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darnedchild) wrote2010-01-28 02:33 pm
darnedchild) wrote2010-01-28 02:33 pm
Beyond 84 Charing Cross Road - Part 22
Summary: Devsgma and Darnedchild have combined their talents to tell you the story of what has happened to our favorite pair. It starts with a few letters from one extremely grouchy potions maker to the manager of a used book store. Canon through Deathy Hallows to the point of Severus Snape's supposed death at which point it becomes AU. This fic is a collaborative effort and was originally born from an aborted RP that never quite made it off the ground.
Rating: PG13 (possible R)
A/N - Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.
Beyond 84 Charing Cross Road
Part 22
There was a rumble under her ear, a guttural groan that couldn't have been classified as a word by anyone.
It was, however, a response, and that was enough to jerk Hermione away from Simon's chest.
"What is it? Was it Harry? Yorick? What – Severus?" She had hoped that something she had said had been enough to begin to break through whatever was holding Simon under, but when he didn't react again, Hermione felt her frustration and worry overwhelm her.
She stood, trembling, beside his chair. "Open your eyes. Talk to me. Something."
Another moment passed without a sound or a twitch, and Hermione knew she was losing him. Truly losing him.
"Damn it, Severus, come back to me!" Her open hand flew to his cheek and connected in an uncontrolled burst of movement. Immediately, her fingers throbbed and stung, and Hermione let loose with a string of half-sobbed curse words punctuated by his name, over and over.
-~8~-
One moment Simon had been running through a gray landscape searching for Hermione and the next he was listening to her curse and wondering why the hell the side of his face hurt. He kept his eyes closed, not moving while he tried to take stock of where – and more importantly – when he was.
My face hurts.
It actually hurts.
There was no pain there, no hunger.
Without moving his head, Simon opened his eyes and saw what he’d half expected. He was still in his flat.
“Minerva would be properly horrified if she could hear her star Gryffindor swearing like a fishwife,” he commented softly before raising a hand to touch the side of his face. “Myself, I’m merely glad to actually hear another voice besides my own. How long was I – absent?”
-~8~-
To her credit, Hermione did not scream at the sound of his voice. She did jerk a bit, more of a flail if one wanted to be honest, but she did manage to contain the scream that nearly escaped her lips.
"I believe Minerva is going to be horrified enough, as it is." Hermione winced as he touched his face, although she couldn't bring herself to regret hitting him if that was what had brought him out of the – the whatever it was.
"You were out long enough to cause me more than a little concern." The rough edges in her tone underscored her words. "But not long enough for me to make good on my threat to fetch Harry. Although it was a close thing."
Now that he was awake, she didn't have a clue what to do.
"How are you feeling, now? Are you all right? Anything feel strange, different? Any weakness?" Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, then sank to her knees beside the chair once more. "What happened, Simon?"
-~8~-
All he wanted to do was listen to the sound of Hermione’s voice and reacquaint himself with the flat. He’d been gone for years, at least it seemed that way, and it was all so – strange but very familiar at the same time. A small smile touched the corner of his mouth and his hands reached out to pull Hermione back on his lap.
She’d asked how he was feeling and the truth was – Simon didn’t know. His chest felt lighter somehow, as if a heavy weight had been removed, and he didn’t quite trust the feeling. The weight had been there so long and taken for granted that its absence was wrong. Until he found out exactly what was going on Simon decided to hedge his bets.
“Dumbledore happened,” he said simply. “But the brightest witch of her age circumvented the little trap he’d laid for me. How did you figure out the release phrase?”
As he gazed at her Simon realized that, but for her, he would probably have spent the remainder of his life trapped inside his own mind. The years spent there, unable to communicate with anyone, would surely have driven him completely insane. Death would have been a welcome visitor when it finally came to claim him.
His arms tightened around her until she was cradled close to his chest. Simon’s head dropped to place a kiss on the top of hers. He realized, at long last, that he had managed to find a true friend in every sense of the word. One that truly cared what happened to him.
“Thank you,” was whispered into the soft strands of her hair.
“I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”
-~8~-
There had been no thought of protest when he pulled her into his lap, nor when he pulled her closer still.
"One of us should check to make sure there isn't any lingering traces of Dumbledore's spell clinging to you." Hermione tilted her head back to look at him, momentarily distracted. "What do you mean, release phrase?"
-~8~-
Now he was the one completely confused and as he pulled back to meet her gaze Simon’s eyebrows drew together.
“You didn’t… I thought – You said you needed me.”
-~8~-
“I did." The words tumbled out before Hermione could even think of trying to censor them. "I do."
She could feel her skin flush with heat, and the urge to hide her face against his shirt was strong, but Hermione settled for focusing her eyes on Simon's lower lip.
"I do."
-~8~-
"You do," was repeated softly while a thousand pins and needles pierced the numbness that had invaded his chest. It made it difficult to breathe and he didn't understand what was happening. It finally lessened and he found that tiredness had flow away and left behind a burning desire. A burning desire to make the flush on Hermione's face appear for a far different reason. His hands rose to cup either side of her face and he marveled again at her softness as his thumbs traced the fine jaw.
"As do I," he stated, but in a much deeper tone. A tone filled with want and the smoke of need.
-~8~-
He needed her?
It has to be his recent trauma talking, the insecure portion of Hermione's mind tried to reason even as she melted at his tone.
There was so much that needed to be done, quickly. Minerva would be demanding answers. Simon really did need to be examined by someone more qualified than she. Probably a dozen other things that would need attending to, and for this moment, Hermione couldn't bring herself to care too much.
Simon needed her.
She rubbed her cheek against the palm of one of his hands. "I'm not leaving until I'm certain you are all right, no one should be able to find me here." Which would only infuriate Minerva all the more.
Both of her hands moved, restless, against his chest, before one settled over his heart. "It might be best if we got you out of this chair and moved you to someplace where you could stretch out and relax." Someplace where she could curl up against his side and reassure herself that he was safe and whole and very much hers to care for, for now at least. "Do you feel up to it?"
-~8~-
The coldly logical part of Simon that had been cultivated and perfected over the years wanted to tell Hermione he was perfectly fine and didn't require a nursemaid. Literally biting his tongue helped stem the flow of words he was sure would send her fleeing home. Instead a small smile, which served as his version of a broad grin, appeared on his mouth while one eyebrow rose.
"I feel up for a number of things, my dear Hermione. Which would you propose we attempt first?"
-~8~-
Surely he wasn't...
"First," she purred as she eased off of Simon's lap, "I propose that we get you into bed, get you out of your restrictive clothing and then... Then I do some spellwork to try to reassure myself that you won't be falling back under Dumbledore's spell anytime soon. Then I'm going to have to come up with an explanation for Minerva as to why Dumbledore's portrait is now a mound of smoldering ash. Good riddance to bad rubbish."
Hermione took a deep breath, and let it out with a hopeful smile. "And finally, after that mess has been dealt with well enough that we don't have to worry about over-eager Aurors breathing down my neck, or yours... Then, I propose that I join you in bed, assuming you're still there and didn't get up the moment my back was turned."
-~8~-
One of Simon's eyebrows rose while his head tilted slightly to the left.
"You are a bossy wench, aren't you?" he asked in one of his driest tones. "It's a wonder the other two thirds of your trio didn't revolt and drown you, but I rather imagine they were intelligent enough to realize they would never have survived without your guidance."
Heaving a large sigh, Simon rose and held out his hand.
"Do with me what you will for now, my dear, but I give you fair warning." Simon advised with a small smile. "Once the dreary details are swept under the nearest carpet, it will be my turn to rule."
-~8~-
She took his hand, relieved that he was willing to cooperate. For now.
"It's more a wonder that I didn't smother either of them in their sleep. Trust me, toward the end of that extended hell of a camping trip, the urge to do bodily harm was nearly ever present." Hermione lead Severus to bed and began removing his clothing as gently as possible, just in case.
"Not to mention all of the times I wanted to swat one or the other of them over the head during our school years. Sheer force of will alone is all that saved them, really. Pajamas?"
-~8~-
Far from being annoyed at Hermione’s fussing, Simon was slightly amused at her assumption that he was in some way incapacitated. He wasn’t used to such attentions and found to his great delight that allowing her to finish disrobing him wasn’t painful in the slightest. The soft fingers and hands that occasionally brushed his skin were welcomed and cherished.
“Pajamas?” he questioned while both brows rose in what for him was an expression of disbelief. “No, I don’t believe they’ll be necessary.”
Leaving his briefs on, Simon slid beneath the sheets and rolled on one side to face Hermione. An elbow braced on the bed served to raise him enough that he didn’t feel the invalid as he addressed her.
“As far as what Minerva is told, the closer to the truth the better. She could be advised you were merely asking questions about incidents prior to his death; he became agitated and suddenly the portrait burst into flame. If she thinks to cast a revealing spell on what remains, I did manage to remove all traces of the spells I placed on the portrait before we left. She will more than likely conclude it was another one of Albus’ safequards in case the portrait fell into The – Voldemort’s hands.”
Here Simon’s eyes narrowed and his chin lifted slightly.
“In fact, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to suggest the idea to her in a roundabout fashion. Don’t indicate it’s what you believe,” he cautioned gently while slowly nodding his head. “Ask if she thinks it could be something along those lines.”
-~8~-
Hermione refused to let herself be distracted by the sight of Simon in only his briefs. As difficult as that was.
"I'd almost forgotten what a sneaky bastard you can be," she replied, affection turning the words into something other than an insult. "Hold still, please. I think I can handle Minerva and lead her in the direction we want."
Her wand glided over his sheet covered form in one pattern after the next, soft lyrical spells slipping past Hermione's lips with each one.
All of the diagnostic spells seemed to agree that there was no sign of anything life-threatening, but that didn't stop her from drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and worrying it. Most of the spells found nothing at all, which should have reassured her, but two of them had found something.
Some sort of residual magic, old and radiating an aura that was almost familiar to Hermione. She had seen it – or something similar – before, but where was the question.
The most pressing issue, whether or not Simon was likely to have a relapse, had been answered. The other issue was a puzzle that her mind would continue to struggle with until the answer presented itself, she was sure.
She forced the worry from her face and tucked away her wand. "I think you'll live, for now. I need to get back to the castle before Minerva discovers the damage, if I'm not already too late. Please, stay in bed until I get back." She didn't wait to see if he would object to her intention to return, Apparating away the moment she could, on a mission to get back as quickly as possible.
-~8~-
As soon as the outer door closed behind Hermione, Simon was out of bed and across the room. A drawer of the bureau, known only to him, was quietly opened and – while a single sheet of paper was ignored for the moment – a torn photograph was removed. The woman in it was laughing and occasionally a brief glimpse of a child whipping back and forth could be seen, but Simon’s eyes lingered not on the child. A scarred and calloused fingertip traced the outline of her face, lips and eyes before the photograph was placed gently on the bed.
His gaze never left it as he pulled trousers and a jumper from the wardrobe and threw them on. Slippers were jammed on Simon’s feet without the thought of socks being donned first. The photo was picked up while he turned and sat down on the side of the unmade bed.
Spending so much time with the distraught and weeping Lily had awakened a hunger to see the smiling face she’d left behind and it had taken quite a bit of resolve not to pull it out in front of Hermione. Simon knew she was aware he‘d been in love with Lily at one time, but as the subject had never been explored, he was sure his friend – lover – was ignorant of the fact he was still and forever deeply in love with another woman.
As he gazed on Lily’s smiling features, a small frown appeared between his brows. There was – something – not right. Simon turned the picture over and studied it from all angles. It appeared to have been unaltered since the last time he’d devoured the repeating smiles, laughter and sweet, sweet gleam of those beautiful green eyes.
As the lighting in the bedroom was inadequate, Simon rose and moved into the sitting room. Walking toward his chair, and the brighter light from the fire, he continued to examine the photo.
“Yorick, has there ever been any research done on how long Wizarding photos last? Does the magic wear out, down or end if the maker dies?” a worried Simon asked. He really didn’t expect an answer, but it helped to say the words. He’d never heard of such a thing happening with Wizarding photographs, but then this particular photo was the only one he’d really paid any attention to.
Sitting down, he studied the laughing woman a little more closely. As he did so, Simon realized that the crushing anguish he usually felt when looking at it was absent. The knowledge he’d never talk to or touch her again didn’t make him ill as it had in the past. Glancing once at Yorick to see if the bird was paying any heed, Simon looked inward for the first time in a long time to touch those feelings. His eyes glazed slightly as memories were hauled out and examined. While a soft feeling of what he knew was the love he bore for Lily was there, the pain wasn’t.
“Dumbledore,” he muttered softly. “When Hermione used the release words, she broke… She broke the guilt he’d laid upon my sorry head. There will be no more nightmares.”
Simon’s head relaxed against the back of his chair and his eyes closed. A small smile played about his mouth before he whispered, “No more nightmares.”
Part 1 / Part 23
Rating: PG13 (possible R)
A/N - Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.
Part 22
There was a rumble under her ear, a guttural groan that couldn't have been classified as a word by anyone.
It was, however, a response, and that was enough to jerk Hermione away from Simon's chest.
"What is it? Was it Harry? Yorick? What – Severus?" She had hoped that something she had said had been enough to begin to break through whatever was holding Simon under, but when he didn't react again, Hermione felt her frustration and worry overwhelm her.
She stood, trembling, beside his chair. "Open your eyes. Talk to me. Something."
Another moment passed without a sound or a twitch, and Hermione knew she was losing him. Truly losing him.
"Damn it, Severus, come back to me!" Her open hand flew to his cheek and connected in an uncontrolled burst of movement. Immediately, her fingers throbbed and stung, and Hermione let loose with a string of half-sobbed curse words punctuated by his name, over and over.
One moment Simon had been running through a gray landscape searching for Hermione and the next he was listening to her curse and wondering why the hell the side of his face hurt. He kept his eyes closed, not moving while he tried to take stock of where – and more importantly – when he was.
My face hurts.
It actually hurts.
There was no pain there, no hunger.
Without moving his head, Simon opened his eyes and saw what he’d half expected. He was still in his flat.
“Minerva would be properly horrified if she could hear her star Gryffindor swearing like a fishwife,” he commented softly before raising a hand to touch the side of his face. “Myself, I’m merely glad to actually hear another voice besides my own. How long was I – absent?”
To her credit, Hermione did not scream at the sound of his voice. She did jerk a bit, more of a flail if one wanted to be honest, but she did manage to contain the scream that nearly escaped her lips.
"I believe Minerva is going to be horrified enough, as it is." Hermione winced as he touched his face, although she couldn't bring herself to regret hitting him if that was what had brought him out of the – the whatever it was.
"You were out long enough to cause me more than a little concern." The rough edges in her tone underscored her words. "But not long enough for me to make good on my threat to fetch Harry. Although it was a close thing."
Now that he was awake, she didn't have a clue what to do.
"How are you feeling, now? Are you all right? Anything feel strange, different? Any weakness?" Hermione forced herself to take a deep breath, then sank to her knees beside the chair once more. "What happened, Simon?"
All he wanted to do was listen to the sound of Hermione’s voice and reacquaint himself with the flat. He’d been gone for years, at least it seemed that way, and it was all so – strange but very familiar at the same time. A small smile touched the corner of his mouth and his hands reached out to pull Hermione back on his lap.
She’d asked how he was feeling and the truth was – Simon didn’t know. His chest felt lighter somehow, as if a heavy weight had been removed, and he didn’t quite trust the feeling. The weight had been there so long and taken for granted that its absence was wrong. Until he found out exactly what was going on Simon decided to hedge his bets.
“Dumbledore happened,” he said simply. “But the brightest witch of her age circumvented the little trap he’d laid for me. How did you figure out the release phrase?”
As he gazed at her Simon realized that, but for her, he would probably have spent the remainder of his life trapped inside his own mind. The years spent there, unable to communicate with anyone, would surely have driven him completely insane. Death would have been a welcome visitor when it finally came to claim him.
His arms tightened around her until she was cradled close to his chest. Simon’s head dropped to place a kiss on the top of hers. He realized, at long last, that he had managed to find a true friend in every sense of the word. One that truly cared what happened to him.
“Thank you,” was whispered into the soft strands of her hair.
“I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”
There had been no thought of protest when he pulled her into his lap, nor when he pulled her closer still.
"One of us should check to make sure there isn't any lingering traces of Dumbledore's spell clinging to you." Hermione tilted her head back to look at him, momentarily distracted. "What do you mean, release phrase?"
Now he was the one completely confused and as he pulled back to meet her gaze Simon’s eyebrows drew together.
“You didn’t… I thought – You said you needed me.”
“I did." The words tumbled out before Hermione could even think of trying to censor them. "I do."
She could feel her skin flush with heat, and the urge to hide her face against his shirt was strong, but Hermione settled for focusing her eyes on Simon's lower lip.
"I do."
"You do," was repeated softly while a thousand pins and needles pierced the numbness that had invaded his chest. It made it difficult to breathe and he didn't understand what was happening. It finally lessened and he found that tiredness had flow away and left behind a burning desire. A burning desire to make the flush on Hermione's face appear for a far different reason. His hands rose to cup either side of her face and he marveled again at her softness as his thumbs traced the fine jaw.
"As do I," he stated, but in a much deeper tone. A tone filled with want and the smoke of need.
He needed her?
It has to be his recent trauma talking, the insecure portion of Hermione's mind tried to reason even as she melted at his tone.
There was so much that needed to be done, quickly. Minerva would be demanding answers. Simon really did need to be examined by someone more qualified than she. Probably a dozen other things that would need attending to, and for this moment, Hermione couldn't bring herself to care too much.
Simon needed her.
She rubbed her cheek against the palm of one of his hands. "I'm not leaving until I'm certain you are all right, no one should be able to find me here." Which would only infuriate Minerva all the more.
Both of her hands moved, restless, against his chest, before one settled over his heart. "It might be best if we got you out of this chair and moved you to someplace where you could stretch out and relax." Someplace where she could curl up against his side and reassure herself that he was safe and whole and very much hers to care for, for now at least. "Do you feel up to it?"
The coldly logical part of Simon that had been cultivated and perfected over the years wanted to tell Hermione he was perfectly fine and didn't require a nursemaid. Literally biting his tongue helped stem the flow of words he was sure would send her fleeing home. Instead a small smile, which served as his version of a broad grin, appeared on his mouth while one eyebrow rose.
"I feel up for a number of things, my dear Hermione. Which would you propose we attempt first?"
Surely he wasn't...
"First," she purred as she eased off of Simon's lap, "I propose that we get you into bed, get you out of your restrictive clothing and then... Then I do some spellwork to try to reassure myself that you won't be falling back under Dumbledore's spell anytime soon. Then I'm going to have to come up with an explanation for Minerva as to why Dumbledore's portrait is now a mound of smoldering ash. Good riddance to bad rubbish."
Hermione took a deep breath, and let it out with a hopeful smile. "And finally, after that mess has been dealt with well enough that we don't have to worry about over-eager Aurors breathing down my neck, or yours... Then, I propose that I join you in bed, assuming you're still there and didn't get up the moment my back was turned."
One of Simon's eyebrows rose while his head tilted slightly to the left.
"You are a bossy wench, aren't you?" he asked in one of his driest tones. "It's a wonder the other two thirds of your trio didn't revolt and drown you, but I rather imagine they were intelligent enough to realize they would never have survived without your guidance."
Heaving a large sigh, Simon rose and held out his hand.
"Do with me what you will for now, my dear, but I give you fair warning." Simon advised with a small smile. "Once the dreary details are swept under the nearest carpet, it will be my turn to rule."
She took his hand, relieved that he was willing to cooperate. For now.
"It's more a wonder that I didn't smother either of them in their sleep. Trust me, toward the end of that extended hell of a camping trip, the urge to do bodily harm was nearly ever present." Hermione lead Severus to bed and began removing his clothing as gently as possible, just in case.
"Not to mention all of the times I wanted to swat one or the other of them over the head during our school years. Sheer force of will alone is all that saved them, really. Pajamas?"
Far from being annoyed at Hermione’s fussing, Simon was slightly amused at her assumption that he was in some way incapacitated. He wasn’t used to such attentions and found to his great delight that allowing her to finish disrobing him wasn’t painful in the slightest. The soft fingers and hands that occasionally brushed his skin were welcomed and cherished.
“Pajamas?” he questioned while both brows rose in what for him was an expression of disbelief. “No, I don’t believe they’ll be necessary.”
Leaving his briefs on, Simon slid beneath the sheets and rolled on one side to face Hermione. An elbow braced on the bed served to raise him enough that he didn’t feel the invalid as he addressed her.
“As far as what Minerva is told, the closer to the truth the better. She could be advised you were merely asking questions about incidents prior to his death; he became agitated and suddenly the portrait burst into flame. If she thinks to cast a revealing spell on what remains, I did manage to remove all traces of the spells I placed on the portrait before we left. She will more than likely conclude it was another one of Albus’ safequards in case the portrait fell into The – Voldemort’s hands.”
Here Simon’s eyes narrowed and his chin lifted slightly.
“In fact, it wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to suggest the idea to her in a roundabout fashion. Don’t indicate it’s what you believe,” he cautioned gently while slowly nodding his head. “Ask if she thinks it could be something along those lines.”
Hermione refused to let herself be distracted by the sight of Simon in only his briefs. As difficult as that was.
"I'd almost forgotten what a sneaky bastard you can be," she replied, affection turning the words into something other than an insult. "Hold still, please. I think I can handle Minerva and lead her in the direction we want."
Her wand glided over his sheet covered form in one pattern after the next, soft lyrical spells slipping past Hermione's lips with each one.
All of the diagnostic spells seemed to agree that there was no sign of anything life-threatening, but that didn't stop her from drawing her bottom lip between her teeth and worrying it. Most of the spells found nothing at all, which should have reassured her, but two of them had found something.
Some sort of residual magic, old and radiating an aura that was almost familiar to Hermione. She had seen it – or something similar – before, but where was the question.
The most pressing issue, whether or not Simon was likely to have a relapse, had been answered. The other issue was a puzzle that her mind would continue to struggle with until the answer presented itself, she was sure.
She forced the worry from her face and tucked away her wand. "I think you'll live, for now. I need to get back to the castle before Minerva discovers the damage, if I'm not already too late. Please, stay in bed until I get back." She didn't wait to see if he would object to her intention to return, Apparating away the moment she could, on a mission to get back as quickly as possible.
As soon as the outer door closed behind Hermione, Simon was out of bed and across the room. A drawer of the bureau, known only to him, was quietly opened and – while a single sheet of paper was ignored for the moment – a torn photograph was removed. The woman in it was laughing and occasionally a brief glimpse of a child whipping back and forth could be seen, but Simon’s eyes lingered not on the child. A scarred and calloused fingertip traced the outline of her face, lips and eyes before the photograph was placed gently on the bed.
His gaze never left it as he pulled trousers and a jumper from the wardrobe and threw them on. Slippers were jammed on Simon’s feet without the thought of socks being donned first. The photo was picked up while he turned and sat down on the side of the unmade bed.
Spending so much time with the distraught and weeping Lily had awakened a hunger to see the smiling face she’d left behind and it had taken quite a bit of resolve not to pull it out in front of Hermione. Simon knew she was aware he‘d been in love with Lily at one time, but as the subject had never been explored, he was sure his friend – lover – was ignorant of the fact he was still and forever deeply in love with another woman.
As he gazed on Lily’s smiling features, a small frown appeared between his brows. There was – something – not right. Simon turned the picture over and studied it from all angles. It appeared to have been unaltered since the last time he’d devoured the repeating smiles, laughter and sweet, sweet gleam of those beautiful green eyes.
As the lighting in the bedroom was inadequate, Simon rose and moved into the sitting room. Walking toward his chair, and the brighter light from the fire, he continued to examine the photo.
“Yorick, has there ever been any research done on how long Wizarding photos last? Does the magic wear out, down or end if the maker dies?” a worried Simon asked. He really didn’t expect an answer, but it helped to say the words. He’d never heard of such a thing happening with Wizarding photographs, but then this particular photo was the only one he’d really paid any attention to.
Sitting down, he studied the laughing woman a little more closely. As he did so, Simon realized that the crushing anguish he usually felt when looking at it was absent. The knowledge he’d never talk to or touch her again didn’t make him ill as it had in the past. Glancing once at Yorick to see if the bird was paying any heed, Simon looked inward for the first time in a long time to touch those feelings. His eyes glazed slightly as memories were hauled out and examined. While a soft feeling of what he knew was the love he bore for Lily was there, the pain wasn’t.
“Dumbledore,” he muttered softly. “When Hermione used the release words, she broke… She broke the guilt he’d laid upon my sorry head. There will be no more nightmares.”
Simon’s head relaxed against the back of his chair and his eyes closed. A small smile played about his mouth before he whispered, “No more nightmares.”
Part 1 / Part 23