A/N “One chapter a month”… okay, each of you who told me off is fully justified. I’m a useless and a terrible person. I’m afraid I hadn’t anticipated my life being quite so busy, and, sadly, writing was the aspect of it that ended up sacrificed. This chapter isn’t beta’d, but I hope you’ll like it more than the last one in spite of that. Also, I’d like to acknowledge Adele Rose again, since her help a few chapters back isn’t anywhere near finished with influencing this story’s direction. There are a couple of things in here that are definitely more her idea than mine. Thank you.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Hermione arrived downstairs the next morning to find the table already laid and Snape sitting in his usual place, sipping a mug of coffee with a pensive expression on his face. Hermione didn’t need to ask what was bothering him – she could see a letter on the table next to his plate.

“Lucius replied already?” she asked in disbelief. “I thought at least a few days…”

“So did I,” Snape replied grimly. “He is remarkably eager to meet me, disturbingly so.”

“Any ideas as to why?” Hermione asked, settling herself at the table and buttering a piece of toast.

“A few,” Snape replied grimly, automatically passing her the jam. “None of them pleasant. I don’t see, however, how my letter would have made him suspicious.”

“We’re still going, then?” she asked.

“I could go alone…” Snape began half-heartedly, but stopped at Hermione’s glare. “Yes,” he said, still obviously unsettled. “I think the possible benefits greatly outweigh the danger of the situation.”

“When are we going, then?” she asked, butterflies suddenly in her stomach.

“He suggested we join him on Friday night.” The emphasis confused Hermione, and at her perplexed look Snape explained, “Lucius rarely suggests anything. He generally demands or requests. Lucius likes to have the upper hand,” Snape said dryly. “Granted, he expects an acceptance, but his flexibility on the issue is worrying.”

Hermione frowned. “This is all inferred from the wording of his letter?” she asked sceptically.

“Yes.”

Hermione nodded, still doubtful but willing to concede that Snape obviously knew what he was talking about. “Well, I’m working on Friday, but I’ll see if I can get an early shift – hopefully Melissa will be willing to take over early, but I don’t know about that. The earliest I’d be done would be eight, maybe?”

Snape frowned. “We will be expected by nine. If you can ready yourself quickly, there should be no problem.”

Hermione shrugged. “We need to do the appearance alterations, but once we’ve done the groundwork on that it can be removed and re-applied pretty easily. Actually, I wouldn’t mind doing a bit more research on that, if possible.”

Snape made a coughing, choking sound, and hastily took another mouthful of coffee, finishing the cup. “Of course, Hermione,” he said. She looked at him sceptically.

“Were you laughing at me?” she asked, leaning forward accusingly, putting her hands on her hips and an expression of mock outrage on her face.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, smirking, and leant forward himself to fill her cup before he did his own. He was close, all of a sudden, and Hermione felt herself holding her breath, her arms falling to her sides. He smiled at her, a real smile, and for a moment… but then he withdrew, filling his own cup, and seemed to be avoiding her eyes. She sighed a little, almost inaudibly, and went back to the process of eating her breakfast, wondering what, if anything, had just happened, and why her pulse seemed to have tripled its rate.

“Sit still!” Hermione snapped, exasperated. “Stop fidgeting!”

“Forgive me for being slightly uneasy when there’s a wand not five centimetres from my face!” he snapped back.

“I’m not planning on hexing you, but if you don’t stop moving you could very well end up permanently disfigured!”

Snape shrugged, causing Hermione to frown again, and he said, “I doubt I’d see a difference.”

It wasn’t until after Hermione had blurted out “What do you mean?” that she realised it was perhaps not the most prudent question to ask. He replied blandly, however, seeming to not take offence, and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

“People rely too much on external appearances. Disguise relies heavily – too heavily – on the physical. If one can learn to see past the immediately apparent, one learns a great deal more.”

“Legilimency?” Hermione asked, interested.

“In part. More important are mannerisms, actions, phrasing, and facial expressions. An observation of more than the strictly physical. I know what kind person I am, and any disfigurations will only help in presenting my persona to the world. They will not change my view of myself, or who I am.” His tone, Hermione reflected, was both bitter and arrogant. It seemed to imply that he was above such petty things as others’ opinions – and yet she could not ignore the touch of bitterness. “Not,” he added sharply, “that I want you to make any errors with your wand in my face.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied calmly, “I’m always careful.” Despite her bland answer to Snape’s revelation, Hermione’s mind was working overtime. Interesting in more ways than one. And yet his self-confidence in his physical appearance is appallingly low. It’s true he’s not attractive by conventional standards, yet he has… something. Deciding to ponder in depth later, and in private, Hermione returned her full attention to changing Snape’s face. She would hate to make a mistake.

After Snape had finished his transformations of Hermione’s face, he passed her a mirror, a smirk crossing the now-unfamiliar features of his face.

“I hope the visage of a snobby and spoilt pureblooded witch suits you. I suspect I could make it permanent if you so choose.” His smirk widened. He was evidently quite pleased with his work, and Hermione smiled at him before turning to look in the mirror. And gasped.

When she’d regained her breath, and her sides were only mildly painful from the prolonged laughter, she said in response to Snape’s pained look, “Really, it’s a good job. Only it’s a bit…” she giggled again, “a bit too like a snobby and spoilt pureblood we know.”

Confusion crossed Snape’s brow before rapidly dawning comprehension, followed by a flush of embarrassment.

“Perhaps you could change the hair and the chin shape a bit?” she suggested, finally gaining control of her amusement. “Make it a little less... well, Narcissa Malfoy?”

“Of course,” he said shortly. Mentally, Hermione sighed. He really needed to take himself less seriously. It was actually quite funny… On a whim, Hermione voiced the thought to him.

“I do hope you find it so,” was the curt reply.

“Really, Severus. Try to laugh at yourself occasionally. And it was funny – I needed that laugh. I haven’t laughed in a while.”

His expression softened a little. “Perhaps you don’t want to be the epitome of snobbery and purebloodedness,” he allowed with a small, fleeting smile.

“I’ll settle for second best,” Hermione agreed, pleased with herself. “Here, let me undo the alteration.”

“So,” she said when the silence between them was on the verge of becoming awkward, “I think we’ve prepared our back story as much as possible over the past few days. Anything else you think I should know about? Strange and bizarre pureblood customs? Secret handshakes?” She was only half joking.

Snape smirked. “Giving you that information would break the Unspoken Pureblood Code,” he told her solemnly. “That, I cannot do.”

“Oh really? And why, pray tell, would that be?” she asked, mimicking his tone.

“Because it is Unspoken.”

“And a Code?”

“Indubitably.”

Hermione couldn’t look at his still-solemn face any longer without dissolving into giggles. She promptly did so, not without catching the gleam in his eye that suggested he had intended her reaction.

“Did you enjoy that?” she asked him archly after she had caught her breath.

“Immeasurably.”

“Right, well, know we all know your affinity for five-syllable words beginning with ‘I’…. Seriously, is there anything you think we haven’t covered?”

Within seconds Snape serious again. “We have our background stories well covered. Pureblood etiquette is little different from upper class muggle etiquette, which we’ve also covered. Formality, even in a nominally informal gathering, will be expected. Assuming you know which knife and fork to use with which course, I don’t anticipate a problem. Just be alert and ready to think quickly.”

“I don’t think I’ll be relaxing much, somehow. Oh, and I didn’t appreciate your cutlery dig, by the way. My parents brought me up properly, I’ll have you know!”

“Oh really? I’ll be sure to send them a thank you card.” Apparently, his teasing mood was still there under the surface.

“Written in red ink with sarcastic comments in the margin and ‘Needs improvement’ in the place of a signature?”

“What else?”

“Horrible man!” Hermione said, pouting and pretending that she wasn’t flirting. Definitely not. Not at all.

“I aim to please,” he responded, grasping her fingers and kissing them briefly. Then he was leaving the room, saying over his shoulder, “Come, I need to see your dress robes.” Hermione blinked, and followed him to her room. He was waiting for her at her door.

“You’re not going in?” she asked him, still disconcerted.

“Your wards,” he replied, and Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. “You’ll have to let me in,” he clarified.

“Oh! No, that’s already done.”

“I beg your pardon? You took down the wards on your room?” Now he looked distinctly alarmed. “Hermione, it’s not safe to-”

“I haven’t taken them down,” she interrupted him. “Just modified them. They’ll only let the two of us in.”

An odd look entered his eyes then. “Didn’t you say that they were still experimental? I thought you hadn’t yet determined the modifications that were needed.”

Hermione shrugged. “I worked on it. It’ll let you in.” Again, that odd look in his eye, and again, for no apparent reason, her pulse tripled. Snape nodded abruptly, and walked into her room. She followed, a pace behind, and soon they were busy going through her wardrobe and determining which robes would be best suited for transfiguration into formal evening attire.

When Friday afternoon finally arrived, Hermione wasn’t sure whether the time had inched by or flown. Her stomach was a mass of nerves, and no matter how many times she had rehearsed her story, practised removed and resetting the appearance charms, gone over her list of possible conversation starters, and generally prepared herself in every way possible for that evening, her hands refused to stop trembling.

“Ohh I don’t want to go to work,” she moaned to Snape as they stepped from the bike.

“This will be the last time,” he reassured her. “Your friend is taking over next week, no?”

“Yes. But why tonight? There’s so much I need to…”

“There’s not,” he said gently. “You’re as prepared as you can be. Now you need to take your mind off this evening. Go. I’ll pick you up when your shift is over.”

“Okay. Thank you.” She pecked his cheek quickly, grateful for his attempts at reassurance, ineffective as they were, and made her way distractedly into the restaurant. She didn’t have time to look back; the second Hermione opened the door Alice whirled her into the back room.

“Oh thank goodness you’re here! Alexandra didn’t turn up! Only half the tables are set and our first reservation is due in ten minutes!”

In retrospect, the blurry busy few hours that followed were probably the best way Hermione could have spent her time before Lucius’ dinner party. She barely had time to breathe, let alone worry, and her hands were moving dishes and taking orders so quickly that there was no opportunity for them to tremble. When she stumbled out of the restaurant, dazed, at five minutes before nine, she practically fell into Snape’s arms.

“Are you okay?” he asked, concerned. “You look exhausted.”

“Fine, fine. A few seconds of fresh air should do the trick.” It did, too; fresh and icy cold, Hermione was feeling alert in no time, and traces of nerves were beginning to creep back into her stomach. Retrieving her wand, and quickly checking for muggles, she applied the appearance charms she would need for the evening.

“Did you bring my robes?” she asked, and before she could finish the question Snape had pressed them into her hands.

“Thank you. I’ll just be a moment.” Snape nodded, and Hermione realised suddenly that there was nowhere to change. She paused, uncertain, and Snape smiled slightly.

“Go into the alley we’ve used before and use an attention deflecting charm. I’ll wait here.”

She was back within moments, and Snape was pressing something small and hard into her hands. She looked up at him in confusion to find him clasping a necklace around her neck.

“Go on, put the earrings on,” he urged. “We’re late already.” Silently and rapidly she did as she was told, barely taking time to glance at the studs that, in any case, the dim light barely revealed. Reminded by this, she slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew the marriage band they had bought only yesterday. Placing it on the appropriate finger, she waited for Snape. He was, after all, a thousand times more experienced than her in what they were about to undertake. Tonight, if on no other, she would follow his lead completely.

“The shoes are fine,” he said. “Leave your clothing by the bike and I’ll Apparate both of us. Ready?” She stepped into his embrace once more and had barely taken time to enjoy it when they were in front of the gates of Malfoy Manor. Snape disentangled himself from her slightly, leaving his arm around her waist as they walked up the driveway. Hermione opened her mouth to ask about the charm to change their accents, and Snape murmured into her ear,

“I wonder if our new acquaintances will be surprised by our accents, love. I doubt they know that in Australia all respectable wizarding families have strictly British tutors for their children. Imagine their surprise to find that we don’t have that vulgar affectation that so many of those in the colonies acquire after only a few centuries of separation from Mother England.”

Taking in the multiple layers of meaning in his words, Hermione nodded and squeezed his arm, wondering when in the last four hours he had changed the plan. “I’m looking forward to the English society. Do you really know nobody here?”

“As I have already said, dear,” Snape said, “I knew only Walt.” Hermione wondered fleetingly if the bite in his tone was real or put on for the audience Snape seemed to think they had, and felt a pang of hurt, before telling herself to stop being silly. She was playing a part just as he was, and she would not let any of his looks, words, or actions hurt her this evening because they weren’t real.

“Such a shame about Walt,” she said smoothly and without injecting too much sympathy into her voice. “And poor Desdemona.”

“Yes,” Snape said, and now there was a hint of amused affection in his voice, “otherwise you would have already had a circle of intimate acquaintances to rule over. You will like Narcissa Malfoy, I believe, my dear. From all accounts she is a woman much after your own heart.” It was definitely odd to hear the little endearments coming so smoothly from his mouth. Hermione squashed her own personal reaction to it. Think scheming socialite, she told herself firmly.

“I look forward to making her acquaintance.”

Snape squeezed her waist again, and then they were at the door, already being opened by a house elf. Snape smiled at Hermione, and, with a return smile for him and a lurch in her stomach, she stepped over the threshold and into Malfoy Manor.