All the usual disclaimer statements apply here. I'd like to take a moment to blow my own trumpet by stating that this chapter was written before JKR's big announcement regarding one Albus Dumbedore. Please don't flap and worry about me being homophobic, you'd waste your time as nothing could be further from the truth.
Minor revisions have been made to this chapter since it was first posted at the SSHG Exchange on livejournal. This is due to a bit of additional research, and if you first read the story on the exchange you might possibly spot the difference but you might well not.
Beta-of-Dreams: Melusin
Chapter 4: Rate of Exchange.
When the Fairy Belladonna reappeared on stage, to gloat (in terrible verse) about the inevitable stupidity of teenagers and the success of spinning-wheel related revenge plotting, Hermione flinched again. Snape didn't move a muscle, but she thought she heard a sad little sigh from his direction. This was pleasing. What better way to make an impression on Snape than to act in a graciously forgiving manner?
To ensure that he wouldn't be expecting leniency, Hermione pocketed his chocolate and spent the interval either in the toilet or talking at great length to a nonplussed Miss Anning about the effect of damp weather on her arthritic joints. She didn't win anything in the raffle, and she pointedly shared the rest of the chocolate with her father during the second act.
To the evident pleasure of many of the male members of the audience, Prince Charming (a leggy primary school teacher, called Sarah) managed to find the castle, kiss Princess Rose and sing in tune. Once the princess was awake, Fairy Belladonna repentantly promised to mend her ways and attend anger management therapy. The audience joined in for a sing-along (apart from Snape, whose eyebrow shot skywards as he watched Hermione and Stephen trying to out-bellow each other), and the children were all fed just enough sweets to make them very difficult to put to bed. At last, Angela Granger was given a deafening round of applause and swept off to the pub for an after-show party and lock-in. The Village Pantomime was over for another year.
As Stephen, Hermione and Snape exited the village hall, it began to rain. Stephen grumbled about having to get the car out to give his tipsy wife a lift home in the small hours of the morning and stalked off for a well-earned mug of tea at home. Snape waited until he and Hermione were alone, Summoned an orb spider from the hedge across the road and neatly Transfigured it into a golfing umbrella big enough to shelter them both. Moseying home at night, whatever the weather, appeared to be a speciality of his.
"Have I sunk beneath reproach?" he asked diffidently.
"Several times, I would imagine. You must be used to it by now."
"Touché."
"Not to worry. Even my oldest friends manage to thoroughly piss me off on a regular basis, you know. Harry is actually to blame for the Bellatrix incident. The Taboo slipped his mind when he lost his temper."
"Oh, for heaven's sake. I'm not that much of an idiot!"
"Historical evidence suggests otherwise, I'm afraid. It only takes a bit of effort to get back into my good books, though."
"Define, 'a bit'."
"Oh, I think that's something you need to figure out for yourself."
Snape twirled the umbrella one way and then the other. Drops of water span off in all directions.
"Would sausage and mash and a bottle of red at my house do the trick?"
"With onion gravy?"
"Naturally."
"And peas and ketchup?"
"Ketchup and gravy?"
"Absolutely."
"You drive a hard and culinarily questionable bargain."
"It's my final offer. Take it or leave it."
"I have strong reservations, but I suppose I deserve them. I'm just surprised there are no hot coals and bare feet involved."
"Has anyone ever just given you the benefit of the doubt?"
Snape pursed his lips while he thought.
"Well, Dumbledore did, at least partly. Although, I doubt he'd have been quite so lenient if he didn't have a bit of a weakness for angry young men."
"You're pulling my leg!"
"I am not. The old queen had two preferences, both of which involved a Y chromosome."
It took her half a minute.
"Effeminate, or a bit Dark?"
"Clever girl. He also decided that if his Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers were only going to hang around for a year, he may as well have something nice to look at each time."
"I can understand Quirrell, Lockhart, Remus and you, but surely Mad-Eye Moody was pushing it … ?"
Snape grinned nastily.
"On the contrary. Moody was the only one of us that Dumbledore had ever had a relationship with. I bet Barty Crouch Junior had the shock of his life when he arrived at Hogwarts."
They sniggered, glanced sideways at each other, and sniggered again. By this time, they had reached the end of the lane where Snape's house was located. He gave Hermione directions, and they arranged dinner for the following Saturday. Before Snape disappeared into the darkness, he chivalrously handed over the umbrella.
On Monday, Hermione found out that the Ministry library had no books about wizarding finance.
On Tuesday, she found out that the Hogwarts library had no books about wizarding finance.
On Wednesday, Hermione had a haircut, went shopping for clothes with Ginny and sent an owl to Bill Weasley. He didn't reply.
By Thursday lunchtime, Bill still hadn't replied. Kingsley Shacklebolt was rather surprised about receiving an unscheduled Floo call, but he accepted it and listened to Hermione's enquiry with every appearance of polite attention.
"But the goblins sort out all the money stuff, Hermione," he said. "They seem to do a good job, and I'd rather not piss them off by trying to get involved."
"So there isn't any information about financial policy kept at the Ministry?"
"No. We haven't needed it since the end of the Goblin Wars, and frankly, we need to free up all the archive space we can. If you insist on gathering information for this silly report, I suggest you try Gringotts."
On Friday, Hermione went to the bank and asked the assistant manager where she could get information about magical economics, financial law or fiscal policy. The assistant manager smiled at her, showing all his pointy teeth and lovingly flicking his forked tongue over his eyeballs.
"We have an extensive library. All the information you require should be available there."
"Can I see it?"
"Of course, madam."
"Excellent. Could you show me where it is?"
"You need to fill in an application form, in triplicate, and send it to the manager by registered owl. He'll arrange an appointment for you. For the appointment, you'll need to check your bag, coat and wand in with security. I assume you are fluent in Gobbledygook?"
"Ah. No. Afraid not."
"I believe eight books in the library are illustrated. The photographs of the refurbished Gringotts Albania branch are particularly interesting."
Hermione took an application form and went straight to Flourish and Blotts to look at 'Teach yourself Gobbledygook' books. She found out that the goblin alphabet had forty-four characters and Apparated home in a very bad mood indeed.
Entirely unsure which category of social interaction sausage and mash at Snape's house fell in to, Hermione told herself sternly not to get overexcited and that Snape was only trying to apologise for being an insensitive arse.
The level of primping required was therefore a subtle and many-layered question. If she exfoliated, waxed, plucked, moisturized, painted her nails and put on her best underwear, she would be prepared for anything. But she might be going to a lot of trouble for absolutely no reason. She might also be stacking the odds against herself – past experience told her that a tidy bikini line and smooth legs seemed to significantly reduce her pulling power while time-of-the-month pants and furry legs made her irresistible.
After an hour and a half in the bathroom, and half an hour of staring at her wardrobe, a compromise was reached. Smooth legs and armpits but untamed pubes. Clean hair and tidy eyebrows but no nail varnish. Eyeliner and mascara but no eyeshadow. Toothpaste and mouthwash but no floss. Matching underwear but no silk or lace. A short skirt, with thick tights and flat-heeled boots. A clingy jumper half concealed by a denim jacket.
The little mirror over the dressing table giggled and told Hermione that she was wearing exactly the same sort of outfit that she'd worn for a date in Hogsmeade with Viktor Krum, except that she was now three sizes bigger. A flurry of fabric later, and she was dressed in black tailored trousers, the clingy black jumper and high-heeled boots. She hoped that she didn't look too much like Severus Snape's little sister. A vision of matching clothes, an enormous candlelit table, loudly scraping cutlery and a veritable army of house-elves threatened to overwhelm her.
When he opened the front door, Snape was, in fact, wearing a battered pair of cords and a maroon hoody. He had a tea towel slung over his shoulder, an oven glove on one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. He eyed Hermione for a moment, thrust the bottle into her hands, told her to take off her shoes and open the wine and then hurriedly disappeared down a corridor that presumably led to the kitchen.
Not too formal, then.
On one side of the hall, a door was slightly ajar, so she struggled out of her boots, picked up the wine again and toddled off to explore. The door led to a large sitting room, complete with bookshelves, art deco lampshades, an open fire, an enormous sofa and a useful looking hearthrug. On one wall, there was a rather good seascape. Every now and then, shafts of sunlight broke through clouds and sparkled on the water.
"Have you got that wine open, yet?"
Snape entered the room, dangling two gently tinkling wineglasses from his fingers.
"No, I haven't. Sorry."
"Well, hurry up. I'm gasping."
The charmed cork made a satisfying popping noise. Snape poured, handed Hermione a glass and chinked his against it before drinking.
"I thought we'd have dinner in the kitchen, but it's a bit chaotic at the moment. I hope you're hungry."
"Starving. I've had a shitty week, and I'm hoping the onion gravy will cheer me up."
"What's wrong?"
"Oh, just work. I don't suppose you know Gobbledygook, do you?"
"That would depend on exactly what you want to know about. We can talk about it while we eat, if you like."
"Yes, please. I like your painting, by the way. Who's it by?"
"It's an early Edmund Diggory. Eighteen-seventy-five, if memory serves me correctly."
Hermione immediately padded over for a closer look.
"Bloody hell! It must be worth a—"
"—If you're very lucky, one day I might tell you precisely how much it is worth. But now I need to deal with the peas and see if the washing up has calmed down. I'll be back in a moment."
Hermione simply nodded and continued to stare at the painting. She decided that she was very, very interested in what Snape did for a living. She also wondered why a man who owned a million Galleon painting didn't have a house-elf.
The man in question informed her in an acidic tone that the idea of having somebody around who was forced to follow his orders made him want to vomit. And that free house-elves were so trendy nowadays that available ones were as rare as hen's teeth.
They only got around to talking about work when Hermione was dunking a piece of her last sausage into the mess of ketchup and gravy she'd created. Snape's gaze swivelled several times between his plate and the tomato sauce before he gave in to temptation and reached for the bottle, saying, "So what did you want to know about Gobbledygook for?" in what might have been an attempt to distract her from what he was doing.
"You know I'm working for the Muggle Prime Minister?"
"Mmmm."
"Well, he wasn't satisfied with the usual spiel from the Minister of Magic about witches and wizards. He wanted details.
"Ah."
"It's too risky to Obliviate the Prime Minister. I mean, look what happened to the American president! Kingsley thought it would be a good idea to have me writing incredibly long-winded reports on the list of things that Bob wants to know about, and eventually he'd get bored, or voted out, and that would be that."
"Bob?"
"Yes, Bob. He's a nice chap, actually. A bit of a stickler for paperwork, though, and very interested in money."
"Didn't he used to be the Chancellor before Chris had his little episode?"
"That's right … Did you say Chris?"
"We went to the same primary school. He was a sneaky little bastard even then."
"Goodness me. Your school must have been interesting, what with you and Lily ..."
"Don't change the subject."
"Right. Sorry. Where was I?"
"Very interested in money."
"That's it. Bob wants to know all about how Wizarding Britain finances itself. From a couple of comments he made about police and streetlights, I get the impression that he's thinking of trying to make non-Muggles pay some form of Council Tax."
Snape inhaled the wine he was in the process of sipping. It was a good job he was wearing maroon. He wiped his nose and eyes on his napkin, directed warm air from his wand against his chest and glared damply at Hermione.
"Absolutely not going to happen."
"Would it be so very bad? I could help set up a reduced rate. The money could be taken straight from people's vaults and converted into sterling at Gringotts."
"No!"
"I thought you'd got over your Muggle issues!"
"It's got nothing to do with that!"
"Pull the other one, Snape."
"Listen to me, Hermione. Has it ever occurred to you that there might be a very good reason why the goblins are in charge of the Galleons? Why all the knowledge is in Gobbledygook? Why all the people you've spoken to don't seem to be interested?"
"Goblins are good at mining. And they love gold more than anything."
"Granted. But can you think of any other reason?"
"No."
Snape stood up, thrust his hand into his trouser pocket and pulled out a handful of loose change. He sat back down again and dropped the money onto the kitchen table before picking up a Galleon.
"Hold out your hand."
He dropped the heavy gold coin into Hermione's palm. "What is this?"
"It's a Galleon."
"What is it made of?"
"Gold."
"How much do you think it weighs?"
"I don't know."
"Each coin weighs a little over half an ounce. There's a bit of other stuff in it to stop it being too malleable, but there is exactly half an ounce of pure gold in that Galleon."
Light was beginning to dawn. Hermione's eyes widened as Snape ate his last mouthful of mashed potato.
"What is the current price of Muggle gold in the UK?" he asked a trifle thickly.
"I don't know. I've never thought about it."
"Exactly. And you're not bloody well supposed to think about it, either. For your information, an ounce of gold is currently worth three-hundred-and-seventy-three pounds, forty-eight pence."
"Fuck me!"
"If you worked out a charm to make this Galleon look like an American Eagle, you could sell it for four-hundred and ten dollars incredibly easily. That is why the goblins look after the money, and the good little witches and wizards are conditioned not to pay close attention. Things used to be easier because the Muggles traded mostly in silver – although Sickles turned up all over the shop. Then the Spanish conquered the Aztecs, Muggles got more and more reliant on gold and the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy came into effect.
"If Bob the Prime-sodding-Minister demands we pay any Muggle taxes at all, don't you think people would begin to pay more attention to Muggle money again? Don't you think they might enquire as to the value of gold?"
"I don't know. Mr Weasley never seems to have much of a clue, and he's Muggle-mad."
"Arthur is a crass amateur. But even his interest would be piqued if part of his income suddenly started to disappear in the direction of Devon County Council. If the truth got out, it would spread like wildfire. Even the lowest wizarding salary is worth a fortune in Muggle money. We'd cause absolute mayhem in the Muggle financial markets; Gringotts would be drained of resource within a week and the wizarding economy would come to a standstill because of the lack of currency. Goblin gold is a finite resource that has to be continually recycled or we're toast. The usual rules of supply and demand that govern interest rates and inflation still apply, but having one currency throughout the world and one bank responsible for the manufacture – and release or reserve – of additional coinage makes things a lot easier to control."
"How do you know all this?"
"You're looking at Gringotts International's chief of security. It's my job to know. If you ever tell anybody that, or anything else I've told you, I'm afraid I'll have to hunt you down and Obliviate you so hard, you'll make Lockhart look like a genius."
Snape was nothing if not convincing. Hermione dropped the Galleon and raised her palms towards him in surrender.
"Fine! I get it. My lips are sealed. No wonder Bill didn't return my owl."
"Bill Weasley didn't return your owl because I told him not to."
"Oh, god! Did you know about this all along?"
"I knew you were making extremely indiscreet enquiries. Given our… friendship, I thought I'd wait and see if you talked about it voluntarily. Have you mentioned any of this to your friends?"
"No, they still think I'm filing for Magical Law Enforcement and writing revisions for Hogwarts: A History. Kingsley told me to keep this job quiet in case any of the purebloods got their knickers in a twist about it."
"Well, that's a bonus. Do you want some more wine?"
A horrible thought edged into the corner of Hermione's mind. Once it was there, it was impossible to get rid of.
"Did you ask me to dinner to find out what I'm up to?"
Snape put the wine bottle down and gazed at her unblinkingly.
"No, I did not. If you remember, I asked you to dinner before you started asking awkward questions."
"But as soon as I told you I was working on both sides of the fence, the alarm bells must have started to ring. How can I be sure that you've been genuinely friendly? How can I be sure that you aren't going to modify my memory before I go home? It's a pretty big risk letting me leave with all the information you've given me."
"I was planning to trust you, actually."
"Why? What makes me different from other people? You don't know me very well, and I haven't sworn an oath or anything."
Snape stood up again abruptly. He turned away from the table and rested his hands against the edge of the kitchen sink. The washing up gurgled at him soothingly, as if the plates were nervous about being smashed. When he spoke, it was in the icy whisper that used to be so effective in the classroom.
"You need to show the Prime Minister something convincing enough to satisfy his curiosity, which will put him off pushing for money. If that doesn't work, I'll have to Obliviate him. We'll sort out the document at Gringotts and let you convert it into your usual format. It's too risky to use owl post, so I will deliver it personally on Friday afternoon."
"Severus?"
"Hermione. It seems that the benefit of the doubt only extends so far. I assume you can see yourself out?"
Notes:
1. A lock-in occurs when a pub shuts its doors for the night but lets some of the locals stay and keep drinking after-hours.
2. Goblins who can lick their eyeballs appear in the Artemis Fowl books by Eoin Culfer.
3. Hoody is an abbreviation for hooded sweater. It is used ironically here, as badly behaved teenagers in England are often referred to as hoodies because of their sweaters.
4. For the benefit of the non-Brits: Everybody who pays rent or owns a property in England, who isn't exempt because they are a student or on disability payments etc., pays Council Tax. This goes to local government and pays for things like road maintenance, the police, schools and local facilities. Income tax is also paid and this goes to central government.
5. One troy ounce is equal to 31.1 grams.