Chapters 201-210

Arithmantic Procrastination

Suddenly a thought occurred to Hermione and she pulled away from her husband.

For a moment she studied his profile: frowning brow, aquiline nose, stubborn chin, all outlined by the sputtering gas lanterns of Diagon Alley. She knew Severus was upset. But in the dim light it was difficult to make out his expression. Not at all how he would look like in the neon light of the street lamps near the house where she’d grown up. Instead her surroundings appeared far removed from the 21st century. In a competition of settings for a remake of ‘Oliver Twist’, Diagon Alley would have won in a blink, all dingy and dirty and downtrodden.

‘Could you—’ She inhaled deeply—hesitated—exhaled. Halted. Forced herself to continue: ‘Could you bind and banish Draco? Take him beyond the Veil? I—I take it—from—well, Harry asked Nearly Headless Nick about death, and—’

She couldn’t continue.

Severus had already laid his hands around her waist in preparation for the Apparition. Now he let them slide away and drop to his sides. He heaved a weary sigh. ‘You couldn’t have waited with that conclusion until we were home, could you?’

Hermione shivered in the nightly breeze. The already faint flames of the street light above them flickered in the wind, darkening their corner of Diagon Alley even more.

His eyes were bleaker than the night that surrounded them.

‘Yes,’ he said at last. ‘I could. I can.—And I will, when Draco asks me to.’

oooOooo

Hermione held the pensieve gingerly in her cupped hands, much like the chalice of the gods of old or the holy grail of the Christian God.

Why call it ‘Sempiternal Solution’ if it did not, in fact, last for all eternity?

But the scanner of Genevieve Ollivander had revealed only mere remnants of magical power clinging to their wands that could be attributed to the Sempiternal Solution.

The conclusion was, of course, that the potion had worn off after the wands had been dragged beyond the Veil and back.

In other words, they had to brew another batch of Sempiternal Solution. If Hermione wanted Severus back with her in order to make new memories, she would have to let go of three more memories of him that were precious to her now.

She pushed the pensieve away and raised her head to stare out of the window over the surface of the lake. The last glitter of sunlight was rapidly fading from the water, leaving it black like ink and very still in this cold winter night.

Hermione knew she was stalling.

But she couldn’t help it. That’s silly, she told herself. After all, I know now that I’ll get the memories back.

Yes, she would get them back. Pale, faded copies of what was now fresh and vibrant in her mind. But they’d still be there. Not gone. Not lost. Just faded, as if they’d been with her for years and years and years, as if other memories surpassed these.

And ‘lost’ was the wrong word anyway. Because without the Sempiternal Solution and the spell that connected their wands and turned Severus’ wand into a key, Severus and Harry would not return from beyond the Veil.

But still. Now, here and now, she had to pick thoughts, words, feelings and touches that were fresh and new and good and dear.

She sighed and picked up her pen—a plain Muggle biro—and nice Moleskine notebook that Harry had given her for Christmas.

Absentmindedly, she began to doodle.

A smiley.

A silly heart with H & S inside, complete with a clumsy swirl.

A skull.

What do I know? she wondered. Automatically, her pen moved to jot down a ‘#1’.

Escaped Death Eaters had started killing Muggle- borns. And Muggles. She shuddered when she thought of what had happened to Severus’ erstwhile neighbours. Pretty much right after the battle. No surprise there. No one in their right mind would ever expect the likes of Fenrir Greyback to turn into tame lap-dogs.

Umbridge had been demoted once more. And Shacklebolt had shunted that job as liason between the wizarding world and that Church committee off to Umbridge and no doubt had a good laugh about it.

Dumbledore’s grave had been blown up and the Elder Wand had disappeared.

She had been attacked after the concert and had seen the Dark Mark burn again upon a Death Eater’s arm.

More people had been killed. The Ministry had come up with that brilliant ploy of using the protective tattoo on Muggle-born witches and wizards.

Umbridge and—or—the strange Necromancers had somehow sabotaged the spell that infused the tattoos. But in consequence Dumbledore’s portrait had frozen and that had alerted the Order. Then she and Severus had discovered that the tattoos were leeching their magic off into the Realm of Death.

At the same time the attacks on Muggle-borns had ceased. Draco and Percy had searched the Ministry for hints. Umbridge had killed Shacklebolt. Someone had killed Umbridge.

#2: Somehow that doesn’t add up. It just doesn’t make sense in one neat equation.

Hermione stared at what she had written.

Yes, that’s what I’m after—one neat equation that explains everything.

You rarely get what you want in this world, she admonished herself. She frowned. Equation. Damn. I’ve been forgetting not only the basics of Muggle algebra, but of wizarding Arithmancy.

I’m looking at an equation. In Muggle algebra that means two sides joined by the equals sign, and of course the basic Arithmantic equation asks for no less than three equal sides.

So: What had Umbridge wanted?

That was easy: if possible, to kill all Muggles. If that was not possible, to kill all Muggle-borns and all other Half-breeds. If that was not possible, keep them from—

Hermione’s heart was beating faster and her throat was suddenly quite unaccountably dry.

If that was not possible, to keep them from—

From—

Breeding? From growing up, marrying, from having magically gifted children?