Assuming the Worst

Chapter 11: Assuming the Worst

His message was cryptic and mystifying: I'll meet you at the party. It was straightforward enough, yet Hermione wondered if Snape was intending to back out at the last minute. What had happened to the original plan of meeting at her flat? She wouldn't put it past him to be a no-show, leaving her to stew about it all evening...

Hermione was still amazed that Severus had consented to accompany her to the party. Had she been prone to place a wager on it, she would have been kissing her money good-bye even now. Other than her flat-out request, what had motivated Snape to agree? Not only was he inclined to distance himself from British wizarding society, the man detested everything that went along with a party: the small talk, the one-upmanship, the excess of food and drink.

She checked the midnight blue gown – Hermione had worn it to last year's party and was determined to get one more use out of it – in her full-length mirror once more.

"You'll be the belle of the ball," the mirror gushed in matronly tones.

"Oh, please," Hermione grumbled, and switched off the bedroom light.

* * *

Berkley Berenger, Head of Foreign Trade Relations for the Ministry, had married into money. His wife's family tree included a smattering of Bodes, Robards, and Peasegoods, but it was the Mockridge branch that had made its killing in timely, shrewd investments. Delicia Mockridge Berenger was a social butterfly who fancied herself the maven of wizarding parties. She was fortunate that her husband had ended up in his position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, because his status allowed her to indulge in her hobby on a regular basis. Any time a foreign dignitary visited Britain, Delicia insisted that the formal reception be held at Mockridge Manor. In truth, nobody minded; there simply wasn't a room in the Ministry of Magic that lent itself to entertaining on a grand scale, nor did anybody else own such a fine, large house. As a result, Mockridge Manor was the locale for numerous Ministry functions.

Hermione Apparated to the grounds, then walked into the Manor's huge foyer where a disinterested-looking house-elf took her wrap. She looked about, wondering if Snape had already arrived.

"Excuse me," she said to the elf, "I'm supposed to meet my escort here – Severus Snape. Would you know if he has arrived?"

"Master Severus Snape is in the ballroom," the elf intoned dolefully. Bowing low, he waved a hand toward the doorway behind him.

"Thank you." Hermione started toward the door, paused in front of the framed mirror next to it in order to pat a stray curl into place, then walked in.

The Berengers' ballroom was packed. Ornately decorated Christmas trees stood in the corners of the large room, while the middle of the space was taken up by a circular table, heavily laden with food. The periphery was filled with dozens of chattering witches and wizards, colorfully garbed in their Yuletide best. Hermione couldn't help but notice that Delicia's special touch this year was a reindeer ice sculpture, which reared on its hind legs every few seconds. With Delicia, there was always something unusual.

Hermione couldn't even begin to imagine what Snape would look like tonight. He had summarily dismissed her offer to provide him with dress robes, and when her eyes had strayed once more to the chopped mess that was his hair, Snape had told her coldly that he was perfectly capable of grooming himself for the event. She suspected that he would merely transfigure his ordinary clothes into something suitable; transfiguration was a reasonable short-term solution as long as the spell caster remembered to reinforce the charm at regular intervals. The dorms at Hogwarts had always been rife with rumors involving transfiguration, the primary variant always involving transfigured clothing vanishing into thin air, leaving the victim in his or her underwear while a delighted audience looked on.

"Hermione!" Edwina Phyfe-Duncan swooped to Hermione's side. "I'm so delighted that you could come!"

Hermione managed a weary smile; she always attended the Department's Christmas party, a fact that seemed to escape her superior year after year.

"I wouldn't miss it, Edwina."

Madam Phyfe-Duncan was a large woman with a flair for rather flamboyant clothing, a combination that Hermione found perpetually amusing. In addition, Edwina's iron-gray hair perpetually out-curled and out-bushed Hermione's own, providing a continual source of comfort.

"Are you unescorted this evening, my dear?" the woman inquired solicitously. "I'm sure that this Christmas season must be extremely difficult for you, what with your pending divorce from Ronnie."

"It hasn't been too bad," Hermione said reassuringly. She craned her neck to peer around. "And I do have an escort tonight. He asked that I meet him here, although I don't believe that I see him..."

"It is rather a large crowd tonight, isn't it? A bit warm for my tastes. I was just speaking with the Chief of the Italian Wizarding Council, and he was fanning himself nonstop as we talked." Edwina tilted her head conspiratorially in Hermione's direction. "My dear, the garlic odors!"

Hermione burst into laughter. Another of Edwina's talents was the ability to be utterly outrageous. All in all, it kept the department rather lively.

"All for the cause, Edwina." She paused, taking a moment to scan the room once more. Just then the crowd shifted, and Hermione spotted a familiar face across the room.

And she stared.

Snape was leaning against a pillar near the rear of the ballroom. He was clad in gray and black dress robes that were, even from a distance, obviously finely tailored and quite expensive. Even more startling, however, was the hair: it was neatly trimmed and layered, the jagged ends and assorted lengths gone. Hermione's jaw plunged indecorously towards the floor.

Edwina followed her gaze.

"My gracious! Is that Severus Snape? I haven't seen him for years! He more or less vanished from sight after the Wizengamot acquitted him."

"Yes," Hermione managed, unable to tear her eyes away from the transformed Snape. "He's my escort tonight."

"Snape? You don't say!" Edwina's eyes were wide with amazement. "I had no idea that you two were close."

"We aren't – that is, we're friends." Of a sort, Hermione failed to add. "Please excuse me, Madam Phyfe-Duncan. I should let him know that I've arrived."

"Of course."

Hermione moved towards Snape, fully expecting to blink and find that the New Severus was an illusion. Snape, who spotted her when she was halfway across the ballroom, regarded her with cool aplomb.

"Good evening, Hermione."

"Severus." Somewhere in the dim recesses of her brain, it occurred to Hermione that the two of them had just called each other by their given names for the first time. "I barely recognized you. Forgive me for staring. It's just that..."

"Yes?" Snape arched an eyebrow.

She fumbled for the words. "You look – very nice this evening."

"Thank you." It apparently struck him a moment later that he was expected to return her compliment in kind, because he added, "As do you."

"Thank you." Hermione wanted desperately to inspect the robes and the haircut critically from all directions, but it was scarcely a thing one could do under the circumstances.

"From the dumbfounded expression on your face, I take it that you expected me to look like a ragamuffin tonight," Snape said dryly.

"Well – uh – yes, actually."

"I do recall how to dress for an occasion, you know."

"I'm sure you do. I just didn't expect –"

"– that I could afford it?"

Hermione blushed a deep crimson, but said nothing. She didn't want to begin the evening by antagonizing Snape; things would only deteriorate once they started down that thorny path. Curiosity was gnawing at her, but she didn't dare pursue it now.

"Shall we attack the buffet table first?" Hermione asked politely.

"Of course." Severus removed himself from the pillar and followed her.

They picked up serving plates and silverware and moved slowly around the large table. Their plates were only half-filled when Hermione could no longer contain at least one question.

"What happened to your hair?" she blurted.

Severus carefully placed a slice of roast beef on his plate and returned the serving fork to the platter. "If you must know, a Muggle stylist named Conrad happened to my hair."

Hermione looked at him quickly to determine if he was joking, but quickly decided that he was not. "Conrad?" she repeated faintly.

"I have not decided whether the look suits me," Snape replied, looking over the selection on the bread tray. "I have not worn a shorter style for many years, as I'm sure you are aware."

"It's very flattering," she managed.

"I shall perhaps have to accustom myself to it. Since the accident, my hair has grown only slightly. I may be forced to keep it at a shorter length whether I like it or not."

"It's remarkable that you weren't injured."

"Who said that I wasn't?"

Hermione, about to select a dinner roll, shot Snape a sideways glance. "Were you injured?"

"Would it matter if I was?" Severus asked rhetorically.

She fixed him with a measured look this time. "I would find it distressing if you were badly hurt."

The corner of Snape's mouth quirked upwards. "Whereas a minor injury would not trouble you. You can save your sympathies, Granger. My hair was the only casualty."

She had no idea how to respond to that. Hermione finished filling her plate and moved toward a pair of empty chairs. She settled herself and began to nibble, torn between speculating about Severus Snape's exterior renovation, and trying to decipher his comments. The man was maddening, she decided, although this was hardly a new development. Snape, for his part, seemed content to eat rather mechanically as he watched the shifting crowd.

They were almost finished eating when a Spanish wand designer, whom Hermione had met at a trade conference a year earlier, descended upon her to discuss his latest creations. Severus eventually took her empty plate, along with his own, and disappeared.

She saw him a few minutes later, talking with a woman whom Hermione knew vaguely from the Ludicrous Patents Office. This surprised her; she had expected Snape to be reclusive this evening, almost to the point where she would need to coax him into mingling with the other guests. Hermione was even more surprised when, shortly after, she spotted Snape and a wealthy Chinese businessman having an apparently earnest discussion on the far side of the room.

"Something wrong, dear?" Edwina caught Hermione's arm as Hermione brushed past her, deep in thought.

"What? Oh, no. Not at all." It occurred to Hermione that she was spending more of her evening monitoring Snape's activities than enjoying the festivities.

"Lovely party, isn't it? I know you're missing your Ronnie, but are you having a good time?"

Hermione found Edwina's propensity for referring to Ron as 'Ronnie' more annoying than usual, but she put on a polite smile. "I am, thank you," she said, pulling her arm gently away from her supervisor's grasp. "Would you excuse me?"

She was wondering whether to simply ignore Snape – obviously, he didn't need her help in socializing – or interrupt his conversation to see how he was faring. The decision was taken out of her hands when Snape caught her eye and motioned her over.

"Hermione, may I introduce Mr. Chang Ma Li?" Snape nodded toward the man clad in ornate Oriental robes. "Madam Hermione Granger-Weasley, Mr. Li."

Chang Ma Li extended a hand. "How do you do, Madam Granger-Weasley," he murmured in completely unaccented English.

Hermione shook his hand. "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Li. I've heard quite a bit about you."

"Only good things, I hope."

"Absolutely. I work in International Cooperation, and I've been corresponding with some of your people about import regulations."

"I do try to employ the best people. I hope they are being cooperative," Li murmured pleasantly.

"I'm certain that we'll be able to reach a consensus soon," Hermione assured him. "You are wanting to enter the textile market in Britain, are you not?"

"That is my intent, yes." Li nodded accordingly.

"If your textiles are anything as spectacular as what you're wearing this evening, we'll be importing quite a bit."

"I must say," Li continued, "that I'm delighted to find Mr. Snape in attendance tonight."

"Oh?" Hermione glanced at Snape, whose face was impassive.

"Indeed. Textiles is but one of my industries, you see. One of my companies specializes in the production of explosives. I'm sure you are aware that the Chinese are renowned for their expertise; our history with those products goes back thousands of years. But Mr. Snape, here..." The corners of Li's eyes crinkled as he grinned broadly. "His products are equal to, if not superior to, the best my own factories can produce. Considering how many centuries my people have worked to perfect incendiary products, it really is quite remarkable. I understand that you've virtually cornered the market here in Britain, Snape."

Severus tilted his head deferentially.

Hermione stared at him. Chang Ma Li continued.

"Tell me, Mr. Snape, what are your expected profits for this year? I can't imagine that you would be able to top last year's output."

"Surprisingly, I'm already a bit ahead, although that's typical for the period following Bonfire Night," Severus told him.

"Of course," Li chuckled. "Do you have plans for expansion?"

"Not at this time. I'm afraid that the success of my business has rather taken me by surprise."

"I shall sleep much better tonight. I was afraid that you would want to begin exporting to us!" Li slapped Severus jovially on the back.

Hermione watched, incredulous, as Snape managed a pained smile. Just then, another man walked up to Li and murmured something in his ear. Li grimaced and excused himself, leaving Severus and Hermione standing alone in the middle of the room.

Just when the silence became unbearably thick, Hermione could stand it no more. "Would you mind explaining what that was about?" she hissed.

"I believe," Snape said with a shrug, "that Mr. Li was complimenting me on my product line."

She shook her head as if to dispel a thousand cobwebs. "I don't understand. I thought that you –"

"Were poverty-stricken? That I barely make ends meet?"

Hermione nodded helplessly. "Well... yes.

"And where did you get that idea, Granger?"

"I..." She tried desperately to think. "Er – Fred and George Weasley were saying that they bought products from you. Said that you were on the dole, that the Ministry had sent work your way..."

"Over ten years ago, yes."

"I see," Hermione said, nonplussed. Embarrassment was creeping over her inch by red-faced inch, along with outright indignation. "Well, that's – that's – wonderful."

"Is it? You don't sound as if it's wonderful," Severus pointed out, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You sound almost disappointed."

"That's ridiculous. Why should I be disappointed?"

"Because your little project to improve my image is no longer necessary?" he asked pointedly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't have –" Hermione stopped in mid-sentence, angry with Snape for being correct, and angrier with herself for calling yet another man 'ridiculous'. She took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly. "All right, perhaps I was under the wrong impression. You could have corrected me, you know."

"Could I?" Snape asked, amused. "Should I have just blurted it out over dinner at the Plaid Pony? 'No need to appear so smug, Granger, I'm not nearly as indigent as you think?'"

"You let me pay the bill!" she said accusingly.

"Only twice."

Hermione regarded him stonily. "Are you going to tell me about your business?"

"Right here in the midst of a party?"

"Why not?"

She had her hands on her hips, and Snape marveled that Hermione hadn't yet begun to tap her foot impatiently. He shrugged.

"Very well. In a nutshell, my products are concentrated and easily shipped. For that reason, they sell quite well."

"What?"

"The explosives that are used by your brothers-in-law are not complex ingredients to make. Nor are the bases used for fertilizers and pesticides. The problem has always been in transporting them. They are largely unstable, easily combustible. I devised a patented method of concentrating them so that they can be shipped large distances without danger. I also," Severus continued smoothly, "own the patent for re-dilution as well."

"I see. That's – very clever." Hermione still felt wronged, taken in, and more than a little hurt. And there wasn't a bloody thing she could do about it.

"I thought so." Snape took a sip from the flute of champagne that he held.

"When did you obtain your patents?"

"Three years ago next month."

Now recalling – albeit vaguely – a comment made by Fred Weasley a year or two earlier, something to the effect that his life was made easier by the newer chemical compounds they were using for some of their products, Hermione gritted her teeth. When the twins had announced that they knew Snape's whereabouts, along with the revelation that they bought explosives from him, she had failed to make the connection. She tried to think whether there had been any clues along the way that things were not as she believed them to be. But as usual, Severus Snape had been a master of revealing nothing that he didn't want her to know.

"You really should have said something," Hermione said icily. "I thought that we had achieved some level of trust."

"We did." Snape's face had acquired an all too-familiar sneer. "It's not my fault that you were led astray by your own assumptions."

Hermione glared at him, livid.

"Excuse me," a pleasant male voice interrupted, "but may we take your photograph for the Daily Prophet?"

* * *

Hermione absent-mindedly stroked Crookshanks with one hand while she scanned the morning paper, spread out in front of her on the kitchen table. The pictures from last night's party took up a full page on the inside of the newspaper, and her heart sank when she spotted the one of herself and Snape. Why, with all the film shot by the photographer, had their photograph been included? She peered at the picture more closely. As expected, Severus was looking pleased with himself while she appeared – Hermione moaned inwardly – positively shrew-like.

'Festive party-going couple Severus Snape and Hermione Granger-Weasley enjoy the Berengers' hospitality', the caption read.

She wasn't at all surprised when, by noon, a half-dozen people had Floo'd to tell her that they had seen the picture.