He absolutely did not spend additional time getting ready this morning.
Both of his parents would be highly amused by this because he'd always balked at fretting over his appearance. If someone was going to like him, they were going to like him on his normal day over his best day. His mum had told him many years ago that she looked forward to meeting the woman who made him care. Until today, he'd never realized what his mum meant by that. It was an odd feeling. Worrying. Wanting to impress. Covering the prominent birthmark on his neck wasn't even a factor in choosing his shirt for the day. Somehow he didn't think she cared. It wasn't hideous, but it was noticeable, and had been something he'd tried to hide in the past.
He also did not stand in his closet with just a towel around his waist for a good fifteen to twenty minutes, deciding what to wear. (And rejecting more than one chosen shirt before settling for a burgundy T-shirt, a comfortable gray chambray to wear over it, and a pair of black slacks.)
He was not nervous. He was not curious about that spark he'd felt when he touched her, that he could have brushed off as static but knew wasn't that. How did he know that? Static electricity did not get warm throughout the day and night when touching the spot after first experiencing it.
At least it had never done that to him before in his life.
He regarded his reflection in the mirror as he got ready to shave, still in just the towel. Should he keep his hair down or pull it back? He kept it long to help cover up the birthmark. Should he even shave? He didn't every day, sometimes he went a month or so. He liked the various looks he could attain with his hair and facial hair.
"She is a student!"
Not yours.
This was his subconscious, apparently, encouraging him to do something to attempt to impress the young woman.
The spark he felt when he'd set his hand on hers in his office had been like nothing he felt before. Not that he was loaded in an overwhelming amount of experience in touching women. Women were apparently not attracted to bookish men who loved chemistry and history. Add to that he wasn't uncommonly handsome or personable. Well. Anyway, that spark, though. It had done something to him. He wasn't even sure what that meant. He just didn't think it was static.
Her research had impressed him.
Even before that spark.
Her ability to tell him about her research without sounding as if she was reading from a book impressed him more. She'd mentioned spending an entire summer in the Salem, Massachusetts area, which was impressive, too. Many her age wouldn't travel to another continent for research.
She was clearly passionate about the witch trials. He'd be interested in finding out why. It was an odd thing for someone her age to focus on. Most people thought it was a load of rubbish.
Noah wasn't so sure.
He rubbed the birthmark on his neck, as was often the case when things escaped him.
It didn't happen often, but there were times he felt as if he should remember or know things. Fleeting moments. Fleeting ideas. Glimpses. As if, if he peeled away a curtain or layer he'd know things. Know what? Well, there was the problem. He had no idea, and it wasn't anything he was concerned about. Certainly he wasn't the only one walking around with such thoughts. He'd read a lot of books in his lifetime. So it was expected, he thought anyway, that things might seem familiar from time to time.
Not that he'd tell her he thought there might be some truth to the stories of what those women and men could do. That would be a sure fire way of not impressing her.
He finished dressing with plenty of time, stopping at the bed to pet his cat. He realized then, it was the first time he purposely donned a shirt that would cover his arms. He'd stopped being self-conscious of the scars. Scars he'd gotten when he was eighteen or so and gotten jumped outside of a club. It was definitely a case of being in the wrong time and place. He wasn't ashamed of them, but he knew they weren't the way to impress someone.
It always surprised people when he mentioned owning a cat (as much as a person owned cats). Evidently, people saw him as more of a dog person. Maybe if he was home more, but he got lost in his research, or grading, sometimes so it was best he did not have someone he was responsible for feeding and letting out on a schedule.
"You'll be good to our guest, won't you, Flux?"
It was a ridiculous name for a cat.
He knew this, but he'd had him for weeks and decided he had to stop calling him Cat. Because that just sounded ridiculous. He wasn't an unimaginative twit who couldn't come up with a name for his pet feline. Flux had been the runt of the mum's litter and unwanted. The little shit thrived, though, under Noah's care and his nurturing hands. He not only thrived, but flourished. He was still perhaps a bit on the small side of things, but he was healthy and happy.
So Fluxweed, aka Flux, he had become. He wasn't even sure where he'd come up with the name. Changing, as growing kittens were wont to do and not being wanted, as Flux was by the others in his litter as well as those who'd passed him over. Well, Fluxweed seemed fitting to put together.
He gave a purr, brushing his cheek along Noah's thumb and index finger. Noah took that as agreement that the cat would be kind to Hermione, and made his way to the kitchen then, hoping he wasn't too presumptuous in making lunch for the two of them. They'd spent a little over three hours talking in his office, and that was just a rather superficial discussion about the topic. It wasn't an actual discussion on what should be taught. She was closer to her undergraduate studies than he was, so he would listen to her thoughts on what his class might find interesting.
Hell, he honestly had no idea why he even applied for this job. One moment he saw the advertisement for the position and the next he'd informed his dad he'd applied to be a History professor. He'd never aspired to be a university professor.
He paused in tasting a spoonful of the stew he put together when he'd woken up in the morning. Was he too old? Would she see him that way? There was something he hadn't thought about. She was just shy of finishing her graduate work. Would she find him ridiculous? Would she see him as a superior, despite that not being the case?
Good lord, he wasn't even sure he was interested in her (or her in him), or if that spark he felt was just a figment of his imagination.
He sighed, tasting the stew, adding a bit more basil and rosemary as a result of that taste before returning the lid to the pot it was cooking in. He rinsed the spoon off, setting it on the holder on his stovetop before flipping his hair back a bit, pondering.
He searched his memories, trying to recall the last time he'd been excited to spend time with someone. He'd say of the opposite gender, but, honestly, he couldn't recall looking forward to spending time with anyone that wasn't his parents in his life.
Yet, today, he was. He'd woken early and puttered around his kitchen, trying to come up with something that would be a suitable lunch without making it seem as if he went out of his way. Stew seemed acceptable. Instead of homemade bread, which was his preference, he had bought some at the store last night, not entirely sure what he would come up with today.
Or that he would decide to make something for her at all. He didn't want to appear as if he was trying to impress her. And, yet, he found he very much did want to do just that.
Finally, it was about time for her to arrive, and he'd done all that he could do.
Flux made an appearance just as the doorbell rang, letting out a barely audible meow as he brushed against Noah's ankles.
"Yes, it's our guest. Remember, good behavior," he said as he made his way to the door. She was prompt. A few minutes early, but not too early as to be rude. She'd been early for their appointment during the week, too.
"Good morning," he said, opening the door.
"Good morning."
"You showed up."
"You're giving me the opportunity to possibly lecture on a subject I have learned a lot about. Of course I'm here."
"Do you have being a professor in mind when you're done with your studies?" This was something he hadn't thought to ask her the other day. Her advisor seemed to suggest she was undecided. A focus as limited in scope as hers was was going to be a little limiting when it came to job possibilities.
"I'm not sure," she said softly. "I really hadn't thought that far ahead. I realize it's no longer as far ahead as it was when I started my undergrad work, but I still have this year to decide."
"Understood. You will find your calling."
"How about you?"
He took her jacket when she removed it, hanging it on a coat rack he had near his door. He couldn't recall the last time it had been used. He didn't do a lot of in-home entertaining. It was September, not January so the coat was rather lightweight, but still one that would keep her warm when it could be chilly in the mornings and evenings.
"You know," he said, thinking that over. "No, I just fell into being a professor. A job opened up fresh out of my own education at a secondary school. I didn't want to have no job, so I took it. And." He shrugged then. "Here we are."
"And you always liked history?"
"I have. My undergraduate degree, and my first teaching job was in Chemistry."
"Really?" she asked, sounding incredibly interested by that nugget of information. That wasn't the usual response. Chemistry and History were not ice breaking subjects he'd come to find.
"Yes. Oddly, a history teacher at the school I was at fell gravely ill six years ago. Odd because they were able to replace me but not him. I had a minor in History, so I stepped in to relieve him as a substitute. The plan was to find someone to relieve me. It never happened."
"Oh. Do you still do anything with chemistry?"
"Oh, I love to experiment certainly. Do I have a lot of reason to? No, but I try to."
Her eyes widened and he glanced behind him, seeing Flux was trotting toward her. She stooped, letting the feline smell her fingertips before reaching to pet his head.
"He's beautiful," she cooed, clearly aiming her statement more to Flux than him. Noah could admit he was beautiful. His dark gray and black stripes almost made him look like a small, fluffy panther. Very small. Very fluffy. He wasn't a long-haired cat, but he was definitely soft.
"He knows it, too." He said, watching as Flux batted her hand with his head, guiding her in how to pet him. She was obviously familiar with cats and how to approach them.
"I'll bet."
"Actually, I take that back. He was the runt and rather scraggly when I happened upon him. No one wanted him, not even his mother really. He was clearly a survivor. And here we are."
"How did you get him?"
"An old neighbor, they've moved away now. She asked me, thinking as a teacher I may know someone in the market for a cat. I came to see him so that I could describe him to anyone asking."
"That's sweet. I have one, no one wanted him either. He wasn't a kitten, though."
"What is his name?" he asked.
"Crookshanks. Yours?"
"Fluxweed."
She gasped softly, falling the short distance from her stooped position to the floor.
"What?" she asked, eyes wide, regarding him very curiously. He had no idea what that was about. It was an odd name, but certainly not ridiculous. Crookshanks wasn't exactly a common name either.
"It's just a play on words. Flux: to change and weed: a wild plant growing where it is not wanted."
"I know what it means, I just," she closed her mouth and shook her head. "Have never heard the name before."
That wasn't what she meant to say. He could tell. Her eyes gave her away. He hadn't invited her here to interrogate her about her reaction to his cat's name, though, so let it drop.
"All right, Flux, try not to monopolize our guest's time."
"It's all right," she said, righting herself. He offered her his hand when she moved to stand, which she took without hesitation.
"Thank you," she said.
"I apologize if I startled you."
"It's okay."
That spark in his office was definitely not his imagination. It was there again. More noticeable this time since their hands were actually clasped versus him just patting her hand as he'd done in his office. What in the hell was going on? Did she notice it? She must. The blush he saw on her cheeks was a sign that she did. Wasn't it?
Her hand he noticed was soft. Rather petite to go with her slight stature. Her nails were well manicured and painted a light shade of something he'd call violet. He imagined there was a more catchy (or accurate) name for it.
"You brought your paperwork?"
"I did," she said, gesturing to the backpack she'd set down to take off her jacket.
"Excellent. I have a stew on for lunch, so whenever you get hungry let me know. We'll head to the dining room then."
"Now?"
He chuckled softly. He supposed he hadn't explained. "The table allows us more room."
"Oh, right," she said.
She picked up her backpack then, and he noticed Flux brush up against it before she did. He should probably look at having guests more frequently if Flux was going to be blatantly obvious about the fact he never saw anyone but Noah.
"Can I get you something to drink?"
"Water."
"Are you sure? I can put tea on, or "
"Water's fine for now. Really. Please don't fuss over me."
"All right," he said.
He showed her to the dining room, taking his leave to the kitchen to get them each a glass of water before returning to her. She had already spread a number of items out on the table and had a pencil sticking out from, presumably, behind her ear (hard to tell with her hair in the way) and another in between her lips.
He smirked for a moment, taking her in. He was fairly certain she had no idea he'd even returned to the room. Nor did this pose of hers strike him as something unusual or new to her. Was this how she studied?
He'd taken the time after Douglas Andrews first visited him and their first meeting to peruse her transcript and various class notes from her professors. She was an exceptional and exemplary student. She made the academic honors list every year she attended. That was no easy task. He was one of a few he knew who had actually pulled such a feat off.
She hadn't started until 2000, when she was twenty-one, which explained why she was still in school now at twenty-five. He wasn't sure what the delay was in the start of her schooling. Her records hadn't said.
He walked to the area of the table she'd evidently delegated to be his since she'd taken over most of the rest of it. There was a buffet behind them, so he set both glasses on it before taking a seat.
"Thank you," she said.
"You are welcome."
"So," she said, going on to explain to him how she'd sorted the various items she brought with her today. Some were personal stories, passed down from family member to family member. Not as reliable, obviously, as things could get changed or forgotten in over three hundred years.
Some were journals and interviews, articles from newspapers of the time or over the years.
She was no less thorough than her near perfect marks as a student led him to believe she would be.
*****
They did, in fact, eat lunch about three hours after her arrival.
After lunch since they were both rather full and the day was a decent one weather-wise, so they went for a walk in his neighborhood. They didn't say much, but it wasn't completely uncomfortable. Small talk about the beginning of the school year. She mentioned her parents had passed away a few years ago, which made him feel bad when he mentioned his mum and dad prior to that admission. And, that occurrence likely explained the delay in her schooling, though he hadn't asked.
She'd set her hand against the back of his, squeezing lightly. "Nonsense, Noah, don't apologize for having your parents. Be glad you have them."
He was, of course.
Eventually, they made their way back to his house and to their work.
It was close to ten o'clock when he helped her into the coat he'd hung for her nearly twelve hours prior. She hadn't wanted to put it on when they took their walk.
Her backpack was full once more of her notes and items, sitting on the floor by the front door.
"Thank you for lunch and everything."
There'd been more than enough stew remaining for them to make another meal out of it. She hadn't seemed to mind eating the same thing twice in the same day. She'd even accepted his offer of sending some leftovers home with her. He really had made too much.
"It was my pleasure."
"It was very good. I don't cook much for myself, so it was welcome. Especially on a day like today."
"Yes, it seemed like a good idea when I woke up this morning."
"If there's anything else you need to know about my information, let me know."
"I think I've seen more than I need to."
She blushed then, and he thought it looked rather nice on her.
He cleared his throat softly, unsure what to do now. She didn't seem to be rushing out the door. The day had been a blend of both academic and personal. Was she expecting him to kiss her? He wanted to, but wasn't sure she would want him to.
He leaned in then, eyes open to watch for a signal that what he was doing was insulting or unwelcome. He saw nothing of the sort reflected in her face or eyes so, pressed his lips over hers.
She kissed him back, simple and light. He wasn't trying to push for anything further than a good night kiss. Twelve hours, not all of it spent on work, seemed an appropriate amount of time for such a thing.
He drew away, and he noticed tears in her eyes. Unshed, but the shimmering in her eyes was clear they were there.
"If that was unwelcome "
"No, not at all. I just wasn't expecting. And I told you that you remind me of someone."
"Yes." He remembered that.
"He, um, died about six years ago. And you really look a lot like him."
"A boyfriend?" he asked. She seemed young to have experienced such a loss, but he would have said the same thing about losing her parents, too.
"No," she said with a soft laugh. "Not at all. Though, I did admire him. And his voice."
"I see," he said. Though he didn't. Not really.
She reached up then, onto her tip toes and bussed his mouth with hers. She set her hand against his cheek, running her thumb along his jaw. "I didn't mean to make you think it wasn't nice. I'm sorry. I'll see if I can find a picture of him in my things, so you can understand why it's a little haunting."
"I should walk you to your car," he said, realizing now he hadn't put his shoes on or anything to do that.
"Oh, it's okay, Noah. Really, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
"I am, thank you, though." She stooped down then, petting Flux who seemed to want in on saying good night to their guest, too.
He did leave the door open and the light on until he saw her drive away.
"Well," he said to Flux. "That went much better than expected."
They'd gotten along. She'd allowed him to kiss her, and even kissed him. And Flux seemed to like her. Overall, he considered that a win.
*****
Hermione drove back to her flat. She didn't always drive places. (She had, in fact, taught Harry how to drive.) Today, though, she thought showing up without a car would be suspect.
Harry was waiting for her as she expected him to be. Well, he wasn't waiting waiting. He was asleep on the couch with Crookshanks curled up on the floor there.
"Well, that must have been a good brainstorming session then," he murmured. His glasses were on the end table, so he clearly had been trying to wait up for her. He would've just gone to his room if he was sleepy enough to take his glasses off ordinarily. He also canceled an alarm spell he'd set, which meant he wanted to be sure he knew she got home all right.
That was sweet.
"It was," she murmured. She brought her hand to her mouth, pressing it against her lips. When she glanced at Harry he was sitting up, glasses on, looking at her.
"So, kiss good night, huh?"
"Yes," she said.
"And?"
"It was nice, but God, Harry. It was so weird."
"Because he looks like Snape."
"Yes."
He nodded a bit. "I can understand that."
"I think he thought kissing me made me cry or something. I tried to explain it, but how do I explain that he looks like a dead wizard who helped save the world?"
"You can't."
"I know! I wasn't expecting him to kiss me. He made lunch, too."
"Oh?"
"Yes, beef stew. There was enough for lunch and dinner with leftovers. There's some in a container in my backpack. Probably enough for two servings."
"Was it good?"
"It was. He apologized for not having made bread."
"Oh, so he knows his way around the kitchen."
"Yes, and watching him slice the bread."
"Yes?"
"He's good with his hands."
"Is he now?"
"With a knife! You know, slicing bread, like one might do with potion ingredients."
"Uh huh."
"That's not even the oddest thing."
"Oh?"
"You'll never guess what his cat's name is."
"I probably won't, so tell me and save me embarrassing myself with names like Garfield or Sylvester."
She snorted softly.
"Fluxweed."
"What?" he asked, clearly intrigued.
"That's what I thought. He says that he combined flux and weed, because he was the runt of the litter. He seemed sincere."
"You don't think he is."
"I don't know," she said. "It's an odd name for a cat."
"Um, Hermione," he said, gesturing to her own cat who also had an unusual name.
"I guess," she said.
"The fact that it's a wizarding word is a little odd, but I'm sure it's just a coincidence."
"What else could it be?"
"I don't know, but if you think of something, I know you'll research it and then tell me, complete with statistics, pictures, and graphs."
She stuck her tongue out at him for good measure.
"So, are you too tired from twelve hours with What's his name?"
"Noah. Noah Davies. And, no I'm not that tired. Let me change and we can watch something."
"Excellent. Wine?"
She thought over her answer as she headed in the direction of her room. "Yes, please." Crookshanks followed her, sniffed a leg of her jeans, and then turned around and left. Clearly, he wasn't pleased she'd seen another cat today.
Harry didn't seem concerned that his cat's name was Fluxweed. She shouldn't be concerned. And she wasn't really. It wasn't concern. It just, combined with him looking and sounding so much like Severus Snape, was odd. And he'd taught chemistry!
She'd think about it tomorrow. Tonight, she'd enjoy having been kissed and spent a day with someone who seemed to like spending time with her while they went over their respective research on the witch trials.
That wasn't too shallow.
Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com