Arithmancy for Muggles

Chapter Two: Dinner

“You’re leaving?” Snape echoed. “Why?”

“I don’t belong here.” Hermione gestured impotently at the late afternoon crowds.

Scowling, Snape denied this. “Of course you do. Muggleborn or not, you’re one of the brightest witches of your generation. You have your friends, Potter and Weasley. You have an important job with the Ministry. Why would you want to leave?”

“Had,” Hermione corrected. “I had an important job at the Ministry.”

“You’re leaving over a job?” His sneer told Hermione he thought she was being childish. “You can get another. Hogwarts would be delighted to take you on as a teacher. If you could teach anything you wanted, what would you choose?”

She sighed. “It’s more than just the job, but I don’t really want to stand in the street arguing about it with you.” Hermione realized she didn’t care what he thought. She knew she’d made the right decision.

“Have dinner with me.” The words seemed to shock Snape almost as much as they shocked Hermione. “A farewell dinner.”

The thought appealed to Hermione’s sense of the absurd. “What, here? But I haven’t any galleons. I changed them all.”

“Let me treat you.” He seemed sincere. “If you are leaving it is the last chance…” He didn’t finish his thought.

“The last chance for what?”

Snape cleared his throat and stood up tall. “You are a valued Hogwarts alumna. On behalf of Hogwarts, let me, give me one last chance to change your mind.” He softened slightly. “It doesn’t seem right that your last memory of us is a quiet walk down Diagon Alley to disappear into the muggle world without a ripple.”

Hermione lifted one recently manicured eyebrow. “Who says I’m going without a ripple?”

“Then tell me all about it.” Snape offered his arm. “One last dinner with me. Go out in style.”

Taking Snape’s black wool-covered arm, Hermione smirked. “That I will. All right. Lead on!” She stopped him. “Wait. If I’m going to dinner, I’ll go as me, not some woman playing dress up.” She tossed the brown pointed hat to the gutter and threw the musty old robes over her head and off to land beside a puddle. “It’ll look like I melted. That’s how muggles think witches disappear.” Underneath her robes Hermione wore a smart business suit in a nubby bottle green wool. Her leather pumps matched her clutch purse.

He was staring.

“Do you like it?” Hermione twisted to show off the ensemble. “My mother took me shopping. She said it was to cheer me up, but I could tell she was celebrating.” She changed the subject. “I’ve never had such a smart suit. It makes me feel sexy.” Too late, Hermione realized this subject was probably no better. Then she decided it didn’t matter. It was her last night here. Who cares if she shocks her old teacher? “And these shoes were expensive, but they’re so very comfortable,” she continued, taking Snape’s arm.

If he was shocked, he hid it well. Snape escorted her, conversing pleasantly on the vagaries of muggle fashion, to an unprepossessing storefront near Ollivander’s. “Will this do? I’m afraid my salary cannot cover lobster and caviar.”

Hermione didn’t mind, and she said so. “I’ve never eaten here, but I’ve heard good things about it. It’s my last chance, isn’t it?”

The maitre d’ was friendly and businesslike. It was early for dinner, so the restaurant was nearly empty. Hermione expressed a preference for sitting near the window so she could watch the street. They sat at the small round table and Hermione twitched the café curtains aside.

Snape watched her watching the foot traffic. “Will you miss it, do you think?”

“Of course.” Hermione turned away from the window. “I missed my old school when I came to Hogwarts. It was the best choice, and I haven’t regretted it, but I still felt a brief pang for the road not taken.”

“Why, Hermione?” Her first name on Snape’s lips was disorienting. “Why are you leaving?”

“Well, Severus,” she tasted his name in return, waiting to see if he would condemn her for it, but he only looked interested. “I was working as an Arithmantic Predictor for the Ministry.”

He steepled his fingers in front of him. “I thought you did not hold with Divination.”

Hermione grumbled, obviously correcting a usual misconception. “It’s not divination. It’s more like the muggle concept of statistics. Using arithmantic proofs, I would calculate the most likely outcomes from a given set of variables. You run a lot of “what if?” statements, and if a significant number of them give the same answer, you know that’s far more likely to occur, and can act accordingly. It’s not a prophecy or anything like that.”

“What were you working on?”

“Birth rates. Death rates. How many people enter or leave the Wizarding World each year.” The irony appealed to Hermione. She smiled without mirth, watching people walk by outside. “I was asked to predict the growth curve of Wizard Culture now that Voldemort is gone. Minister Weasley did not like the conclusions of my report.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Not enough growth to make him look good now that he’s succeeded Fudge?”

“Worse than that. No growth at all,” Hermione told him. “In fact, the magical world is shrinking, not just compared to the explosive growth of the muggle world, but actually shrinking. There are fewer births each year and more and more of them are squibs. Because wizards live so long, there is very little room for advancement. The younger generations are more likely to try making their mark in the muggle world. Magic will always be with us, but the Wizarding culture is dying.”

His jaw dropped. “What? Impossible!”

The waiter arrived to take their order. Snape carefully avoided looking at her as he ordered a bottle of wine to go with their dinners.

When they were alone again, he apologized. “It is not that I do not believe you, it is that I do not want to believe you. And you showed them proof of this?”

“Yes.” She pulled a thick binder from her little clutch purse and passed it across the table. “Here. Keep a copy for your records. I’ve got five year, ten year and fifty year predictions in there that are rather interesting. I didn’t see much point predicting beyond fifty years.” Her shrug was eloquent.

Snape opened the binder carefully, leafing through it, pausing as items caught his attention. “Are you sure? Is there anything that can stem the tide?”

Her laugh was bitter. “Oh, yes. Oddly enough, Voldemort seemed to be one of the few things holding magical society together. His methods were self-serving, but he gave witches and wizards something to focus on, something that made them special. People put aside their differences in their fight to support or defeat him. But now that he’s gone, the diaspora has begun. Voldemort was right, you know. Without a pureblood identity and stricter controls on intermarriage, your culture will disintegrate under the onslaught of muggle traditions. But without fresh blood from muggles and half-breeds, without new ideas and new energy, your culture is stagnating, making itself sick.”

“This is,” Snape began, pausing to turn the page. “This is disturbing.”

“I know.” Hermione stared out the window at the people walking by.

Suddenly angry, Snape pulled her attention away from the window. “And this is why you’re leaving? Abandoning the sinking ship? There’s no hope for wizards so you’re going to just leave us to our fate and make a life for yourself among muggles?” His sneer was familiar, almost comforting. “So much for that vaunted Gryffindor courage.”

“I wanted to stay! I would have found a way to fix things, but they weren’t interested. They didn’t even try to understand my results.” Hermione was just as angry, and given a target unleashed her fury on it. “I thought Arthur Weasley might understand, but he gave me an ultimatum: change my report or leave the wizarding world forever.”

Leaning back in his chair, Snape watched her cheeks flush. “And of course you told them where they could stick your wand?”

Eyes downcast, Hermione admitted in a low mutter, “Actually, I thought about changing my report first. But that was only going to contribute to the problem. Yes, I worked quitfew few arithmantic calculations before making my decision.” She looked up, defensively. “I didn’t rush in to anything. I talked it over with my parents, and with Harry and Ron. I even tried to talk to Molly, but she refused to see me, sent a note telling me she had nothing positive to say on the subject. The Ministry gave me a fortnight to make my decision. I made the best decision I could, given the circumstances.”

“And what did Potter and Weasley have to say on the subject?”

A basket of bread appeared on the table. The wine steward uncorked the bottle and poured for both of them. Hermione nodded graciously before picking up her glass to take a sip. Snape just waved the man away impatiently.

“Ron supports his father. I don’t blame him. He never could follow my arithmancy beyond a certain level. As far as he’s concerned it’s his father’s word against mine, and he’d rather trust an authority figure.” Hermione shrugged and took a piece of bread.

“Voldemort was an authority figure,” Snape commented snidely.

This earned a laugh from Hermione. “Yes. So were you.”

“Were?”

“Ron graduated from Hogwarts. He’ll never graduate from being a Weasley,” Hermione pointed out.

“Pity.” Snape’s snide commentary was so predictably sour. “And Potter?”

Hermione bit her lip. “Harry’s keeping a low profile. He doesn’t want to be involved with something this potentially explosive. He said he’s had his time in the fire.”

Snape frowned. “You would think that Potter, who had your unswerving loyalty and support during his great battle, would lend a little of his own strength during yours.”

“Harry is torn. He worked so hard to save the Wizarding World from Voldemort that he doesn’t want to see it torn apart from within. He’s refusing to take sides.” Hermione looked out the window again. She was frustrated, bitterness leaking from her words like serum from a healing wound. “It’s not going to help, of course. Harry Potter doesn’t have the power to turn this around himself, but he could be crucial in developing a new Wizarding identity, one that will allow for muggle influences but keeps its own culture alive.”

“You realize that now you’re gone they’ll bury this report so deep nobody will find it.”

Hermione grinned a sharp, feral, teeth-baring grin. “They can try.” She tore a bite from her bread.

“What are you going to do?” he asked curiously.

“That would be telling,” Hermione swallowed to clear her mouth. “Luna has promised to be my contact, in exchange for any good stories that might come out of this. I’ve sent copies to all the great arithmantic minds, all three of them. And it’s not like I’m dead. My apartment has a window. I can still receive owl post. I won’t be on the floo, of course, but I’m not leaving the country.”

“But without your wand?”

Hermione drank a little deeper than she might have otherwise. “You see, that’s one of the problems with you wizards. Just because a thing can be done with magic, doesn’t mean it can’t be done without magic. And just because they’ve snapped my wand, doesn’t mean I am without magic. Arithmancy doesn’t require a wand.”

“Nor do potions,” he reminded her.

“Exactly,” Hermione agreed. “And Hagrid’s been cheating the wand ban for absolutely ages with that old umbrella of his. The Ministry just doesn’t think!”

“They are fools. Blind men and fools,” Snape insisted.

“Thank you.” Hermione was unaccountably touched by his defense of her.

Snape, being Snape, could not let it lie. “I don’t say that to stroke your tender ego, my girl. I say it because it is true. Arthur Weasley is a very nice man, but he is a very bad Minister, almost worse than that imbecile Fudge.” He scowled. “Have you been formally banished, or might you stay a little longer?”

Hermione looked out the window. “I have until sundown.” She sipped her wine.

“Not enough time, then,” Snape muttered sadly.

“Not enough time for what?”

“For dessert,” he lied glibly.

Hermione wondered why she was so certain he was lying. He may have been a superb occlumens, but his body language gave him away. Something made him uncomfortable. “Why, do you have to be somewhere tonight?”

“No,” Snape admitted warily. “But you can’t be here once the sun goes down.”

Smiling, Hermione said, “That’s no reason we can’t have dessert. Come to muggle London with me. Let me treat you. We’ll have dinner in your world, dessert in mine.”

She saw a brief flash of something cross his face before he schooled his features to careful neutrality. “Miss Granger, I would be delighted to accompany you to muggle London for dessert.”