It was Friday, and Ginny was rushed off her feet. There was a man at a table in the corner who had complained to Tom that she had not given him his order. He was upset, and Tom had yelled at her for five minutes before telling her that his order would be coming out of her wages.
To top it off, Snape was sitting in another corner, watching her. She knew that he wanted to talk, but, with tears drying on her cheeks, Ginny really didn't care at this moment. The night wore on, and Ginny's feet felt bruised from all the rushing she had to do. Her nerves were shot; arguing with Snape about his stupid assignment was not something she felt like doing tonight.
Nearing eleven thirty at night, the crowd began to thin out. Tom waved her over, and began to apologise for yelling at her. "He was a scammer, dear. You won't have to pay for his meal."
Feeling a little vindicated – though annoyed that Tom hadn't believed her earlier – she cleaned the bar and noticed that Snape was still sitting in the corner, shrouded in his cloak. Huffing, she made her way over.
"You are prepared, I hope?" His black eyes pierced the darkness of the corner and his hood; Ginny just rolled her eyes.
"Yes, I'm prepared. You're here to keep an eye on me?"
Snape glanced around furtively. "I'm here to do something to that ring."
Ginny glanced down at her hand, seeing through the disillusionment charm to the platinum ring still lodged on her finger. "You can't get it off?"
"Would you prefer me to do nothing at all?" He snarled.
"No, of course not. Do whatever you can, by all means." Ginny dismissed his prickliness as nerves – or just Snape-ness.
"I could cut your finger off. I think that would work," there was an evil glint to his eyes that told Ginny that if she pushed it too much, he just might follow through on that. Rolling her eyes again, she held her hand out to him.
Snape pulled a vial out of his pocket, dabbed some of the liquid onto a small white handkerchief – "You owe me a sickle for the handkerchief, by the way," – and rubbed it over the ring.
The ring went from bright and detailed to dull, coppery and plain. Ginny bit back a gasp, staring at the ring.
"It's still the same ring underneath, but nobody should recognise it now." Snape sounded brusque, and Ginny knew that he thought he was being nice. "I don't know how the Malfoy estate will react to the ring, though," he mused.
Ginny started, pulling her hand back. "The estate might react to the ring?"
Snape squinted at her, measuring her up. "Those are strong enchantments on that ring, girl. Even if I could take it off your finger and study it for a month I don't think I could unravel exactly what each of them do. So watch yourself. I want my spoils."
Ginny frowned at her hand. "Are you going to tell me why you, Malfoy's godfather, can't just ask him for this necklace?"
Snape glared at her. "No," he responded.
With a shrug, Ginny replied, "then I guess I'm still your best chance. At least you have no ties to me, so if I get caught you won't get in trouble."
"How… noble of you," he sneered. "How long have you been stealing to support yourself?"
Ginny, despite knowing that Snape couldn't possibly know her history, felt a flush rising up her cheeks. "Long enough to know what I'm doing, thankyou very much. Now if you don't mind, I have to clear some more tables." She stalked off, dragging Snape's tankard with her.
"Looked like a good chat, miss Weasley," Tom commented when she got back to the bar.
With a fake grin, Ginny said, "he was asking about my health. You know those men who just won't stop talking…" Tom nodded, letting the subject go. Ginny didn't know if he was convinced, but – as Tom usually did, which made him such a fantastic barman – he let it go. Ginny glanced back at Snape's table, saw that he had already left, and busied herself with dishes.