Beyond 84 Charing Cross Road

October 20, 2000

My dear Simon,

Writing those words used to flow so easily from my pen, and now I have to pause because I keep remembering saying them to you in my office yesterday.

Yesterday.

You never did explain why you came to the store. Why yesterday? Why not any time over the last few months? Why at all?

I'd like to think it was because you wanted to see me; however, as you keep insisting in your letters that you are not a romantic sort of person, I just can't picture you suddenly being overcome with the desire to pop into my place of business just to kiss me senseless and then pop back out again.

Not that I objected, or anything silly like that.

So what did spur you to stop in for a visit?

And while I'm pestering you with questions, you said you would explain how you look so different. Is it permanent, do you have to renew it, will it fade over time? How did you do it? Is it another variant of the polyjuice, like the potion for your voice?

Since you're not here in person this time, I don't think you'll be able to distract me nearly as easily.

Yours,

Hermione

-~8~-

"This isn't a letter!" Simon announced to Yorick. Rising from the easy chair by the fireplace, he waved it furiously. "It's an inquisition! Does she think I have nothing better to do than answer her questions? First it was what wine did I like. Filthy stuff. Fiction or non and whatever the hell else it was she wanted to know."

The fact of the matter was, at the moment he didn't have anything else to do, but fresh from a new round of guilt laid upon his head by Lily, Simon wasn't in the best of moods. Add to that Hermione's voice popping up at odd moments saying, "My dear Simon," precisely the way she had right before she kissed him...

"Oh, to hell with it," Simon grumbled, as he pulled the ledger chronicling all the steps he'd taken to change his appearance over the last two years. Sitting down at the desk Simon started leafing through it, wondering where and how to begin.

This one's totally new. There's no basis for comparison to give her. That one's right out, Simon decided as he viewed one which had a few "proscribed" ingredients listed. He'd never actually used it, but someday, somehow he might have the need.

An hour later, Simon looked at the notes he'd taken, raised an eyebrow and proceeded to tear them in half before tossing the lot in the rubbish bin. Pulling a fresh sheet of parchment, he smirked.

October 20, 2000

Hermione,

As I have no desire to waste a years worth of ink and untold pieces of parchment – not to mention Yorick's poor back – I'm sending a Portkey. If you wish to learn the answers to some of your questions, you'll be holding it precisely at three o'clock on the morrow.

Simon

Pulling one of the Portkeys he'd made for the flat out of his desk, Simon activated it and placed it inside the envelope with the short note.

"Yorick!"

-~8~-

At ten til the hour, Hermione stood next to her kitchen counter, staring down at the innocent-looking object on its surface. When she'd opened his letter and the Portkey had fallen into her lap, she'd been puzzled. Why would Simon be sending her a keychain, especially one that advertised a used car lot with the slogan "If you're desperate for a ride, you know who to call"?

I admit, I may have come off a little heavy-handed with that kiss, but I don't think that makes me desperate for a shag.

The letter had explained the presence of the keychain, although she still wanted to know why he even had it in the first place.

Moments later, the keychain securely stowed in her pocket, Hermione had rushed through her flat like a whirlwind. Every book, every sheet of paper, every hastily scribbled idea on the edge of a paper napkin that had anything to do with Simon's nightmares was gathered together into a pile on her coffee table. If she were really going to visit him, she hadn't wanted to show up empty handed.

Most of the night had been spent sorting through her things, pulling out the most likely references and carefully recopying the notes that had been written in her own personal shorthand. By the time Hermione was done, there was only a messenger bag that contained a pair of folders and three books.

Now that she was looking at her efforts in the light of day, she felt her heart sink. Instead of leading her to the answer, her research had simply lead her to even more questions.

A glance at her watch told her she had minutes to go before the Portkey would activate, taking her... She didn't know where it would take her, actually, but she reasoned it would be to wherever Simon was.

She ran her hand over her hair, checking to make sure none of it had managed to work its way free from the chignon she'd wrestled it into earlier that afternoon. She'd also spent an extra few minutes cursing at her make-up mirror, and fidgeting about in her closet before settling on something similar to what she wore to work. Not too casual, not too overdressed. I hope. Definitely not too alluring, I don't want Simon to think I'm out to seduce him.

All right, maybe just a little bit.

Her stomach began to roll uneasily as Hermione slung the strap from her bag over her shoulder, and reached out to grasp the Portkey.

-~8~-

She was right on time, of course. Simon ignored the relief threatening to make him send her a smile and he frowned slightly in its place. Rising from his easy chair, Simon pocketed the watch he'd been holding and walked toward her.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger," he advised, while reaching behind her to tear out the pins holding the mass of hair in place. Tossing them in the general direction of the rubbish bin, Simon's eyes narrowed slightly as his hands worked their way through the curls and settled on either side of Hermione's face.

"Marginally better," he said dryly, finally allowing a glint of amusement to show before leaning forward and taking what he hoped would be the first kiss of the day.

-~8~-

Professor Snape's voice sternly issuing a point deduction still had the power to snap Hermione to attention.

While her mind raced to figure out what she could have done to earn the rebuke, Simon's hands destroyed all the hard work she'd put into taming her hair. That, coupled with the "point loss" had her beginning to glare up at him when he leaned down and kissed her. There had been something in his eyes that softened the less-than-complimentary "marginally better", and the feel of his lips against her own went a long way toward calming her earlier unease.

After a moment, she drew back, fixing her features into the same stern countenance she had used on Ron and Harry when they were plotting something sure to get them all into trouble.

"Ten points?"

-~8~-

His thumbs seemed inordinately interested in tracing the line of her jaw. Simon allowed this while he tilted his head to the side and met her almost glare. One black brow rose and he nodded slowly.

"For not checking where the Portkey would take you," he told her seriously. "It might not have come from me – or I might have changed my mind about having a bothersome little bookseller know who I am and how I now appear."

A slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

"Would you care to try and earn those points back?"

-~8~-

She ought to kick him in the shin for calling her bothersome, but he had a very valid point. Plus, she suspected he was teasing her.

Instead of kicking him, she rolled her eyes. "It was delivered by your Yorick, and I doubt anyone would be self-destructive enough to try to intercept your falcon when he was on a mission. The letter was in your pen, you specifically mentioned the Portkey, and... You're right. I shouldn't have blindly taken it without verifying who it was from and where it would take me, but –" Her features softened, and one of her shoulders raised in a slight shrug. "I trust you."

Some semblance of her earlier glare returned, this time couched with a fair amount of mischief. "I'm not about to write you an essay for extra credit, if that's where you're headed."

-~8~-

"I trust you."

You shouldn't, almost made it to the tip of Simon's tongue before he bit it back. Didn't she know? Didn't she realize how many people had trusted him over the years and were now moldering lumps of dirt?

Taking a deep breath, Simon removed his hands from her person and swept one in the general area of the dining alcove situated just off the kitchen. It wasn't large, but held a sturdy oak table and two mismatched chairs.

"No essays today, Hermione," he said with a slightly forced smile. "We can sit there if you like or in front of the fireplace."

Glancing toward the hearth, he added, "I should warn you the chairs in the alcove are decidedly uncomfortable after an hour or two, but probably more conductive to – information gathering if your time is limited."

-~8~-

He stepped away, and Hermione felt like stomping her foot in annoyance. She didn't, she had far too much self-control for that, but the urge was there.

One minute he was touching her and teasing, the next he was – distancing himself, is what it felt like to her. Hot and cold running Simon. And men say women are complicated and difficult to understand.

She looked at the little area dedicated to dining, then toward the pair of chairs in front of the hearth, with the little table almost nestled between them. Her lower lip found its way between her teeth for a moment as she considered.

"I hadn't made any other plans for the afternoon." She swallowed hard, and kept her gaze carefully focused on his small, almost cozy, living area. "Or this evening. So, unless you're planning to kick me out in an hour or two, I think I'd prefer to be comfortable."

Hermione turned back toward him, and smiled. "I'll try not to let having a cushion under my bum affect my information gathering, but if I start to veer off too far, we could always move."

-~8~-

Whether it was from the year of solitude, and therefore no need to school his features or glances, Simon found his eyes were still not completely under his control. They chose to flick in the general direction of the bedroom door before Simon forced them back toward Hermione.

That wasn't where she was referring to, he told himself sternly.

Damn it.

"I have no wine," he said with a small smile while putting one hand beneath a feminine elbow to lead her toward the smaller of the two chairs. "But I do have some excellent tea if you've a mind."

After seating her, Simon tilted his head slightly before one corner of his mouth lifted again.

No plans for this evening...

This could be a good thing, his libido told Simon quietly.

"If you're very good and don't drive me too far to distraction with your questions, I might be persuaded to provide a biscuit or two."

Dinner! Here! With you! screamed the practical side of his brain.

Simon's eyes blinked rapidly a few times and while he was actually quite glad she'd decided to use the Portkey, his stomach was slowly twisting into a knot of anxiety. Hermione was the first person he'd actually invited to any place of residence, and if he'd thought it through, he might not have issued it so easily. There had been witches or wizards who dropped in at Spinner's End during the lazy days of summer, but their visits had always pertained to business, either Dumbledore's or the Dark Lord's.

At the moment, he was quite concerned about what his cupboards contained – or rather didn't – and was itching to send an order, via Yorick, to his regular grocer.

Did I eat the... Yes, I did.

Thursday last.

Blast!

-~8~-

She'd seen where his gaze has briefly gone, toward a closed door that Hermione suspected might hide his bedroom. Interesting.

"Tea would be lovely, and if those biscuits are chocolate I could be persuaded to be very, very good." She knew she was flirting, or giving it her best attempt, and hoped it sounded at least half as natural as it felt to her. Something about Simon made her want to flirt, to tease, to see if it was possible to fluster him the same way he often made her feel.

She set her bag down next to the chair and endeavored to appear serious as she looked up at him. "It's probably best that you don't have any wine on hand. Not only is it still relatively early in the afternoon, if you did have a bottle waiting, I might have been forced to assume that you had dishonorable intentions toward me, and were trying to get me drunk."

Hermione leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs, suddenly reassured in her decision to wear a knee-length skirt and modest heels. "What would you prefer, first? Tea or answers?"

Or something else entirely?

She had been serious earlier. Hermione wouldn't be opposed to sharing another kiss or several with Simon, and she was relatively certain that she could make it very, very good for him with a bit of effort, assuming he was equally willing.

She'd also been serious about the chocolate biscuit. Hermione had been too nervous to eat lunch before she'd arrived, and suspected that if she didn't have something to nibble on soon, her stomach might begin to make its presence known to the room at large.

-~8~-

There was an attractive woman in his home. One with extremely well turned ankles and calves. One who was there willingly and not on a mission of intrigue. One who, if he wasn't mistaken, was flirting with him quite strongly.

Quit staring, you dolt. You're not a boy.

How was it possible? She made his mouth water while at the same time it felt as dry as the unicorn horn powder he used in the lab. He wanted this woman quite badly and didn't know exactly how to proceed.

"Answers, but not from me," Simon stated quite emphatically.

He dropped to a crouch beside her chair and gazed questioningly into Hermione's face. "I'm going to send an order with Yorick if you'll stay for supper. Exactly what kind of wine do you prefer?" he asked, while one hand reached out and gently grasped the ankle floating near him, stroking it lightly. "Or should I specify mead?"

There it was in a roundabout, maddening sort of way. As directly as he could, Simon was telling her his intentions were anything but honorable.

-~8~-

If she were a kitten, Hermione was positive she would have started purring the moment he began stroking her ankle. As it was, her breath caught and her foot arched in her shoe.

He was distracting her from her questions. Again. Hermione was tempted to let him get away with it, but there was something she needed to clarify before things went any farther.

Being coy had never worked well for her, especially since it was so much easier to just be upfront about her desires and avoid any potential misunderstandings that might crop up.

She reached toward him, feeling a bit as if she was about to attempt to pet a hippogryff, and lightly placed her hand on his shoulder. Her fingertips barely grazed against the skin just below his ear.

"I would love to stay for supper, if you'll have me. However, you should know that while I am attracted to you – very attracted – and I can tell you right now that you won't need wine or mead if you wish to kiss me this evening, I'm not going to sleep with you, no matter how much I may have to drink.

"Not tonight, anyway." Her lower lip found its way between her teeth as she met his gaze with her own, and wondered if, when the time came, she'd be able to stand by her word.

"Still want me to stay?"

-~8~-

Encouraged by the visible and audible responses to the touch on her ankle, Simon continued to stroke the silky skin and fine bones. He'd never before considered a woman's ankle an erogenous zone and was wondering where else a feather light touch might be welcomed when she began to speak.

Hermione's question almost made him smile, and a small chortle did sound in his throat. A brow rose while he studied her for a few seconds.

"I very much want you to stay," he advised, while moving his head in for a kiss. Just before his mouth took hers, he added, "I swear – I will not press you to sleep with me."

-~8~-

Far from reassuring her, Hermione considered his words to be a warning of sorts. She had declared her intent to remain out of his bed, and he was declaring his. Fair enough, she thought, shivering slightly when his lips caressed hers, and biting back a tiny moan as his hand slid up the smooth skin of her leg.

Thank God, I shaved today.

While she would have liked nothing more than to join him on the floor – the chair was far too small for the both of them – Hermione was smart enough to realize that such an action would be playing right in to Simon's hands. Such strong hands, and they do feel lovely.

Instead, she aimed one quick nip at his lower lip, then drew as far away from him as the chair would allow. "You mentioned tea?"