Part Fifteen

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 Darned Child's hubby from overseas has delayed it somewhat. We hope you enjoy.

Lariope, I send you a million kisses with all my thanks.

People – die!

I can never change a bloody thing. Not one bloody little thing.

Even knowing that it would be unwelcome, Hermione dropped to her knees beside Simon and offered what comfort she could. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled his head to her chest like a mother seeking to calm her child.

"I know." Hermione rubbed her cheek against the top of Simon's head. "I know."

-~8~-

Simon allowed the unaccustomed embrace for a time, never admitting it was a balm to his tattered soul, and then gently pulled away while keeping his eyes fixed on the floor. Taking a deep breath, his gaze finally sought hers.

"If this was the sort of coddling you despised, you're not as intelligent as your press makes out," Simon told her with an elevated brow while rising to his feet and then holding out a hand to help her. "Although, I must admit being held tight to the bosom of an attractive witch probably only works on the male of the species."

-~8~-

"The coddling I hated," Hermione began as she took his hand, "came from well-intentioned strangers and various people in authority who thought they knew what was best for me, not from people who..." Her voice trailed off as Simon helped haul her to her feet, pulled her close, and wrapped his arms around her once more.

"Not from people who care," she finished, speaking into the front of his jumper, preferring not to see the look in his eyes when she admitted that she cared about Simon.

"You're probably right; the allure of an attractive bosom is lost on me. I would gladly endure a pair of strong arms and a firm – but not too muscular – yet definitely male chest over a heaving bosom any day."

-~8~-

One of Simon's hands moved and raised her chin enough to see her eyes, and a small smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"You do care, don't you?" he asked with a slightly puzzled look on his face.

His thumb rose and lightly caressed her bottom lip.

"You – are so different from me, and yet you still care, and aren't afraid to admit that you do. I should leave you unsullied by my hand, but I don't have the strength to walk away from the temptation that is Hermione Granger," he said while leaning down and replacing his thumb with his mouth. Simon's hand slid into her hair, holding her close, while his lips and tongue gently explored the contours and depths of hers.

-~8~-

She wasn't sure what he meant by "unsullied," not the definition of the word, but why he felt that his hand – his touch – could defile her in some way.

He was correct in saying that they were different. As different as night and day on the surface – and yet upon closer inspection, she and Simon were more alike than Hermione would have thought possible. Rather than chase her away, their differences had drawn her closer.

Simon had accepted her admission, her declaration of affection, and while he hadn't returned the sentiment in so many words, he had not rebuffed her. Hermione did not fancy herself in love with him, and she did not harbor any delusion that Simon might love her; but the gentle way he held her sometimes, the soft kisses that slipped into unexpected moments, and the way he allowed her to probe into his privacy without reaching for his wand or flaying her with his tongue... To Hermione, those things spoke of his feelings toward her. In his own way, Simon cared for her.

That revelation, coupled with her earlier desire to comfort him, eased whatever nerves she might still have had.

The kiss continued for a long moment, and when they finally parted, Hermione slowly opened her eyes and met his. "I don't want you to walk away."

-~8~-

Simon's brain fought for clarity as the maelstrom of feelings vying for dominance in his chest threatened to smother him. Guilt, remorse and fear were waging a fierce battle against the newcomers Hermione had introduced into his life. Care and concern were no match for such embedded veterans, and they slowly lost precious ground. So many words hovered on the edge of Simon's tongue, it was almost impossible to breathe. He'd already basically collapsed on her floor, and as he didn't want to do it again, Simon forced himself to take long slow breaths.

Hermione didn't want him to walk away, and yet she should be running away from him as fast as she was able. Simon didn't tell her this as he thought it would only strengthen her resolve to help him. He was also quite afraid that she might actually take the advice and show him the door.

"For tonight – it might be best?"

Simon had intended it to be a statement – but he realized as he spoke it was as close as he could come to a plea.

-~8~-

"If that's what you want," she replied softly. "But I would rather you stayed."

Hermione held out her hand, hoping he'd take it. "Tonight, the choice is yours. Do we say goodnight now, or will you stay? I promise – no more difficult questions for the night."

She wiggled her fingers slightly. "Please, stay, at least for a little while longer – for me."

-~8~-

A beautiful, young witch wanted him – Severus Snape – to remain with her in her home. Possibly for the night. Some small part of him was telling him he was insane to even think of leaving. The greatest majority was still urging him to leave and leave now.

The fingers on the hand beckoning to him were slender, and the hand itself – was so small in comparison to his own. Taking it shouldn't have given him a moment's pause, and yet it did. The tight band of anxiety still wound around his lungs relaxed a trifle when Hermione promised there would be an end to the inquisition. Feeling as though he was struggling to make the crest of a mountain, Simon finally put his hand in hers and then almost withdrew it when he realized his was ice cold.

"I – for a while," he said while dropping his eyes to the floor.

"Yorick, the stupid chicken, will want his mouse sooner or later."

-~8~-

She suspected that Yorick would be able to take care of himself for the night, if there was a need, but didn't dare voice the thought. Simon was – well, she wasn't sure how to describe how Simon was acting at the moment, but if it were anyone else, she might have used the terms "fragile" or "ready to bolt."

He had taken her hand, though, and that was enough for now.

"I wouldn't want Yorick to go hungry."

Hermione gently tugged on his hand, leading him back toward the sofa they had abandoned earlier. "Come sit with me." She urged him to settle on the cushions, then curled up against him. Normally she might have waited to see if he would make the first move, but this time Hermione took the liberty of burrowing under his arm to press against his side. Her cheek found a home on his shoulder as she tried to project relaxing thoughts toward Simon.

"I've been dying to do this all evening."

-~8~-

Simon literally, but gently, bit his tongue when Hermione led him to the sofa.

Am I now a child to be led around and –

When and why did all this become so complicated? he asked himself as she snuggled up next to his side. It wasn't unpleasant, far from it, but it wasn't what he was used to. It took some time for the stiffness in his posture to begin to relax, and as it did, the scent from Hermione's hair had his head turning in order to obtain a stronger sample of whatever it was she used. It didn't clash with the vanilla scent she wore, but it was different enough to send his mind spinning off into the whys and hows of attempting to make a shampoo.

Oh, good gods.

I'm sitting on a sofa with a young, attractive female – and I'm trying to invent a fucking shampoo!

Not knowing if he was angrier with himself for acting like a boring old fart or with Hermione for the way the whole evening had gone, Simon put his free hand under her chin and tilted her face toward him.

"Where were we when that wonderful neighbor of yours so rudely interrupted?" he asked with a dangerous lift to one brow. Leaning closer, Simon stared into Hermione's eyes for a moment. "About here, I think," he said before lowering his mouth to hers.

-~8~-

Hermione had begun to wonder if he were ever going to relax. Sitting patiently and doing nothing had never been her forte. The only reason she hadn't tried to summon a book was because she had realized this would be her chance to familiarize herself with his scent, the weight of his arm around her, little things that she could never quite focus on for more than a moment when they were kissing. For once in her life, Hermione had been content to wait.

She had hoped that her uncharacteristic patience would be rewarded.

When he had lifted her chin, she knew it would be.

She let him initiate the kiss, allowed him to deepen it at his leisure. Simon was just as strong willed – bossy – as she was, and Hermione saw nothing wrong in letting him lead the way.

For a moment, at least.

Eventually, perhaps a few minutes or less later, Hermione opened her eyes and grinned up at him. "Actually," she offered in a soft, husky voice that was quite unlike the one she used to correct the boys or her staff at the store, "I think we were somewhere a bit closer to here."

Then, Hermione turned and knelt on the cushion of the sofa just long enough to slide her weight onto Simon's lap, one knee on either side of him and her bottom on his thighs.

She looked down, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she considered their new position. "Still not... Oh!"

Hermione reached between them and quickly slipped the first few buttons free on her blouse, pausing when the first hint of lace appeared, then her fingers freed two more. She tilted her head and looked at Simon, her new resting place making up a majority of the difference in their heights.

"Better?"

-~8~-

Hermione had surprised him with her actions, and while they were far from unwelcome, there was still the feminine minefield of "romance" to pick his way though. Simon was fairly certain that if he did what he normally did with the ladies he hired, Hermione would bolt off his lap and possibly leave a stinging slap or a hex behind. Not that he did anything perverted, far from it, but their bodies he had basically bought and paid for – at least for a short time. This one – he hadn't.

He was considering a slow unbuttoning of the rest of Hermione's blouse when he remembered her reactions when he had first arrived, before the annoying Mrs Carmichael had inserted her odious presence into their evening. The witch in his arms – and then lap – hadn't been adverse to his touch. Sliding his hands under the material of her skirt, Simon followed the outside length of her thighs until they met at her arse. Pulling her closer, close enough to put a slight pressure on the ache she was causing, made a small smile appear on the mouth that was heading for her neck.

"Preferred," he said gruffly, just before he found the soft spot below her ear.

-~8~-

If this was merely "preferable," then Hermione had no clue what she would have to do to earn his enthusiasm. I suppose if he's just not that interested, then I could call the whole thing off and se...

And then his lips and mouth did something that seemed to momentarily short circuit her cognitive skills, leaving her capable of thinking nothing more complex than "Feels good."

She might have actually said it out loud, in retrospect.

Hermione felt warm and incapable of sitting still. She didn't want to remove herself from his lap. Didn't want to rush them by pressing herself harder against his length, although she was acutely aware of how close they were and how very easy it would be to...

No! No rushing! If the worst happened, if tonight was a one-time thing, if one of them decided that whatever they had between them wasn't worth the effort and moved on, Hermione wanted to be able to look back to this night with fondness in her heart.

And heat in your loins, let's be honest, Hermione. Knowing you, it could be years before another man makes you feel like this; you'll need all the memories you can hoard to get through the dry patch. Now stop thinking and start going after what you want.

Her inner monologue had an excellent point.

She felt the muscles in her thighs flex, squeezing Simon's hips between them. Felt her buttocks tighten under his hands as she fought the urge to squirm.

While she was still – technically – dressed, Simon had access to all sorts of interesting places on her person, and Hermione had none. That wouldn't do, not at all.

She moved both hands low between them and under his jumper to slide against the warm skin she found there. As her hands rose, so did the jumper, until his arms kept the material from going any higher.

"Help, Simon." It wasn't a demand, but it was close.

-~8~-

Since whores didn't ask for their clients to disrobe unless the client asked for something specific that required it, Simon's chest – and his various imperfections – had never been seen by another person, male or female. Hermione wasn't asking for the world, merely the removal of his jumper. The jumper that hid the scarring left behind by Voldemort's beloved Nagini. The jumper that covered the molted, discolored skin where the Dark Mark had tainted his skin for so long. While neither were hideous, they were still there.

Simon's upper arms tightened against his sides in reflex. Leaning back, his chin rose a trifle as his eyes sought Hermione's. Would she be repulsed? Worse yet, would she pity him?

"I was unable to prevent scarring," he said quietly. "If you'd prefer, I can easily douse the lights from here."

-~8~-

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the haze surrounding her brain. It helped that his mouth was no longer against her skin.

Her hands stilled against his chest, the weight of his jumper against the back of her wrists.

"I never assumed you were perfect, Simon." She looked down at her own chest, still mostly hidden by the partially unbuttoned blouse and slowly withdrew her hands from him. "Neither am I."

Very few people had seen her own scar, and most of them had been medical professionals of some sort. Hermione wasn't ashamed of the scar that she had received as a result of Dolohov's curse in the Department of Mysteries, but she was fully aware that it wasn't an attractive sight.

She finished releasing the buttons on her blouse and pulled the left lapel to the side just enough to expose the cup of her bra and the puckered, faded scar tissue that peeked out from beneath the underwire to trail a few inches down her ribs.

"If it would be better for you to have the lights off, I would understand." Hermione lifted her head and met his gaze. Her hands slid back under his jumper. "But don't do it on my account."

-~8~-

Simon had long ago acknowledged the fact he was selfish, but to have forgotten so completely what had been done in the Dark Lord's name against children...

They shall pay.

After pulling the jumper over his head and discarding it on the floor, Simon purposely kept his eyes lowered. If there was any pity in Hermione's eyes at the first glimpse of his scars, he didn't want to see it. The front closing clasp of the garment Hermione wore didn't puzzle him overlong, and soon the sweet weight of her breasts warmed the skin of his palms. One long finger traced the blemish on her flesh as he asked, "Whose hand is forfeit?"

-~8~-

Hermione shuddered. She wasn't sure if it was the feel of his hands against her breasts or because of the deadly serious way he had asked his question, his tone making her believe that he would personally hunt down the man who had hurt her and make him pay.

It frightened her almost as much as it made her feel oddly cherished.

As her gaze settled on the left side of his neck and she took in the devastation that Nagini had wrought, Hermione knew exactly how Simon felt. Rage filled her for a moment, made her wish that Voldemort were still alive so that she might be the one to cast the Avada herself, because he dared to hurt the man before her.

With a deep breath that settled her breast more fully into his hands, Hermione took in the scent of her Simon and released her anger. Her hands trailed across his chest, tangling in the light smattering of dark hair before rising upward to rest on his shoulders. The fingers of her right hand lightly brushed against his scar in much the same way he had touched hers.

"It was Dolohov, my fifth year. They were able to repair most of the internal damage; they say the scar is the worst of it now, but sometimes my chest will hurt if I push myself too hard, for too long."

Hermione continued to look at him, her hands following her gaze across his newly exposed skin. Fingers drifted across the discolored area that must have once been his mark before continuing on to his hands. Her own pressed against the back of his for a moment, then began their return journey to Simon's chest.

"It would be rude to wolf whistle, wouldn't it?"

Simon choked, and Hermione was worried that he was offended until she realized he was very nearly laughing. She grinned, relieved that the mood in the room had taken a turn for the better, and slid off his lap to stand.

She shrugged out of her shirt and bra, letting them fall to the floor unnoticed, and reached for his hand. "You know what we need right now? A bubble bath."

**********