'Get your bloody kit off. You don't get out until we get a clear reading, and what you're wearing – it's more curse than cloth. And those boots of yours . . . Biohazard is probably the word.

Snape turned around and took several deep breaths, grateful that the assault with warm water had been paused. It hadn't just been warm water though, something else was in play – undoing all of his repair spells.

We've got a nice dry, fluffy towel for you out here,' wheedled the voice.

He still wasn't removing his clothes. The deluge recommenced. His robes split along the back and he could only watch as black cloth twisted and tumbled into the drainage channel that ran along one edge of the cubicle and vanished under the wall. Clearly 'decontamination' was something that goblins took seriously. While didn't blame them, he still didn't like it.

When next the torrent ceased, most of one sock and his underwear where all that remained to him. 'You ok in there?' enquired a different, younger sounding voice.

'Not drowned yet,' said Snape.

'Oh good. Madame Pomphrey's here. Director Rocklore, as in "the lore of rocks", is trying to persuade her to lend us your services. You probably do want to get out of there.'

The inundation recommenced. Silently cursing, Snape abandoned his remaining clothing. After a while, the water stopped falling and he was able to open the door.

There was a dry towel. It was fluffy. There were also what looked like linen pyjamas and new white cotton undies. Also, footwear made of canvas and grass. Weird, but they fitted. Dressed, if feeling somewhat waterlogged, he opened the door back into the corridor.

'Ello there,' said the voice that had warned him about Madame Pomfrey. He looked down to see a goblin in a cowboy hat. And blue jeans. A long, copper coloured braid snaked down over one shoulder, a loose-fitting shirt and and . . . Hastily, Snape raised his eyes.

'You don't think you've seen a female goblin before?' she suggested, eyes sparkling with mischief.

'No?'

'You probably have. The thing is: most of the tellers at the bank are old. Not past it, but still, less likely to haul off and eviscerate an annoying customer. More likely to spend a century or so savouring their total destruction.'

'Everyone should have a hobby.'

A grin. 'I am so going to enjoy having you as a minion.'

'What?' demanded Snape.

'You can call me "Hackit",' came the reply. 'Bit like "Sawbones". I'm the expedition healer.'

'Perhaps,' said Snape, 'you would care to explain'.

'A Gringotts teller arranged the meeting. Hence, an additional fee is payable. A fraction of one percent. Unfortunately, the item is invaluable. The amount is capped, of course. So, do you have ten thousand galleons?'

'No.'

'No. Alternatively, as an employee of Gringotts, we can demonstrate a cleansing: no fees applicable. It's not like we're asking you to do anything all that difficult.' She turned and led the way back along the corridor. 'Sometimes,' she said, over her shoulder, 'the best way to avoid trouble is simply not to be a goblin.'

The room was now empty apart from the desk, Angharad (aka Harry) in her wheelchair, Rocklore and Poppy Pomphrey. 'Severus, I could have arranged a position in Saint Mungo's. Why on earth didn't you say something?

Snape opened his mouth and then, thinking fast, found something very interesting in the floor and shut it again.

'Severus?'

'There is no way Professor Slughorn would give me a recommendation,' said Snape, not being one to miss an opportunity to drop an enemy in it.

'I would have given you a recommendation.'

'Yes but, he does know an awful lot of people.'

'And a lot of people know him,' said Pomphrey, rather tartly. Her expression tightened. 'Is this because he gave you detention for the state of your clothes?'

'It is true that I need to replace them.'

'Severus! He did, at least, pay you the fifteen galleons for the acromantula parts? No? You should have told me. Once those papers are signed, I expect to know everything! Oh well. At least we know that you're not, in fact a werewolf. Director Rocklore has promised to take good care of you.' She took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. 'Write and let me know how you're getting on?'

He nodded.

'I'll show you out, shall I?' said Harry.

The witches left, Pomphrey patting his arm as she went past.

'What am I missing here?' Snape enquired.

'I beg your pardon?' said Rocklore.

'Why would you want an underaged wizard on your expedition? Since I've already offered you the tiara, it's not that you're after.'

'No,' said Rocklore. 'It's you. You are a gift of Fate. What we need, exactly when we need it.'

'And you don't find that suspicious? There must be any number of people who. . . ' he began, only to be interrupted.

'Who would rob us blind. Harry is not that clumsy. What happened was not an accident.'

'Is that supposed to encourage me?' demanded Snape.

Rocklore smiled. 'We obtained the right to this expedition by means of a lottery. We should certainly not have had it otherwise. Some sort of comeback from those less fortunate was to be expected. Then you arrive, demonstrating definitively that luck is, in fact, on our side.'

'Luck?'

'It's a cultural thing,' explained Rocklore.

'I'm not yet sixteen.'

'So all sorts of laws don't apply to you.' The nasty grin returned. 'From what Madame Pomphrey has told us, as well as being surprisingly well versed in healing, you are both slippery and dangerous. We really only need someone to do the things Harry will struggle with but your abilities could prove useful. She also . . . What she told us suggests that you were recently able to invoke the aid of Hogwarts?'

'That was mister Filch.'

'Mister Filch is not a wizard.'

'But he is the caretaker. He loves two things: Hogwarts and his cat. And he regards his work as a sacred duty. Stirring something is a minor ritual even in the muggle world. Things just fell right.'

Rocklore's fingers drummed lightly on the desk. 'I suppose mister Filch would be the one that showed you the sky-sphere?'

'The thing in the roof space, yes? How did you know about that?'

'It showed up on your aura which, by the way, is unusual. Some degree of infusion of the magic particular to Hogwarts is expected of a student. Yours is quite saturated. How did you come into contact with a werewolf?

Snape said nothing.

'Fair enough. How badly tarnished was the sphere?'

'Not at all. Mister Filch was surprised because, until recently, it had been.'

Rocklore looked at Snape and then through him. 'Curious,' he said.

'The time,' murmured Hackit,

'Quite,' said Rocklore. 'Is there anything you have to do before we leave? And we'll need to contact your parents.'

While Snape didn't think the goblins would mention his having been bitten to anyone, it would, perhaps, be as well to oblige them. The situation was ridiculous, but learning how to destroy a horcrux was essential. Gift of Fate, indeed. And it sounded interesting. 'A couple of letters to write. And I'd hoped to sell some potions ingredients.'

'I can take care of that,' said Hackit. Somewhat to his surprise, everything had been returned neatly to his trunk with his wand, his apprenticeship papers and what he was looking for, at the top. 'I can probably get you ten for the perishables with the rest going to auction at the end of the month, if that's acceptable?' Snape handed over the goods and she took off at a run. The wand went up his sleeve.

'I still need to get these signed for Madame Pomphrey,' Snape told Rocklore.

'Have you a floo address?'

'No.'

'Telephone?'

'No. Although if you phone the local pub, they can get a message to my father.' The goblin opened a drawer and pulled out a modern muggle telephone. 'The Bull, in Cokeworth. And, if you want his agreement, you'll need to be paying me.'

Rocklore lifted the receiver and waited a moment. 'I'd like to put through a call to a pub called the Bull, in Cokeworth.' He covered the receiver with his hand. 'Who should I ask for?'

'Tobias Snape.'

'Ah, good evening. I was wondering if it would be possible to speak to a mister Tobias Snape?

. . .

'Excellent. Thank you.

. . .

'Good evening, mister Snape. My name is Rocklore. I'm calling from Gringott's bank, in London. Your lad Severus is here and I'm pleased to be able to offer him a position for eight weeks, starting immediately. While the remuneration, at ten pounds per day is not spectacular, the position is all found. Food, accommodation, clothing and equipment will all be provided. What he learns is likely to stand him in good stead in his future career and there is also a chance of a bonus.

. . .

'Yes, we'll have something sent through the Royal Mail. If you'll just sign it and send it back?' Snape dropped his apprenticeship papers onto the desk. 'We shall also be forwarding some other paperwork the boy wants signed.

. . .

Certainly, he's right here.'

The phone was handed to Snape. 'Dad?'

'Really, son? A job at a bank?'

'Is there anything going in Cokeworth?'

'Point.' A pause. 'What else did you want signed?'

'Apprenticeship papers for Madame Pomphrey. I can have basic qualifications in healing in place before I leave Hogwarts.'

'So what are you doing in a bloody bank?'

'Work.'

There was a longer pause. 'Fine,' said Tobias. 'I'll tell your mam. You be sure and write to her, you hear?'

'I'll do that. Goodnight.'

Snape handed back the phone. The goblin put it to his ear and then set it down. 'Right,' he said. 'We should put your things away.'

The weightlessness charm was still in effect on the trunk. Snape followed back to the lift. It went down quite a long way before it stopped and the door opened onto a solitary fire-bowl, surround by darkness.

'This way,' said Rocklore. Back crawling with nameless dread, unable to see a thing, Snape followed the sound of footsteps. A dim light ahead resolved itself into what looked like an oil lantern set in a niche. Further on there were three more, together. Beyond them, a heavy bronze door stood open. As they entered a torch at the centre flared into dim life to reveal the leading edges of rows of metal shelves. It looked and felt like a tomb.

'Over here,' said Rocklore. There was a gap where the trunk would, on end, just fit under the support of the shelf above it. Snape slid it into place and then was handed the mokeskin bag that held the horcrux. 'Just set it on top.' The crawling sensation reaching up his arms, Snape inserted the bag into the hidden gap and turned to find the goblin stashing papers in a metal box on the floor. 'And that is that,' he said. 'Time to go.'

Snape followed Rocklore out into the greater darkness of the corridor that got deeper when the goblin closed the door behind them and laid the palms of both his hands against it. A small light sprung up in a niche in the door, just like the ones along from it.

'The lights mark ongoing expeditions?' queried Snape.

'Yes. Four active teams, including ourselves. And one with a provisional date for preliminary reappraisal in 2050.'

'What happened?'

'We don't know. It was about to enter the final phase, the clear up. Everything was in order and then suddenly it wasn't. They failed to report in. Investigation found the site deserted. The way things were just dropped suggested a response to some kind of emergency but nothing was reported and you always report. Some of the things we deal with are dangerous.

There wasn't anything to be said to that. He followed the footsteps. Dimly, up ahead, he could see the fire bowl at the entrance.

Back in the brightness of the lift, Rocklore glanced up and suggested: 'As someone who experiments with potions and creates their own spells, I imagine that you already know something about risk assessment?'

'Yes.'

'We work hard to minimise exposure. Your risk of suffering harm has actually fallen since you arrived.' The lift stopped. 'Out you go. You have twenty minutes. Writing materials in the top drawers of the desk.' The door closed, leaving Snape alone.