he still hadn't brought himself to ask her who mentioned the papers.

"Liv," he began finally, unable to hold back a quiet laugh. "There aren't any rules for this sort of thing. Sure would be easier if there were, though. I'm going to let you in on a secret, Liv." He leaned forward across the corner of their table, grinning at her with the look of a man about to share a private joke. It wasn't quite a joke, though. "I haven't been with anyone since I was in school. So we're basically even."

As for her questions, he wasn't sure where to begin. So he went with the one that was the hardest to answer. "I'm not sure what a tablet is. I probably would know it by a different name, but I didn't really play games about farm animals growing up. I was a little too occupied with keeping an eye on my -- sister," he tripped over the word, clearing his throat to try and pass it off as nothing. Simon paused again to take a drink, looking at her over the glass and hoping she wouldn't comment on it.

"The other questions, though, I can answer. If I remember them all," he went on with a grin, determined to keep the rest of the evening light. "I'm pretty partial to Durmstrang burgundy. Or maybe a dark blue? And I'll be cliché and say that dogs are my favorite. Loyalty is big for me, I think, and if any animal has that, it's a dog. I don't actually have a favorite book or movie, but mainly because I can't read books more than once and I don't watch that many movies. I used to love those medical shows, though."

Simon shrugged, toying with his glass. "But honestly, Liv, there isn't some ... timeline that has to be followed. It's... I do feel like there's more pressure behind it sometimes than there needs to be. Yes, in the end, someone you date will be your match and you'll be determined to keep them forever. But it has to start off with meeting somebody who interests you, who is there when you need them and knows the thing to say. Hopefully you find them attractive as well," he teased with a laugh. "You've got to need them in some way, but also want to spend more time with them than with other people. It's not that tough. The only thing people seem to struggle with is honesty, and the whole monogamy thing. That doesn't always work out."

He reached out for her hand, rubbing his thumb over the back. "Now when it comes to me, that's not something you have to worry about," he assured her with a smile. "Because I do find you interesting, and I do need and want you around. I promise you that I'll let you know if that ever changes, as that's only fair, but right now it's true and I hope that you feel the same."

Simon released his glass, leaning his forearm across the table as he moved his chair a bit closer. "And, if you get to ask questions, I'm going to as well. So let's start with something interesting, eh?" He searched her gaze for a moment, mischief swimming behind his own. "What would you do if you knew you only had a minute left to live?"

The witch wanted to say that she felt as though they should have known each other better before becoming embroiled in aspects of Simon’s past that could stand to threaten whatever future they potentially had together. She wanted almost to force the issue, to meld them together into the sort of unit that could withstand whatever was coming so that once they’d overcome it they could settle into dating. It was a mad sort of thought, she realised that. The thing was, though, she couldn’t help it. She knew that she did want Simon, that she wanted to have the time with him to figure out what they could have together. But … she couldn’t shake the feeling now that something was trying to derail that and she was scared that he, like so many other people in her life, was going to disappear. Though, in her desire to cling onto him, perhaps she had lost Keiran. Part of her that was still secure in her relationship with her father … well, it wasn’t worried, that part at least. The other was panicking that in choosing Simon, she’d forfeited her family and could still lose him. So she wanted some sort of resolution of matters so that, at the very least, she could feel like they had some sort of chance. But life didn’t quite work like that, did it?

“Well, at least …” she buttoned her lip before she could finish her reply, her cheeks flushing all the more deeply as she mentally finished the sentence itself. At least you’ve been with someone. She would never properly count her Herbology crush. The outing to The Three Broomsticks had been the extent to which she’d really ‘dated’ him. She had no idea beyond what she’d read what actually lay behind the closed doors of a bedroom. Gaius had once attempted to tell her the summer before Octavia had died when they’d gone to a party that their parents had not totally approved of. They were happy for the party. They’d just warned them not to drink. Gaius’ bandmates had been there and he’d disappeared off with them almost immediately. Tavia’s friends, also, drew her away and, as ever, it was just Liv stood by the buffet table, munching on breadsticks and nursing her way through a cup of spiked punch that she wasn't entirely sure if she liked. In fact, she didn’t like it and switched to coca-cola quite quickly. It was not long after that that Gaius, who had found for himself some ‘decent’ company for the evening, decided to explain what he intended to do with the girl. Liv wouldn’t call his talk illuminating. Scarring, yes. He didn’t remember, ultimately, but she couldn’t help but rue the fact that the closest she’d come to understanding the mechanics of sex from a non-clinical standpoint was through the medium of her brother’s fantasy. So, yes. Simon was lucky, she decided. At least, maybe, he didn’t feel entirely out of his depth. She wanted that guidebook. At least then, maybe, she would have had something other than just her feelings and her instincts.

Despite being furrowed in her own pit of embarrassment, she didn’t miss the way his voice caught over the word that so often tripped her up, too. She felt a surge of comradery with him in that moment, sensing that something had gone awry there. She hoped that it was just a family disagreement or that they’d lost touch when he’d been in Azkaban and he was hesitant to reconnect. She hoped that it wasn’t … well, it wasn’t like her and Tavia. Like her, Gaius, and Tavia. She’d never really, properly been close to her sister once they’d started Hogwarts but she was still her twin, her sister, one half of her. When she’d been killed… Liv closed her eyes and brought the cider to her lips, trying to will away the images her mind conjured. She could barely remember Octavia in life, now. Snippets crept through unbidden occasionally, like the memory of the party, but it was mostly just her in her last moments, bloody, half-drowned, the light flickering out behind her eyes. And then, of course, everything had changed. Hearing such a similar fault in his voice when his tongue arched over the word, she felt as though she wasn’t as isolated in the way she viewed the memory of her sister. She almost felt as though Simon was the person to talk to about it but she couldn’t. Still, she couldn’t. They all understood; Theo, the Hayes’. They shared loss. Loss was something that tied them all together, she supposed. It had made them a natural crutch for her. They were people with natural empathy for what she’d gone through. And yet … she’s never talked about it with them, either. And she should’ve, really. She knew that. But now … now that so much time had passed … where on earth did she begin?

She didn’t. And she wouldn’t ask him to, either. She took another sip of her drink and her vivacity returned with a simple, “I like yellow,” and a shy accompanying smile. Hufflepuff. What a classic. She would have liked to have worn yellow that evening, she remembered a she set her glass down on the table top once more. Millie had been insistent on the slightly risqué. Perhaps another day, maybe. There was always tomorrow, after all. She could spend all day in pyjamas if … well, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. She’d have to go home eventually. And she’d have to apologise to Peter and Keiran eventually, too. In that order. Peter was probably already over it, nursing his concerns and rehearsing his apology for the argument. Not for his stance, but for the argument it had caused. Keiran … well, he would always be another matter entirely. She wondered how long it would take for Millie to figure out that something was amiss. The witch was intuitive (durr, Liv thought to herself. Seer.) and she’d probably spot something was wrong with her husband almost immediately. Then, when Liv inevitably didn’t turn up the following day … because she sure as hell wasn’t going to get in his face, she wanted to give him some space … Merlin, this wasn’t going to be an easy make-up, was it?

“Isn’t interesting just a byword for odd?” She asked, letting her hand return to his. She smiled a little, liking the way his larger one enclosed hers, keeping it safe in his warm net of fingers. “I like you,” was her simple acknowledgement. “It feels good,” she turned their hands over so the back of his hand was against the table and her fingers rested in his palm. Carefully, she began to draw a gentle pattern in his skin with her fingertips, swirling along the lines there before branching out to form her own design, a gentle reverence of his form from the columns of his fingers to the swathe of his palm. “You’re much more eloquent than I am but I do. Feel the same way, that is.” And even though she lacked the ability in that moment to give voice to how she felt, she couldn’t help but think that her decision that evening had shown something of her hand in that regard. Whirling out of her home like a mad thing, determined to find out what had really going on and then taking his side, standing by him not only to Keiran and Peter but before Simon a well, stubborn in her will to be there for him … sometimes there is just as much eloquence in action as there is in words.

She raised her eyebrows a little, a smirk teasing at her lips as he leaned forward. Surprise lit up her face when he delivered his question and she opened her mouth, unsure what on earth she would do if she was only given those sixty seconds. She had no idea of context – where she was, how old she was, or any of the rest. She figured that if it was in this moment, as she was now, with him, even, then she would … well, she’d probably just kiss him, she supposed. It wasn’t a bad way to go. But then she figured she had better do some sort of catch-all reply. Something that wasn’t so specific and something that would round things off nicely.

“I think, if I could, I’d write a note telling everyone that I loved them and that I’d be alright and that they’d be alright and … I guess something nice. Something that’d make everyone a bit less scared, me included. That’s a bit of a heavy question, you know,” she laughed a little, twirling her fingers in a circle over his skin. “Okay, um… if you wake up tomorrow … and you’re in the body of someone else … whose body would you pick to be in and what would you do while you’re them?”

Livia turned bright red and Simon's brow furrowed. Perhaps she had misunderstood. He didn't always get the words out in the right order, unfortunately, and he came to the conclusion that she had assumed he meant something intimate. On the contrary, he hadn't. But he didn't actually want to legitimately breach that subject with her, so he didn't correct her.

On that note, however - Simon doubted that Liv knew how sensitive a person's hand was. Studies had been done amd everything. So as she began passing her fingertips over his skin, Simon had to force himself to sit still. He also had to actively listen to what she was saying rather than allowing himself to gaze over at her quite blankly. He really liked what she was saying, though, so he smiled widely and looked down at his drink before lifting it to his lips again.

When she went on, he set it back down and let his tongue pass over his lips to pick up any lingering drops. Her answer was a good one, and it struck some sort of solentchord in him, because he would want to be able to do something like that, too. He just was pretty sure he wouldn't get to and wouldn't have many people to contact, if anyone. He cared about Liv, obviously, but Love was a painfully heavy word for him, and not one he threw around.

Her question swept away his smile instantly, a dark cloud passing over his features instead. He looked away again. He couldn't say the first idea that came to his mind, or even the second. They were a bit too dark for Liv's tastes, he thought, and far too selfish. So he had to think for a moment before he could look back at her, expression tamed and made to look neutral. "I'd quite like to play Quidditch again," he decided, pretending that his longing for it wasn't seeping into his voice. "So maybe I'd pick Puddlemere's new Seeker, to relive it. But it would probably be smarter to choose another team entirely, because I imagine that it would be unite bittersweet."

He understood that the game was for him to pick another question now. But he was pretty distracted by the concept of waking up as someone of his choosing. Oh, what he would do if he woke up as Kosta or as his father. Then again, he didn't even know if his father was still alive, and he doubted the imaginary chance would work on a dead person. Not that he would want to be dead and buried for a day. But still. So rather than answering right away, he closed his fingers on hers again, lifting her hand so he could kiss the back of it. He didn't know why that made him feel more steady, but it did, and he was able to release a sigh after letting their hands settle back on the tabletop.

Several questions came to mind. Why don't you hate me? Why do you trust me? Why are you sat here agreeing to still be my girlfriend after a ruined date and a horrid past that I can't prove didn't happen?

He didn't ask any of those. Instead he came out with: "If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be?"

“It’s not too late, you know. You know that old cliché? I think it goes something like … if you set your mind to it, you can do anything. It’s true, whatever the proper words are. And, if you played professionally you must have been good so it would be a waste, wouldn’t it? Don’t give up completely, yet, Simon.”

Optimism, thy name is Livia Augusta McCallum.

The witch felt as though she’d missed something, somewhat. He seemed a little bit more stoic than she would have thought such a tongue-in-cheek question would have made him. She was expecting a celebrity or something like that, in truth. She felt a little bad for inadvertently darting into a pocket of feelings that were meant to be left alone. In reality, Livia didn’t know the half of what she’d done but it was better to think that what was bothering Simon was him missing his sport as opposed to anything else.

She smiled a little when his lips brushed over her hand. She wanted to unfurl her fingers and press her fingertips to his cheek but couldn’t help but feel that, if she did, she’d probably end up prodding him in the nose instead of doing what she intended to. She didn’t think she’d ever really be as smooth as, say, Millie or Mai. There was always the danger of doing something stupid. Perhaps she could change her name. Maybe it was an M thing. Wait, no. Alice was also quite … un-jaunty, if that was a word, and naturally endowed with romantic sense. Maybe it was something that came with age. Liv hoped so.

She bobbed up a bit at the question he asked, joy surging through her as she wracked her brains, trying to work out where she’d most like to be. Anywhere in the world. Right that moment. She looked down at her watch. She had considered Indonesia at first, an old holiday destination favourite when she was a child. She’d then thought that, as it was way past bedtime there, she wouldn’t want to be there. But then, waking up there wouldn’t have been a sad fate at all. Still, she’d like to be awake, maybe, in whichever place she picked. She’d not ever been very fond of France, even if the food was good. Italy had amazing archaeological marvels, so it had that to it. Egypt had always been a dream and had plenty of dig sites, too. Now, though, she was feeling as though she was listing her mum’s favourite holiday destinations.

“I don’t know if I really want to be anywhere right now,” she admitted gradually, emerging from her mental wrangling without an answer for him. “I think I’m okay just here. My other options all mean I’d either be in bed or … I dunno. Europe has never really thrilled me much so I’m not too worried. No, here is good,” she looked down at their joined hands and unlooped their fingers from each other. She tipped his hand over again so that it was palm and she glanced up briefly before lightly pressing her index finger to the top of his third. Then, the witch slowly drew her touch, feather-light, down over his hand, over the soft flesh of his wrist, bumping over the veins there, and up the smooth plane of his forearm until she bumped into the cuff shirt. Then, she let her whole hand fall over his arm and she brought it back down towards his before bringing their fingers back together once more.

“Tell you what, though – I wouldn’t half murder a liquorice wand about now,” she considered, a grin sliding her lips upwards. “Ooh, ooh, ooh! I have the mother of all questions. It’s a classic, isn’t it? The standard three things you’d take to a desert island with you question! But it can’t be a wand, of course. Everyone would take their wand. What would you take? I think I’d probably take something nice to eat, first of all. That’d be the aim. Just in case the island was a bit rubbish.”

Simon didn't have the heart to tell her that his only shot had been ruined. Being fired for some other reason might have been manageable. But this? Never. And she seemed oddly impressed by his apparent former skill, so he certainly wasn't going to make off like he was just alright. He had been over the moon the day he signed, and his so-called best friend had taken it away from him. Brilliant, that.

At first, her answer concerned him as he didn't understand what she was getting at. But then he nearly laughed. That was a good sign, he supposed. As good as any, that is. He wasn't sure about that whole being in bed thing, but this right here was quite nice. The questions were strangely superficial at the same time as they were genuine, but at least he was getting some more tangible measure of her. And, speaking of tangible, Simon thought she might be trying to do him in right there.

He wasn't sure, though. It seemed like Liv had no idea what she was doing to him, despite the fact that he drew in a breath, chest rising as that all-important muscle in his chest jumped and he demanded silently that the ones in his arm stayed still. He leaned forward incrementally, and hopefully not enough for her to notice, but still she seemed at least a little unaware. And, frankly, that made it all the more diverting and maddening. Except for that look she'd given him just before she started drifting her finger over his. She had glanced his way, and that threw him off. Maybe she knew exactly what she was doing, and knew that he wasn't stupid enough to do anything about it. She probably just enjoyed torturing him, if that were the case. He hoped it wasn't, though, if only because it would give him more leeway if she were oblivious. One probably expects that he would have been looking at her hand as it tripped it's way across his skin, but he wasn't. Instead, he watched her face, trying to figure out where she stood and trying not to stare at her all at the same time.

Simon cleared his throat before offering his reply: "Well, I'm glad you won't be popping off somewhere and leaving me to finish this drink on my own."

He meant to smirk, but her hand swept back up towards his own, and he just lifted one corner of his mouth instead. She saved it, more or less, by speaking up again and apparently coming up with a question that thrilled her, meaning that he had to gather his wits and focus on the conversation again. "That certainly throws my initial idea out the window. But I'll agree with you on food. Something with peanut butter in it, maybe. Doubt you'd get anything like that on an island. Then..." He paused, tilting his head and glancing around the pub for a moment as though to remind himself that it wasn't just them sitting in that room. It was loud, he noticed suddenly. Good thing they were sitting so close together...

"Then I think I would need some journal or something. I couldn't read the same words over and over, but writing new ones could be nice. And the last one, of course, would have to be a boat," he smirked properly that time, suggesting that she should have blocked that option earlier.

"With that victory under my belt, I think I'll just go with something even more difficult for yours. Who's your favorite person ever? Including, say, dead authors or historical figures. Out of literally everyone that ever existed."

Peanut butter made the witch immediately turn to thoughts of toast and then, by extension, jam. She hoped that jam could be her food and then, maybe, she’d waste her second thing on bread and if she could figure out how to make a fire, she could toast it. If not, she could always make jam sandwiches and use her finger as a spreading knife. Then she could have a picnic while she waited to be rescued. Perhaps top up her tan. Or, err, perhaps not, because freckly Scottish skin didn't really lend itself to long periods in the sunshine. Perhaps she'd eat her sandwiches under the shade of a nice palm tree and watch the monkeys swinging in the trees. Now, though, Liv really did fancy a jam sandwich - never mind the liquorice wand. 

"A boat!" She grinned, bouncing in her chair a little. "I hadn't thought about that one. I wasn't sure what to make my last thing. I was weighing up whether my— Keiran counted as a thing 'cause he'd probably be able to sort it all out while I could make a sandcastle or something." (#Priorities) "It's a bit rubbish we can't take wands because I bet I could probably transfigure a stick or something into a nice big boat. Ooh! Maybe we should try it. I've only ever seen sailing a few times but I was little and I've never gotten the opportunity to ask Ollie if he'd take me out. Ollie's one of my…" she sighed a little. "Well, one of Keiran and Millie's friends, anyway." 

Perhaps she should grovel back to Theo for some fatherly influence. Liv had half an idea of what she'd get, though. A brusque reminder that while he'd gotten guardianship of her in the first instance, he had no designs on wanting to manage a more-or-less-adult daughter, that that was Keiran's responsibility. Then he'd probably sling an arm around her neck, squeeze her half to death, kiss the top of her head and tell her to go and make it up to him. Liv had no idea where to begin now. She needed to at least explain to Simon a bit, though. 

"I'm sorry. It's just... Keiran, Peter, and I had an argument - a huge, huge argument - right before I came to see you and things were said that I'm hoping we all regret." She bit her lip, bringing her other hand round to play with his fingers. It was easier to focus on that than it was to look at him. It made the argument seem less real, in a way, even if it was crystallising with her voicing it aloud. "There’s been an arrangement in place since I was in Hogwarts. For the last few years and since, Keiran and Millie have looked out for me. They became my parents, in a way. That was sort of … the subject that was banded about. We both said things we didn’t mean but … I guess … oh I dunno. I just … I guess I forgot they weren’t really my parents, sort of. The reminder tonight was a bit of a … a bit of a shock, I suppose.” A sigh broke past her lips. “I don’t quite know what I'm going home to tonight,” she admitted, “or how I’m ever going to talk to them properly again. It feels a bit dramatic and final right now.” It wasn’t, of course, but her anxiety about it was acute. She reached for her glass. Something to take the edge off.

"Okay," she brightened again, determined to be positive. "Enough with that. Bleh.” She shook herself and found a smile for him. “Everyone literally ever-ever-ever?" She checked with a laugh that lit up her eyes, removing the gloom that had crept in. “Ooh, gosh. I don’t know! Maybe I should say Livia,” she laughed again before she could help herself, shaking her head. “I don’t know, I don’t know! It’s too hard. Dumbledore? Harry Potter? Who’s yours? C’mon, give me some inspiration.”