Part Ten

AN: One of the hardest jobs I ever tried was being a beta for another author's story. Thankfully, it didn't even involve the nasty little commas and other little squiggly things that like to lie in wait to trip me up. I had a very hard time keeping my hands off of their words. I wanted to twitch them, turn them around to my way of saying things, so it is with more gratitude than ever when I say:

Thank you, Lariope. You are a wonder.

It had arrived without the usual little note from Hermione, and the handwriting on the label wasn't hers, but Simon still unwrapped the latest parcel from Marks and Sons with no small amount of anticipation. The tome that greeted his eyes was an old friend in another form. He'd been forced to relinquish his collection of books at Hogwarts without so much as a whimper, and while the ones he'd managed to salvage from Spinner's End were much more valuable, those left at the school were his, and he missed them sorely still.

"Will you serve me as well, I wonder?" Simon asked as he picked up the volume in one hand. It felt – right somehow, and he frowned while taking it over to the window to examine more closely.

It can't be.

He flipped several pages past the middle of the book.

There's a stain in the correct spot. From a cup of tea I spilled.

It can't be...

The inside of the back cover was examined, and there was no longer any room for denial.

It is mine.

Dumbledore's strange little mark was there. Still faint, but there. Right where it should be in the bottom inside corner.

Memories of a forgotten Christmas flooded Simon's mind and glazed his eyes. Dumbledore had stated he was clearing out his shelves, had no further use for the volume, and did Severus want it? The cagey old bastard had known he'd always envied him the volume and refused to call it a present. As much as Simon detested the old man at times, it was the only gift he'd ever received in any form from anyone.

As Simon sank down in a chair, he cradled the book close to his chest. Unaccustomed moisture in his eyes forced him to raise his chin in the air in an effort to forestall it falling. Once he had swallowed several times, he was able to lower his chin and focus on the book again. It rested on his lap as its surface was checked for any new dings or indignities it might have suffered on the journey back into his hands.

A muscle began to flex in Simon's jaw when he realized exactly what it meant. Instead of his small but cherished collection being added to the Hogwarts library, which had been stated in his will, it had been broken up and sold.

A few volumes lifted and sold on the sly?

All of them?

A student? The current Potions Master?

Minerva?

Simon couldn't acknowledge how much the thought of his possessions being so callously discarded hurt, and he chose to release it in anger instead. The wayward traveler was carefully placed in the appropriate desk drawer before it could be damaged by his tightening grip.

"They had no right!" he fumed at Yorick. "No right! How many more of my books are laying around that damned bookstore?"

Breathing heavily, Simon paced back and forth in front of the perch, trying to figure out a way to make a list of books to send to Hermione when he didn't even know which books might have been sold.

"There's no help for it. I have to go there myself."

His lips pursed as he strode toward his laboratory. He didn't care if he ended up sounding like an adolescent girl who'd stubbed her toe, it was time to use the altered Polyjuice potion he'd been working on to change the timbre of his voice.

A short time later, a vial safely tucked in the outer pocket of his robe, Simon Sopohorous ventured out on the streets of London. Suddenly being in the midst of people again was a trifle more difficult than he had anticipated, and more than once Simon considered returning to his flat.

I am not a bloody coward. I do not need to hide behind a woman's skirts or her book selling skills.

I can do this.

They're only people – not spies intent on turning me in.

It wasn't that far to Marks and Sons, but it seemed to take an age to reach his destination. Skimming the volumes displayed in the window, he wasn't certain if he was reassured or dismayed not to find any that looked familiar.

Turning slightly to the side, Simon pulled the small vial from his pocket and added a hair from the brush of one of his male neighbors. The vile taste made him wish for a glass of Ogden's, and he vowed to improve that as soon as he could. Simon had to clamp his jaws tightly shut and swallow hard several times as he felt the change in his throat begin. The vial was secreted back in a pocket as he turned to open the door.

It doesn't seem to have been altered, was the first thought that ran through his mind upon stepping inside. It occurred to him, since the writing wasn't Hermione's, she might not even be at the store.

Spotting a likely looking man behind one of the counters, Simon stepped up and asked, "Is Miss Granger in?" and barely contained a grimace.

Oh, good gods.

I'm a fucking falsetto.

-~8~-

The clerk had been about to ask if he could be of any assistance, but something about the man on the other side of the counter urged him to simply nod and call to one of the others to cover his post.

Hermione looked up as he knocked on her office door. She'd only been back in the store for a matter of minutes after having spent the last few days meeting with book sellers all over the country. When she was informed that there was a customer out front who wished to speak with her, Hermione frowned. She pushed her reading glasses up to rest atop her hair and paused long enough to make sure she was presentable before stepping out on to the sales floor.

The clerk discreetly tilted his head toward the tall, dark haired gentleman who was impatiently pacing up and down the aisles, stopping to quickly examine a book before returning it to its shelf and swiftly moving on.

Hermione put on her best "helpful" smile and approached him, stopping a few feet behind him and clearing her throat. "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger. How can I help you today, Mister–?"

-~8~-

Pacing up and down the aisles of shelved books, Simon had become completely engrossed in skimming titles and examining bindings. The shoppe, and those in it, faded into obscurity as he searched for the lost companions of his former life. A volume on the third shelf from the floor had caught Simon's attention when someone cleared her throat behind him.

It should be mentioned that Yorick had never cleared his throat. At least Simon had never heard him do it in all the time he'd had the bloody bird, so perhaps he could be forgiven for what happened next. He spun, pulling his wand and crouching low while pointing it in the general direction of the noise. What spell or curse he had hovering on the back of his tongue would never be known, as it was swallowed as soon as Simon saw his adversary.

The wand's end slowly lowered as Simon stood and gazed on the – woman – he'd been writing to. His eyes, ever quick, took in the gentle curves of her figure, perhaps not shown to their best advantage in the neat white blouse and trousers she wore. Seeing Hermione in the flesh was quite disconcerting. For the first time in a very long time, there were no ready words for Simon's tongue. He was frozen with indecision, but his thoughts were coming faster than he could control.

Tell her or not... taken the potion... won't know my voice... finds out later... could be easily explained... passed off... concern for others overhearing...

All of the above occurred within seconds. He took a deep breath to finally speak, and it saved him from making what might have been a tragic mistake.

That deep breath, drawn through his nostrils, brought Simon a scent – the scent he'd gifted her with – and it caused a small smile to lift the corners of his dour mouth a tiny bit. It was reflected briefly by a flash of warmth in his eyes.

It wasn't merely words on paper to humor me.

Here was the chance to parley with an intelligent person. One who knew who he really was. As he opened his mouth to speak, something occurred to Simon.

Well, hell. She said something, but what in the bloody blue blazes was it?

Inclining his head slightly as he put his wand away, Simon said, "I beg your pardon, Ms... Hermione. You startled me, and old reflexes die hard."

Glancing around as full awareness of the shoppe returned, he asked, "Is there somewhere we could speak privately?"

-~8~-

It had been at least a year, probably longer, since Hermione had found herself at wand point, and while she was relieved to see that her reflexes were still fairly good (if a bit slower than she remembered), she was equally dismayed to discover that her comfortable business attire wasn't really made for the speedy drawing of her wand. By the time she finally closed her fingers around the handle of her wand, her attacker had already begun lowering his.

Not that she was relieved in the least.

Hermione kept her hand slightly behind her back, on her wand, and made a mental note of how many other people were visible in the store. If spells were going to be fired, she wanted to minimize the casualties as much as possible.

He drew a deep breath, and she tensed. Then the barest hint of a smile seemed to skate across his lips, and he put away his wand. Her eyes were following the movement of his hands, intent on watching as he disarmed himself, so much so that she nearly missed his apology and the way he called her by her given name.

Hermione stiffened at the informal address coming from the man she was certain she had never seen before in her life. Even more so when he asked if they could go somewhere private to speak.

Her first inclination was to scoff in his face, but she restrained the impulse.

"May I ask what this is pertaining to, Mister – ?" Once again she let her sentence trail off in the hopes that he would identify himself and provide a clue as to why he'd asked for her by name.

-~8~-

She did not know him.

It was totally illogical, not to mention extremely surprising, when a sharp pang of disappointment made a small wince cross Simon's features. It was no use telling himself he should be ecstatic. The Muggle dentistry had apparently been worth the pain. All the effort involved in the judicious applications of potions, creams and other unmentionable magical arts to change his nose and skin tone had not been wasted. Simon's nose, to him at least, was still overlarge, but not hooked as it had been before. He barely refrained from running a finger over it even now to check. This was what he'd wanted. Anonymity was his for the keeping.

She did not know him. It was expected, and still he felt disappointed.

I am a bloody fool, it seems.

He tilted his head slightly and studied his pen pal for another brief second.

Now to confirm and compound it.

Glancing around only once to see if anyone else was in earshot, he simply said, "Sopohorous," and waited for her reaction.

Friend or foe, Hermione? Will we visit a quiet room, or will I be on my way to Azkaban?

-~8~-

Sopohorous.

She heard the name clearly, but it took a few precious seconds for the syllables to make sense.

"Simon?" Her voice came out far huskier than she intended, and Hermione hoped he didn't notice. The man standing before her was virtually unrecognizable in comparison to the memory of the man who had taught her. She searched his face for any sign of Professor Snape, something inside growing heavier with each passing moment.

Then she blinked, the frown that had been tugging at her mouth began to fade and her hand fell away from her wand. "You – I mean, follow me, please."

Hermione led the way, nodding reassuringly at the clerk who had fetched her earlier as they passed. Once inside her small office, she softly closed the door, then leaned back against it. Her gaze swept over him slowly, cataloging everything she saw as if there was a good chance that she might never see him again. By the time she looked up from his hands to his eyes, she welcomed the slight support of the door, as she felt like someone had hit her with a stunner.

"You have his eyes," came out in a breathy rush. "And his hands."

With a push away from the door, she stood up straighter and tried to calm her racing heart. "I didn't see it at first, but now... How did you –?" Her hand gestured toward Simon's face.

-~8~-

Simon, as he'd followed her, hadn't been able to take his eyes off Hermione's back and the gentle sway of her hips in trousers. Normally, he didn't approve of women wearing pants. His opinion had changed greatly during that short walk to what he assumed was her office.

Something inside Simon rebelled and struggled against a lifelong leash at her questions. He had denied being a romantic, and for the most part, he was able to subdue that part of his psyche with sarcastic comments and jibes toward others. It had been contained and controlled for forty years and was choosing now to flex its not inconsiderable muscle. Now was not the time for questions and more questions and the give and take of answers. Didn't she realize? Didn't she know?

This was the woman who had written him letters of bathtubs and bubbles and delights long suppressed. The husky sounding Simon had lit a small fire within his libido that had been fueled by the simple act of observing her walk.

"You have his eyes...and his hands," delivered in a tone that made Simon think of bedrooms and secrets, was the final tug that broke the leash.

Stepping forward, a hair's breath away from her, Simon placed one finger on her lips and shook his head while meeting her gaze. He damned the potion he'd taken to alter his voice and vowed not to say her name again until it had worn off.

"My eyes. My hands," Simon whispered before he replaced that finger with his lips, gently taking her mouth with his own.

I was right. As sweet as mead.

-~8~-

She hadn't expected him to move closer, definitely hadn't expected him to touch her. He'd whispered, and she'd had just a moment to mourn the difference between his voice and her memory before he was kissing her. Then there was no thinking, no ability to do anything more than feel his lips against hers in what might have been the sweetest kiss she'd ever been given.

Kissing Ron had always involved heavy breathing and tongues and over-active hormones, not gentle pressure and warmth and want.

For a moment she leaned closer, before drawing back slowly, remembering where they were.

"Why here?" Why now?

-~8~-

As her body brushed against his, Simon had almost brought his hands up to pull her as close as possible when she began to withdraw. Fully prepared to be slapped, or worse yet, laughed at, Simon was momentarily stunned with her simple question. Hermione hadn't spurned his advances, had seemed instead to almost welcome them. Relief and something akin to joy flooded the narrow confines of his throat and made him unable to speak. A hesitant smile finally filtered across his mouth as one hand lifted to gently brush the side of her face and move on to briefly taste the softness of one of the curls in her hair.

Why?

I don't quite recall.

"I... It no longer matters," Simon said truthfully as his hand finally lowered. Books were the furthest thing on his mind. They had always been there, and they would be yet again.

She might not.

It occurred to him that he should step back at least a pace and allow her the freedom to move where she chose, but he was loath to increase the distance between them when all he wanted was another taste of her lips and what lay beyond. His eyes lingered on them, and his own were lightly licked in an unconscious gesture of preparation.

"Before this blasted potion I've taken to change my voice wears off, do you think you could take the remainder of the day off and go somewhere a little more secure? Once there, I'll attempt to answer most of the million questions I'm sure are buzzing around that fuzzy haired head of yours," Simon said with a raised brow and a slight smile to soften the words.

-~8~-

"A little more secure?"

I did not just squeak. Did I?

When she'd written her last few letters, she had wanted nothing more than to spend some time alone with him, but that was when the entire concept had been words on paper and heated thoughts in the night. This was reality, and there was a flesh and blood man directly before her. A man who had just kissed her.

"A potion? You mean your voice will come back? Oh, thank God." She felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment and tried to cover for it by narrowing her eyes and glaring up at him. "My hair is not fuzzy! That is not the best way to convince me to skive off the rest of the afternoon."

-~8~-

His eyebrows rose slightly at her exclamation, and while it pleased him she apparently liked the timbre of his normal voice, Simon had to find a way to use it to his advantage if he wanted to get her out of the shop. He wasn't really worried about the glare she'd sent him. Simon had seen her level the same type of expression toward her two friends many, many times and they still lived.

Or so he'd heard.

The flush on her face he'd chalked up to youth. Then another, very disturbing, thought occurred he hadn't considered before.

That letter couldn't have been written by a virgin – could it?

Perhaps that's what caused the breakup between her and Weasley.

Parts of her last letter swirled through his brain, teasing, just out of reach.

Something about having to dance naked in the street, propositioning everyone before...

Oh, good gods. She might be one at that.

Stepping back a pace at last, Simon nodded his head and moved to sit on the edge of the desk with his legs slightly spread.

Temptation in another, more familiar, form?

"I've developed a slightly deviant form of the Polyjuice potion which affects only the vocal cords. Unfortunately, I seem to have – borrowed a hair from a bloody tenor," Simon advised with a trace of ire.

Picking up one of the books on her desk, he frowned and pretended to disapprove of the volume while setting it back down. Pulling a pocket watch, he noted the time.

"I have approximately three quarters of an hour left before I need to depart."

Raising his eyes to find hers while the watch was stowed away, Simon tilted his head and studied her hair through slightly narrowed eyes.

"I may have been mistaken about the texture. May I touch it again?" he asked, knowing full well her hair was soft to the touch and not frizzy at all. Simon made no move to leave his perch on the desk. He was waiting – waiting to see if she was willing to close the distance. His present position afforded him an excellent spot to observe and learn from her approach – if she chose to do so.

Which are you, Hermione?

An innocent, playing at being a woman, or my wicked, wanton little witch?

-~8~-

She glanced at the door behind her, unnecessarily confirming that it was shut; although why that seemed so important at the moment, she wasn't sure.

Hermione knew that while he might appear and sound relatively innocent, beyond the facade was Severus Snape. No one in their right mind would ever dare to call Severus Snape relatively innocent. Wily, yes. Brilliant, definitely. Dangerous, with utmost certainty.

She studied him once more, this time with a different eye, one that wasn't looking for hidden traces of the man behind the mask. His new appearance wasn't unattractive – most would probably say it was a vast improvement – but she wouldn't call him pretty. Handsome, perhaps.

Who are you trying to kid? You wouldn't have let him kiss you if you didn't find his appearance at least somewhat attractive. Wouldn't want to kiss him again, to see if it would be the same as before.

Slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wild animal, Hermione crept closer.

"I would be interested in seeing your developmental notes for this Polyjuice variant, if you wouldn't mind showing them to me." She paused just in front of where he was sitting, then took the final step to move between his spread feet. Then, before her burst of courage had a chance to dissipate, Hermione reached up to pull her reading glasses off the top of her head and leaned closer to toss them gently on the desktop, shaking the rest of her hair loose.

"Well?"

-~8~-

Watching her stealthy approach, Simon suddenly understood how a mouse would feel if Yorick were hunting. The Sorting Hat hadn't made an error in judgement. She was a lion through and through. There had been no hesitation in the slow crossing, merely an awareness which made Simon's brows draw together briefly. He may not have been her head of house, but he'd noticed something missing.

Where has the spontaneity, the excitement she held for this world, gone?

It used to branch and bristle out of her, especially the first year, much like lightning racing across the heavens.

It saddened him a trifle when he realized exactly where it had gone.

Into cold dark graves along with the dead.

A tiny quirk lifted the right hand corner of Simon's mouth when she asked about the potion. The bold step placing her feet between his made Simon think of the old nursey rhyme about the spider and the fly. The altered Polyjuice had been the lure, and he had her exactly where he wanted her to be.

Well, hell. Now what?

Simon felt a momentary surge of panic. This was entirely new territory. The ladies he was used to dealing with required no gentling, merely coin, to do as he wished. As he watched Hermione remove her glasses and shake out her hair, the panic grew.

Her "Well?" demanded some sort of action, and while Simon wasn't a lion, he did have a brain.

Romance. She said women like romance. I should have read those damned novels instead of burning them, tore through his fevered mind as he watched a hand rise to gently thread its way through the strands on one side of her hair. It was difficult to keep his eyes fixed on her face when they wanted to lower their gaze to try and catch a glimpse of cleavage.

If I can fool the Dark Lord into believing I'm a loyal follower, I can fool myself into thinking I can do this.

The other hand soon followed on the opposite side, and taking a chance that she wouldn't harm the part of his anatomy so completely exposed, his fingers soon found the softness of her skin. He didn't allow them to travel as far as he wanted, keeping them confined well above her shoulders.

"I've never been more wrong in my entire existence," he muttered softly and was horrified to realize he'd miscalculated the potion's endurance when his voice cracked and returned to normal in the middle of the last word.

Clearing his throat lightly, he snorted. "I should probably rephrase that, shouldn't I?"

-~8~-

There was no point in trying to contain the shiver that rippled through her when his true voice returned; it merely joined the goose flesh and prickles of awareness that had sprung up when Simon – Severus put his hands in her hair, touched her skin.

"Would – would you say my name?"

-~8~-

He'd noted the shiver, but attributed it to the cool air of the office and the lightness of her blouse, not his voice – until she asked him to say her name.

Say her name?

It can't be as easy as that – can it?

He almost opened his mouth to say it – when another thought occurred.

How the hell am I supposed to say it?

Softly?

Loudly?

By itself?

Well, fuck. This was a great deal easier on parchment.

Inspiration struck before too many seconds passed.

"What name would you have me call you?" he asked simply. "Siren? Temptress? Or merely – Hermione?"

-~8~-

Perversely, she'd half expected to hear him call her "Miss Granger".

Hermione found that she was extremely pleased with what he chose instead.

Siren. Temptress.

Her eyes fluttered closed briefly, the better to savor the rich timber of his voice, the way he seemed to caress each syllable. Especially her given name.

That's going to haunt me when I try to fall asleep tonight. There will be pleasant dreams, indeed.

Lips curled up in to a satisfied smile as she opened her eyes. "They're all lovely, but I think simply Hermione will suffice for now, Simon." She nibbled her lower lip for a moment, suddenly uncertain as to how she should address him.

"I know you go by Simon now, but I – Well, what would you have me call you?" Hermione echoed his question back to him.

-~8~-

I'm definitely slipping, Simon decided as he tore his gaze back to Hermione's face as her eyes opened. Simon, first and foremost a male, had discovered his eyes weren't always under his conscious control. When hers had closed, his had readily peeked into the opening of her blouse. His neck had cooperated as well, bringing the head slightly forward to obtain a better view. None had come away disappointed.

He had to swallow a snort when pervert flashed through his mind. A smaller version of her smile was reflected back, with a touch of sadness included. He'd daydreamed of pillow talk with this woman where she called him by his real name.

It's time to put the daydreams back where they belong. With her.

"Simon," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "Simon Sopohorous is who I am, and who I shall remain."

-~8~-

There was a brief stab of disappointment, but it wasn't difficult to overcome when she thought of all the letters she'd exchanged with "Simon" over the last several months.

Severus Snape was a man she had grown to respect and mourn; but Simon was the man who had slowly opened up to her in his letters, the one who had become her friend and tempted her more than she could ever admit now that he was actually here.

That they were, in fact, one in the same made no difference for now. Later, perhaps, if the circumstances were right.

He'd humored her silly request to hear her name; it was the least she could do to honor his. Hermione ignored the matter of fact voice in the back of her mind that mentioned she'd already let him touch her hair when he'd asked, and shouldn't that have made them even?

"Just Simon? I can't call you Nuisance, or My Personal Pain in the Arse?" Her smile deepened mischievously as she debated the wisdom of retreating across the room to safety.

She studied his face, looking for the first sign of danger, paying close attention to his mouth. "I suppose My Friend Simon is right out, too?" The smile faded just a hair as the tip of her tongue flicked out to moisten her lips.

"My Dear Simon," was breathed as Hermione gave in to the urge, closed her eyes and leaned forward to brush her lips against his.

This time she was ready for it and was determined to catalog every sensation and taste to analyze later that night when she was alone in her flat. Who knew when, or if, she'd ever have this chance again.

Both hands hesitantly landed on his shoulders to ensure her balance as she tilted her head just enough to better feel the firmness of his lips against the softness of her own, and Hermione made an inarticulate noise of appreciation.

-~8~-

One eyebrow had risen to lofty heights, and Simon's mouth had begun to open the slightest bit to retort, when Hermione pulled the dirtiest trick in the book out. She not only said, "My Dear Simon," in a smoky whisper designed to level the staunchest defense he'd managed to erect, she kissed him. Leaned forward, kissed him and made the most delicious sound imaginable.

No more than half a second of indecision passed before his were responding, softly seeking, asking for admittance. Since she'd taken the liberty of putting her hands on his shoulders, Simon's decided to travel to her waist. Once there, pulling her a touch closer seemed like a good idea. His arms protested slightly at their cramped position, so it was merely to relieve their discomfort that the hands traveled around to her back, where they splayed open.

A brief inner protest was thoroughly trounced and subdued by the simple pleasure his thumbs received when they decided to stroke the smooth expanse of Hermione's back.

No more daydreams, remember?

Not a damned dream... Shut up already!

-~8~-

It might have only taken him less than a second to respond, but it felt like eons as her mind screamed that she was making a huge mistake, that she was opening herself up for what would surely be an excruciating rejection, that he was surely going to push her away and...

And he was pulling her closer. The very hands that she'd fantasized about were open against her back, thumbs moving in a way that would surely drive her out of her mind if not for the sanity-saving material of her blouse to dull the sensation.

The thought of the warm glide of his hands against the bare skin of her back was enough to make Hermione groan unexpectedly. She crowded even closer, one hand sliding upward from his shoulder to tangle in his hair as she parted her lips to taste him. Where Simon's lips had softly sought permission, Hermione's demanded. The hand in his hair tugged slightly, a silent encouragement.

-~8~-

There had been occasions when Simon had asked to be dominated by the ladies he'd employed, but more often than not, time had been of greater importance than what he actually wanted. As he'd never kissed anyone who actually desired him, Simon was slightly taken aback by Hermione's aggressiveness. Not enough, however, to break the kiss or even consider not responding.

She'd challenged him in a way. No one challenged Simon and walked away unscathed. His lips firmed and took control of the kiss even as his grip tightened, one hand sliding up, the other down. Hermione tasted of forbidden delights, and while Simon was greedily contemplating the feast in store for him, there was still the question of her innocence.

Or lack thereof...

He'd been the butt of too many jokes, too many tricks, not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. Breaking the kiss, but not his hold on her body, Simon studied her face through heavy lidded eyes, which dropped to relish the look of her now swollen lips. His voice was slightly rough, passion glowing in the depths of his eyes as he finally spoke.

"Tell me this isn't a game, Miss Granger."

-~8~-

"If it is, I'm not familiar with the rules," she replied, a bit more breathlessly than she would have liked. Now that they were no longer kissing, Hermione became aware of the way her pulse was racing and the feel of Simon pressed against her body. He was solid, warm, and very, very male. Being this close to him was almost enough to make her lose her head, had already made her act impulsively in a way that was very un-Hermione. The urge to kiss him again was strong, to press against him, to rub against the unmistakable hardness against her belly. Strong enough to frighten her.

Hermione tried to step back, needing to put some distance between them so that she could clear her head, and for a moment Simon's hold held fast, resisting her retreat.

For just a split second, there was another kind of fear in her heart as she looked into the eyes of a predator who could very well devour her whole if she wasn't careful. Then he released her, and she stepped out from between his legs.

"I probably shouldn't have done that. You go to my head. I wasn't expecting that." As her words tumbled out of her mouth, Hermione ran both hands through her hair, nervously pulling it back and twisting it into some semblance of a bun.

-~8~-

The right corner of Simon's mouth twitched slightly when Hermione made her admission. He sat passively, patiently waiting while she donned her "armor," recognizing the need to feel secure and in control. If his eyes wandered other places while her arms were raised to fix that armor into place, it was the fault of the tailor who made the blouse, was it not?

When she'd finished fussing with her hair, Simon slid slowly off the desk and took a step closer. He'd recognized the flash of fear in her eyes and released her accordingly. The brief notion to use her desk in a fashion it was never designed for would have to wait for another day.

A finger of his right hand lifted her chin just enough for him to plant an almost chaste kiss on her lips. At the last possible moment, his teeth grazed the full bottom one in a promise.

"Nor did I, Hermione. Nor did I," he advised quietly while raising his hand to brush the side of her hair. "Next time – and there will be a next time, since you've assured me this isn't a game – allow me to release the bolt on your armor."

Glancing around her office, one corner of his mouth lifted, and he couldn't help teasing her in his own fashion.

"I should probably leave and let you tend to business. How many poor souls are out there languishing in misery while waiting for their books because you're – entertaining me?"

-~8~-

Release the bolt of my armor?

The puzzling phrase was quickly forgotten as the rest of his words registered. Had he really thought she might be playing with him?

If anyone should be worried about being played the fool in this situation, it should be she.

But he was affected just as much as I was.

That knowledge gave her the inner strength to draw a deep breath and return his smile. "Most of our customers' requests are filled by my very competent staff. Only a select few manage to find their way onto my desk." Poor word choice, Hermione. She knew her skin was heating in embarrassment and hated it.

"Only the most irritating and annoying, really. Which is how I ended up writing to you, I believe."

-~8~-

Her words brought a laugh, short and sweet, from Simon's throat as he cast a glance over his shoulder and then back. If she knew what his plans for that desk had been a short time before...

A slap on the face would be the least of my worries, I'm sure.

Romance. Women want romance, do they? What would be...

No, if I tried a dip – I'd probably drop her and then fall on top of her.

Deciding the desk had proved to be an admirable supporting cast member, Simon considered trying to sweep Hermione off her feet and placing her there before kissing her senseless.

She doesn't look like she weighs a lot, but there was that one woman who almost broke my back in...

She'd most likely detect a Levitating Charm and be insulted, so that's right out.

Deciding to play it a bit safer, Simon held out his hand instead. Hermione looked at it for a moment, then back up at him and then took it. Leading her back to the desk, Simon placed both hands firmly on her waist and lifted her the short distance needed.

"My turn," Simon said with an enigmatic smile as he moved her legs to either side of his and swooped in for a good-bye kiss. His hands had moved to hold her head as his mouth, not asking this time, plundered and sought the sweetness of hers.

Reluctantly releasing her, Simon smiled again and backed up a step.

"Until next time, Hermione."

-~8~-

"Right. Next time."

Next time? Oh, thank goodness. She pressed the fingers of one hand against her lips, which were tilted up in a bemused smile as he walked out her office door. As it slowly began to swing shut, she caught the eye of Mister Fitzgerald and realized she was still perched atop her desk.

Hermione offered a sickly wave and hopped off, flushing a deep red up all the way to the roots of her hair.

"All right, that probably wasn't the best way to handle that," she muttered to herself as she took her seat behind the desk. "I can't be locking myself in my office with an attractive man while I'm supposed to be working; what will the others think? They'll think I'm fooling around in here, getting kissed to within an inch of my life, and ... that's not a good example to set for the staff."

She nodded once and reached for her pen and daily diary, quickly scribbling a note into the organizer. "Note to self: Stop wearing threadbare laundry day pants to work. Just in case."