Beyond 84 Charing Cross Road

AN: For those of you that have waited so patiently, and in some cases I'm sure – impatiently, I offer my apologies. Issues with my mother's health, the recent holidays and the Glad, Glad return of DC's hubby from oversears has delayed it somewhat. We hope you enjoy.


Part Eighteen

It had been harder than he'd thought it would be to leave the sleeping Hermione. The warmth of her bed, and that of her body, called to him long after he'd returned home, fed his faithful chicken and tried to find some sleep of his own.

For once nightmares didn’t wake him. The memory of a surprisingly agile Gryffindor was to blame for the steady current that fired the synapses in his wide awake mind. Every thing she’d done and said were gone over and over again. He fingered them, moved them aside and – like the pieces of a puzzle that didn’t quite fit – he was drawn back to touch them again.

The sweet sound of Simon’s real, true name haunted him more than anything. A small argument with himself, over taking Hermione to task for the slip, ended when he remembered the moment she’d said it. More importantly – how she’d said it.

As long as she calls me nothing but Simon outside the bedroom… almost convinced him to let it slide, but then a nagging little “logical” part of his brain just had to speak up.

There’s that old saying about a slip between the cup and the lip.

“That’s all well and good,” he stated to the ceiling, “but – damn it! I just had the most intimate of relations with a beautiful, young witch, who apparently wouldn’t mind a return engagement, so shut the fuck up!”

Dawn was barely starting to streak the skyline when Simon rose and headed for the shower. He was somewhat startled when the water almost seemed to sting and the towel…

“Yorick!” he bellowed. “What have you done to the cloth in this towel?”

Examining it closely, he knew full well Yorick, or anyone else for that matter, had done nothing to it – but it still felt harsher than it had the day before. Deciding he must have spilled something from the lab on it, although he knew he hadn’t, Simon tossed it toward the basket in the corner. Drawing a fresh one from the cupboard, he tested it on the skin of his thigh.

“Blast! She could have warned me,” he muttered while patting his skin dry instead of the rough toweling it usually received. It felt – tingly – alive in a way it never had before and he believed – quite wrongly, of course – that it was due to the bubble bath. Stepping up to the mirror, Simon searched his reflection before he began the process of removing the stubble.

I wonder if she’d like me in a mustache? Maybe a Van Dyke? Yes…

“Oh, good gods,” he moaned while leaning his forehead on the mirror. “I’m turning into one of those moronic, hormonal brats who think of nothing but how to please their lady fair!”

Wasn’t last night worth it?

That‘s not the point.

Well, wasn‘t it?

Go away!

You can‘t tell me you‘re not going back for more. You want to go over there – right now – taking crumpets and jam and hoping you‘ll find her in that bathtub.

She was going to sleep in, remember?

You could always wash the jam – what there is left of it – off of her later.

So it was, that one Simon Sopohorous found himself knocking on Hermione’s door a scant hour later while clutching a basket that contained freshly baked crumpets, strawberry, grape and peach jam.

-~8~-

It felt like she'd barely fallen asleep, but that couldn't be right. There was sunlight, weak, but it was coming through the crack in her curtains.

And someone was knocking on the front door.

Someone with a death wish.

Hermione rolled out of bed, nearly falling as one of her legs caught on sheets that shouldn't have been wrapped around her like they were. Once she regained her footing, she frowned down at the rumpled bedding, then at her body which seemed to be missing her customary pajamas.

Then, as yet another knock seemed to echo through the flat, she smiled a goofy, extremely-pleased-with-herself-but-not-quite-fully-awake smile. A smile that not even Mrs Carmichael at Far Too Early on a Sunday morning could dim.

She snagged her bathrobe and quickly wrapped it around herself, tried to run a hand through her hair and gave up when it got caught in the tangles, and opened her door. Her greeting for Mrs Carmichael died on her lips.

"Simon!" Surprise had her blurting out the first thing that came to mind. "Oh, God, you smell good enough to eat."

That was when Hermione realized she was starving.

-~8~-


When she opened the door Simon felt – warmed again. There was something about her rumpled appearance that made him look down and smile before his eyes rose to meet hers. In the past, many had called his eyes cold and dangerous and while that glare would never be retired – the look he was giving her now was as far from it as was humanly possible. Every finely honed survival instinct in the back of his mind was telling Simon it was dangerous to be this relaxed around anyone. He chose to ignore them.

“And you, my wanton dreamer,” he advised in a voice deep and dark, “look good enough to eat here and now.”

-~8~-

Hermione eyed him, seriously considering the temptation in his voice and words.

It was nearly as great as the temptation in his basket. Her stomach rumbled. Loudly.

"I don't suppose you would be willing to hold on to that thought until after we eat?" She gestured for him to come in, then quickly shut the door behind him, not wanting to give her neighbor anything else to gossip about.

Simon came back.

The hint of insecurity that had plagued her last night, vanished.

He came back, and he wants me, still.

That thought pleased her, and Hermione decided to show her pleasure by leaning up on her toes and pressing her lips to Simon's in a morning greeting.

-~8~-

I could get used to this... crossed Simon's mind even as his arm crossed the small of Hermione's back and drew her close. The basket was placed on the table beside the door in order to free the other hand to slink beneath the bathrobe. Not content with a brief kiss, but knowing she was hungry, Simon merely raised a brow.

"As I don't want you fainting from hunger in the middle of anything important – we'll eat. Now, do you have a decent tea?"

She still feels like silk.

-~8~-

Her skin tingled where his hand touched, fingers firm and gentle and warm under her robe.

Who could think of tea at a time like this?

A sharp reminder from her stomach told her she could.

For a moment, it was as if Simon had only stepped out to pick up some breakfast for them both, they seemed to come together so easily.

It's not so bad, really. So the man I'm seeing, sleeping with – having sex with, so he can't actually sleep in the same room as me. Considering all the other things that I've heard women complain about, this is workable.

Especially if he's willing to bring me breakfast once in awhile.

She wasn't naive enough to expect such a delightful surprise every time she and Simon were together, but his presence on this morning in particular...

She wasn't in love, Hermione knew, because she'd been in love before and it didn't feel like this, but it was more than just like, more than just attraction. Although, in the right circumstances, if she wasn't careful and didn't stop doing such a piss poor job of guarding her heart...

That is enough of that for now.

"Tea. I have tea, yes. In the kitchen. In the cupboard. Do you want to make it while I go freshen up?"

-~8~-


If "freshen up" is a euphemism for getting dressed – then not only no – but hell no!

I like her the way she is – tousled, rumpled and mostly naked.

She could sit on the counter – with her robe as a pillow in case it was cold – and I'd gladly make tea.

Simon blinked once, decided to tell her exactly what he wanted, and then let his tongue say, “Of course.”

I just know she's going to get dressed, damn it.

-~8~-

Hermione hurried off to the bathroom, not rushing because she was afraid he would disappear if she took too long, but because he was there and she simply wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

Several minutes were wasted in a half-failed effort to tame her hair with a brush, but most of the tangles and all of the knots were gone by the time she gave it up for a lost cause. A shower and some conditioner would go a long way toward helping things, but she didn't have time for that.

Not right now, anyway. Maybe later.

I wonder if Simon would want to...

Focus, Hermione, focus.

A quick sponge off in the sink and a few minutes with the toothbrush and Hermione was feeling much more refreshed and presentable.

Should I get dressed? If I don't, will he assume that I'm expecting sex? Which I am, or at least I'm hopeful, but I don't want him to feel some sense of obligation.

On the other hand, if I get dressed, he might assume that I'm trying to say I don't want to have sex.

It's cold this morning, and the robe isn't that warm, but we are about to have some tea and that should help heat me up...

She peeked out the bathroom door, and upon seeing an empty living room, quietly scuttled across the floor to turn the thermostat up just a bit.

Then she calmly strolled into her kitchen and smiled at Simon. Her notes were still scattered across the table from the evening before, so Hermione quickly gathered them together and set them out of the way.

"Did you find everything all right?"

-~8~-

Her eyes aren’t green, and her hair isn’t red.

Those two qualities had always been at the forefront when Simon judged a woman’s level of attractiveness. He was now finding they had shifted positions. A breathy air, a brilliant smile, and wispy flyaway hair made of spun silk seemed to becoming out ahead.

He knew full well why – but as Simon had never had the pleasure of seeing Lily after a night of exchanged passions – Hermione, as she appeared to him right now, would remain in his memory as the most beautiful witch he’d ever seen.

“I believe I have,” he said quite seriously, never taking his eyes off of her.

The tea was ready; the crumpets were arranged on a tidy little plate, and after Hermione cleared the table, Simon placed their breakfast upon it. Pulling out one of the chairs, he waited for her to sit down.

“I’ve – while I was gone that is – I’ve considered what you asked. About watching me sleep,” he said after seating her and taking his own. “It’s not because I…”

Why is it always so damned difficult.

“It’s not because I don’t trust you,” he blurted out before taking a large, angry bite of his crumpet.

-~8~-


She took a dainty nibble of her own jam-covered crumpet as she considered what he'd said. Her second bite was much larger, and accomplished with an abundance of enthusiasm and obvious enjoyment.

Hermione realized that Simon hadn't actually said that he trusted her, just that this particular incident was not caused by a lack of trust. subtle distinction – with a man such as Simon, it wouldn't do to assume – but she couldn't help feeling reassured, nevertheless.


She licked some stray jam off her fingers and then took a sip of her tea. "Thank you. I think. So - Why? If you don't mind telling me, that is."

-~8~-


Simon turned his head and studied the young witch while his eyes narrowed slightly.

“You are a bothersome little bundle of questions even in the morning, aren’t you?”

Picking up his cup, Simon glared into the depths of the dark colored liquid as if searching for the answer.

“I haven’t a clue,” he said finally.

“I only know that even when I contemplate…”

A shiver – chill – went though his frame and Simon put the cup down before he picked up the half-eaten crumpet again. The glare sent in Hermione’s direction was only half-serious, but it was a glare.

“Yorick at least has the courtesy to allow me to finish my first cup of tea before annoying me.”

-~8~-

Hermione ate quietly for a moment. Not because Simon found her questions bothersome, but because she was considering what he'd said.

As far as she was concerned, being inquisitive was part of what made her Hermione. Simon had known her long enough to be very aware of that, and he had still made the decision to see her...

He'd made his bed, now he would have to lie in it, so to speak.

Heat raced to her cheeks, and Hermione made a very determined effort not to think about last night. Now wasn't exactly the best time.

Her eyes flicked over toward the pile of papers and notes for just a moment, then back to her breakfast, and finally to Simon.

While observing his sleep would have helped, she was sure, Hermione knew that she wouldn't press him. Not while there might be a different avenue that she could pursue.

He's going to hate it just as much, Hermione. If you do this, it could push him away completely.

It could also lead her that much closer to finding the answer and possibly a cure to Simon's suffering.

She watched him drink his tea and felt something tighten in her chest at the thought of Simon enduring those nightmares for the rest of his life.

That's settled, then. I'll owl Harry.

"I can't help but notice that you've finished your first cup of tea." Hermione reached out with her bare foot so that her toes came in contact with Simon's calf under the table. She took a final sip of her own tea, and set the cup aside. Her toes slid higher.

Hermione took the last crumpet and ripped a chunk off of it, adding some of the jam that Simon seemed to prefer, and leaned toward him with the offering.

"Since you provided breakfast, I was thinking that it is only polite that lunch should be on me. Which means that we'll have to find some way to keep busy for the next few hours until we're hungry again... Unless you had other plans?"

-~8~-

At first, when Hermione didn’t immediately toss a bit of sass back in his direction, Simon was almost worried that he’d botched it and she’d show him the door. He was almost certain of it when he saw her face flush with what he thought was anger.

He had assumed the touch on his leg came from the monstrous cat she owned; but Simon was heartily glad he hadn’t gone with his primary instinct – which would have been to kick the bloody thing – when the caress continued and it became obvious, even to him, that it was Hermione.

Lunch. On. Her. Oh, bloody hell, yes.

Having seen enough love-struck students at Hogwarts, Simon wasn’t unfamiliar with the “ritual” of feeding the current object of ones affection, but there was still the question of how to take the offered tidbit.

Teeth? No teeth?

That leaves lips.

Dry?

Moist?

Trying to dry the inside of ones mouth, without taking so much time that Hermione might assume he wasn’t going to accept the crumpet, was proving rather difficult.

Ah!

They always just opened their mouths and let the other one stick it inside!

Problem solved.

Leaning forward, Simon nodded slowly, picked up the pot of peach jam and said, “I’ll finish my breakfast on you as well, if you don’t mind,” before opening his mouth.

-~8~-

She didn't mind. Oh no, she didn't mind at all.

Hermione popped the crumpet into Simon's mouth and smiled, letting her fingers brush against his lower lip before she drew them away.

The she stood and turned to sit on the top of the table, reaching for the belt of her robe. "Just as long as you're willing to help me clean up, after."

**********