Arithmancy for Muggles

Bladder full and aching, Harry pried his gluey eyes open without moving. It was morning, but just barely. Early sunlight filtered through the curtains. With a gentle groan, Harry levered himself upright and, wrapping the blanket around him stiffly, stumbled into the bathroom to relieve the pressure.

He returned to his makeshift bed on Hermione's couch and sat heavily, the blanket tangling around his legs. It was too early to bother his sleeping hostess, but Harry knew from past experience that once he was up it was unlikely he'd return to sleep.

Staring at the draped window, watching it grow lighter and lighter as the sun continued to rise, Harry just sat. Being here, in this completely normal apartment in a non-magical neighborhood, Harry felt as though a great weight had lifted from him. Maybe his mood was due to sleep uninterrupted by the inevitable house elf checkup in the middle of the night. Or maybe he was just relieved to know Hermione was all right.

Hermione was looking pretty good, despite the restrictions placed on her magic. When she met him at the door she was nearly glowing. She was as bossy as ever, of course, but Harry wouldn't want her any other way. She'd made him feel so welcome, like he was family. It was the feeling he used to get when he visited the Weasleys, before Arthur became Minister of Magic and the pressure of the position got to them all.

Harry didn't want to think about that.

Maybe he could do something nice for Hermione. Harry's stomgrowgrowled. Maybe he could start by cooking breakfast.

Harry looked through all the cupboards before concluding that Hermione's neat and tidy kitchen stayed that way mostly because she never used it. Her refrigerator contained an elderly hunk of stilton, a jar of olives and a number of batteries.

He could summon something, he supposed. Harry tried to avoid thinking about what burns his wand might inflict if he tried. Slumping into one of the very pretty but rather uncomfortable café chairs pulled up to the table, Harry nod a d a plastic book thing facing the other chair. Harry wiped his hands on the pale pink sweatpants he still wore and pulled the book towards him.

It only took a moment to work the latch and open the book, but the contraption didn't open up flat. A few minutes of head-scratching and Harry realized what he was looking at. It was a small portable computer. Computers had changed a lot since he'd last had the opportunity to use one, but they couldn't be any more difficult to read than the Monster Book of Monsters. He shifted the device by ninety degrees and brushed his fingers over the keyboard. The screen, now facing him, flickered on.

At the top of an outlined box, large letters proclaimed: “The Core of the Matter.”

Harry re-read the first two paragraphs several times before he remembered how to manipulate the lines of writing as if they were on a scroll. He tapped the downward pointing arrow button and continued to read, fascinated by this detailed technical discussion on how to insert a core into a wand. At the bottom of the page he discovered the joys of hypertext, clicking a link that took him to a page describing wood selection.

***

Severus woke slowly. Disoriented at first, he explored his surroundings without opening his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the smell. A clean smell of lavender and soap was supplemented by a warm animal smell of sleep and sex and woman. Severus wedged his beautiful, substantial nose into the crook of the woman's neck and sighed contentedly. One hand found her hip, softly rounded under the bedclothes, and followed the line of her body, dipping in at the waist, fingering the bones of her ribcage and curling around a handful of breast somewhat possessively.

Hermione pressed back against his morning hardness and was rewarded. His arm tightened around her and he kissed the soft flesh behind her ear.

He froze. “Wait.” His voice was low and urgent.

“What?” Hermione whispered.

“Your hair! What happened to all your hair?” His hands skimmed up her body to twine in her short, stylish curls.

She laughed. “What do you mean, what happened to it?”

“Where is it?” Severus heard himself whine, a most unpleasant thing. “Your hair used to be…”

“...bushy?” she volunteered. “Unkempt? Bedraggled?”

“Witchy,” Severus completed, sighing as he pulled the short strands through his fingers. “Now you look so...”

“Stylish? Modern?”

“Muggle.”

Squirming around to face him, Hermione flung a leg over his hip and pulled him close. “And is that a problem?”

This was a test. Severus realized this too late, and his heart began to pound. He hadn't studied. “What do you want me to say?” he asked warily.

Hermione sighed and let him go. Flopping onto her back, she refused to look at the man in her bed. “Sev… it's too early for this kind of argument. I cut my hair. I like it. I'm sorry if it was a shock to you, but really, if it took you until now to notice it can't be that big a deal, now, can it?”

“No.” Snape's reply came grudgingly. “But I liked your hair,” he confessed.

“And I still have hair, it's just shorter now. It's practical. It makes me feel sexy, modern and young. What is it with you men and long hair? Do you know how much work it is to take care of long hair?”

Tentatively, Severus reached out to her. His long fingers massaged her scalp gently. “But when it was longer…”

“Oh, for heaven's sake!” Hermione shook him off and ran her own fingers through her hair. As he watched, Hermione's curls grew, drooping under their own weight as they lengthened improbably past her shoulders, covering her breasts, spilling across her stomach. “Happy now?”

His hand moved, almost involuntarily, to brush a curl off her shoulder. The hair was soft and very real under his fingers. “Hermione…?”

“What?” Hermione sighed, exasperation getting the better of her.

He was almost speechless. “Wandless magic,” he croaked.

“What are you going to do, turn me in?” She shook her head defiantly, the long curls shrinking and returning to their previous short style.

“I should. I should have. But I won't. You know that. Why do you even have to ask?” Severus was wounded.

“Six months of silence was not my fault,” Hermione pointed out tartly.

“I know I should have tried to owl, but I didn't want to pressure you.” Uncharacteristically solicitous Snape brushed a hand over the crown of her head, rearranging her tousled curls.

“You didn't want to pressure me? What if I pressure you... like this?” She squeezed him.

“I thought you wanted to talk.” His resistance was half-hearted.

Hermione mumbled something that might have been: “Talking doesn't seem to work for us,” but Severus was too distracted by the sound of his blood thumping to pay it much attention.

***

“How long before you have to leave?” Hermione asked, langorously splayed on top of.
.

“Trying to get rid of me?” His teasing mostly hid his insecurity.

“Well, I do have Harry in the next room. I should be a good hostess and see if he wants breakfast or anything.”

“Bugger Harry,” Severus mumbled into the crook of her elbow.

She giggled. “Well, maybe if you asked very, very nicely…”

Severus scowled. “That's not what I mean and you know it. How am I supposed to court you if you've got Mr. Potter playing chaperone?”

“Court me? Is that what you're doing?”

“If you'll let me.”

“What about Harry, then?” Hermione rolled away and propped herself on one elbow to stare down at Severus. “He won't be here that long.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, disbelieving.

“Even if he is here, we can go out for dinner or something. We could even meet somewhere if you don't want your secret affair with a muggle floozie hitting the gossip column of the Quibbler.” Amused by her own joke, it took a minute for his uneasiness to penetrate. “What?”

Snape pushed himself to a sitting position. “Harry Potter and I have an awkward alliance. I do not like him and I believe he does not like me. Though I was able to help him find you, you must know my motivations were selfish. I wanted to see you. Harry was a good excuse, a sop to my pride in case you rejected me on the doorstep.”

“I wouldn't have rejected you,” Hermione insisted quietly.

He ignored this. “We have a history of animosity betwes, Hs, Harry and I. I would not like to jeopardize your friendship with Harry by revealing your relationship with me. He might object and you would be put in an awkward position.”

“Harry can accept my choices or take a walk.” Her defense was automatic.

“Except, you cannot let him walk,” Severus insisted. “You need him. According to your calculations, if we're to keep the Magical World integrated with this one, you need him.”

“Maybe I need you too.” Her admission was small, but significant. The wistful look of longing she woke in his eyes was too much for her to bear. She looked away. “I mean, you're spying for me, bringing me information I need as much as I need Harry.”

Severus snorted. “Nonsense. Anyone could bring you this information. Luna Lovegood...”

“Hasn't contacted me since I left. You're the only one in a position to help me now.”

“Now, perhaps. But later...?” His relentless reasoning was painful to both of them.

She'd already protested too much. Hermione wanted to say she'd need him later just as much as she needed him now, but the truth was, arithmancy said he wasn't as necessary to the survival of the Wizarding World as Harry was. Without Harry, the Wizarding World would isolate itself in an impassable bubble and die like a mouse in a bell jar, starved for fresh blood and fresh ideas like the mouse starved for oxygen.

But without Severus, Hermione was id sid she'd be the one to die under glass. When they were together, Hermione could breathe more easily. In some way she could not entirely explain, he gave her hope. But what she felt when they were together made her ache all the more when she was alone.

“Harry must think I'm a complete slug, staying in bed all morning.” Hermione rolled out of bed and pulled a bathrobe on. “I hope he's not out there staring at the walls.”

“Perhaps he is. They say St. Mungo's is enough to send even the sanest wizard around the bend.” Severus charmed the bed into order for her and began dressing. “Speaking of insane wizards, I really ought to return to Hogwarts with some story for Dumbledore. He'll blame me for frightening Harry away from the DADA position.”

Hermione watched Severus Snape dress. In his socks and robes he was the dastardly Potions Professor she knew of old, but shuffling into his carpet slippers ruined the effect. “I really just can't taou sou seriously when you're wearing those things.” She grinned to soften the sting of her words.

This elicited an answering grin. “Then I must remember to remove them before proposing matrimony.”

Shocked, Hermione giggled somewhat hysterically. “It's a good thing you're wearing those slippers now. I might just believe you.”

“Do you still want to see me again?” He was challenging her.

“Yes. When?” Challenge accepted and returned.

Snape allowed himself a small smirk. “Next Sunday. I will be very patient and refrain from assigning too many Gryffindor detentions this week.”

Hermione smiled, appreciating his subtle humor as she never would have as a student. Did students ever think that detention was as much a chore for the professor as the student? “What time shall I expect you?”

“As soon as I can get away,” he insisted, advancing to take her in his arms. “Sooner if I can find a time turner.”

It took them another twenty minutes to unlock their lips, and another five to say goodbye and confirm their date a third, fourth and fifth time. Hermione stood at the window, waving as Severus disapparated.

She still wasn't willing to call it love, but she had to call it something. Hermione's well-read mind came up blank, so she shelved the question and went to check up on her houseguest.

***

“Morning, Harry.”

“Hermione, you've got to see this!”

His enthusiasm reminded Hermione of how he used to look when talking about Quiddich. “What is it?” She saw he had the computer open to one of the pages on wand construction.

“Well, there's a trick to inserting a wand core...” His stomach growled audibly. “But you don't have anything in the kitchen to eat.”

“Harry Potter, are you soliciting a bribe?” Hermione accused gleefully. “Wait until the Quibbler gets a hold of this story! Harry Potter Bribed by Friend tvealveal Secrets of Wand Creation!”

Harry smirked and corrected: “Harry Potter, Bribed by Wandless Friend to Reveal Secrets of Wand Creation!”

“Oooh! Even better!” Hermione laughed. “All right then, I'll give in to your unreasonable demands this time, but just you wait, Harry. I'll have my revenge! You can transfigure those things into somng mng more presentable and I'll go get dressed.”

She was halfway back to her room before Harry spoke.

“I'm sorry, what did you say?” Hermione turned to face him.

“I said, I t. t. I can't use my wand without getting horrible burns. I'm sorry.” Hermione could only see the top of Harry's head as he mumbled his apologies.

“Oh. Wand burn, huh? You've probably outgrown your wand. You should just get yourselfew oew one,” Hermione insisted blithely.

Harry exploded, his green eyes sparking fire. “You're such a bloody know-it-all, Hermione! What the hell do you know about it?” His hair stood on end, the kitchen window shutters shaking in the invisible wind his tantrum invoked.

Hermione realized belatedly that this must be a sore subject. “Ollivander, Harry. I talked to Ollivander about it. It happens to me too.” Hermione pointed to the pink sweatpants Harry wore. “Modulo!”

The pink sweats were transfigured into navy blue trousers.

Wincing, Hermione held her hand out to show the resug bug burns to Harry. “See? Wand burn. It happens when you don't have a wand, or you have a wand that cannot handle the power you are channeling into it. Sometimes wands need re-coring, sometimes a wizard finds they need something that can hold more power than a wand, like a staff or a sword. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You're a very powerful wizard, Harry. Nobody ever said being powerful would make life any easier.”

Hermione rubbed her hands together gently. She held her hands, palms up, to show Harry the fresh pink skin before turning away again.

“Hermione,” Harry's voice was tinged with awe. “How did you learn that? I thought you were joking about wandless magic.”

She smiled. “What was that you were saying about bribes?”