Nepomuk took his sweet time in measuring the galleons he handed out to the old man in front of him. It was not for the first time that the notoriously cheery Dumbledore detracted a large amount of gold from the family vault. And, as he was sliding the coins through his fingers, Nepomuk thought, soon there would be nothing to draw from. When the last galleon disappeared into the purse and the old man said his sickly cheery farewell, Nepomuk was once again glad, that he had earned the trust if more than one important and more important: wealthy family. Once again he turned to the contract he was about to set up, reaching for the feather to complete the terms of agreement for his best client, when his beetle eyes caught a glimpse of another paper, which started glowing, as the ink reformed itself. A cracking sound told him that he had crunched the feather in his tight grip. Uncaring Nepomuk shuffled through the stacks of papers in his office and grabbed the inocuuous document. He read it once. Twice. And for the first time that Nepomuk remembered, he was shocked. He, a goblin of a good 87 years, accountant for two of the most well-known magical families. But he guessed that now it was only one more. And the Dumbledores would not need anybody to take care of their gold in the foreseeable future. He stared at the offending paper. It was a family tree of his most favourite client. He had liked them. With a stress on the past form. The last of the Shafiq family had died. Just a few seconds ago. Qasir Shafiq was dead. And with him the wealth of an empire. Nepomuk was still gazing at the moving pictures when he saw a tendril form from one of the pictures. Qasim, he thought, to what mischief have you been up to once again? And with a toothy grin, which only goblins are capable of, he watched as the new twig grew and grew to end in... nothing. His face fell once again. Merlin and Morgana, how much more emotional should this day become?! But well, Nepomuk thought grimly, there is still hope. Hope for me and my gold. Quickly he stuffed the family tree in his pocket. He had to find out, who Qassim bastard was. And he had to be quick.

Goblin magic is not as other magic. It requires no wand or other directing tool. Neither is it outspoken. But all magic requires a sacrifice. For wizards it usually is their own magical strength, sometimes blood in a ritual or potion ingredients. For a goblin, all magic stems from gold. And jewellery. This is probably the only reason why the goblins had established a banking system for wizards, who they despised so terribly for their ignorant arrogance. But money does not smell.

With a distant look Nepomuk saw his most precious sapphire become liquid on the parchment and form a profile, a silhouette at first, then more and more details appeared. It was the face of a young woman. A pretty but plain little face. However, the eyes undeniably belonged to Qasim and the Shafiq clan. Nepomuk studied the counterfeit until the end of his shift. The small nose, the broad mouth... But the woman did neither reveal the mystery of her name nor her origin. He would have to seek help to find her. But whom should he trust?

It was midnight and Nepomuk was sitting in his bed restlessly. The family tree was clutched in his fingers tightly. Whom should he trust?

"Who are you?", he croaked into the dimly lit bedroom.

But the spartanian room did not answer him. He was just about to set the parchment aside when he registered a movement out of the corner of his eyes. He reacted more by instinct than that he knew what he was doing. Without a second thought about his golden ring, he set the parchment aflame. In the brighter light of the burning paper he saw them, just when the first hex hit him. A burning pain shot from his shoulder down to his stomach. He felt a warm wetness follow. He had made a terrible mistake in bringing the document here, he thought, while more cuts were dealt to his arms.

"Don't kill him, moron! He is the only one who..."

Nepomuk fainted.

Nepomuk woke to darkness. Wet, bone-chilling nothingness. A cellar maybe, or a dungeon. He felt oddly reminded of the vaults at Gringotts. But the copper taste in his mouth did not stem from Knuts. Neither was he capable to reconcile the strange stench in the air, a sharp and unpleasant mixture to his sensitive Goblin nose. Neither could he define where all that pain in his body came from. His skin felt bruised and raw, where they had cut him, but the pain seemed to course in his veins, throughout the whole body. He clenched his teeth as another wave of spasms hit him at the same time as realization. Someone had attacked him in his bedroom. Someone wanted to get the Shafiq family tree. That beautiful picture he had burned to hastily. Now, he understood, that this instinctive action had saved his live. Whoever this someone was - he would need him to find the heir. Maybe Nepomuk was able to make a deal with this someone. Unwillingly he shook his head as if to clear his mind, a grave mistake as the white explosions before his eyes told him. No, whoever had taken him here was not interested in making a deal with him. It was a precarious situation. Even though Goblins prefer the soft darkness of caves, tunnels, and vaults, even they are unable to see in complete darkness. So Nepomuk was reduced to crawling on all fours to explore his prison. The walls, the floor, most likely the ceiling too, were made of sandstone, cold water dripping from some of them down on him. The cool and smooth surface of a metallic door told him that this was indeed a vault, built to keep prisoners inside. And a powerful vault it was. Even through the haze of pain he felt the air humming with magic, feeding wards and hexes that activate, should he try to escape. Sitting back on his heels Nepomuk feels a weight in his trousers. Disgusted he pulls them of, finally able to link the smell to a cause, throwing them as far away as the walls let him. The stone is cold under his bare skin. During his expedition Nepomuk had found nothing more than a bucket for necessities. Lucky enough it was empty. Turning it around and sitting on top of it, freezing, aching, Nepomuk waited. He was still waiting, half-asleep or frozen, he could not tell, when a blinding light cut through the thick darkness.

He had been in his bathroom, razor in hand, no foam anywhere near, nor a beard to tackle, when the call came. The muggle tool fell and with it the intention of using it. Too distraught by the burning pressure of the Mark Severus Tobias Snape momentarily forgot his suicidal tendencies and decided that first things came first. It was a matter of seconds to dress in the hooded robe and cover his beak of a nose with the silvery mask. One step out of the house he vanished with a barely audible crack only to reappear at the feet of his master. Alone.

"Ah, Severus. Reliable as usual" a suave voice greeted him.

The sensuous tone did nothing to hide the unspoken threat of what would happen, should he not come immediately. But Severus had no such treacherous things in mind.

"My Lord", his baritone reverberated in the cave that had become their headquarter.

"You have proven yourself to be an equal member of our society time and again. Your abilities transcend what most of our people are capable of" None who did not knew Severus Snape would have been able to tell the subtle change in his countenance, but those who did, saw him glowing with pride. "I need those abilities tonight" - as if Severus had anything else to do.

His eyes were fixated on his master, eagerly awaiting his task.

"We have a guest downstairs who knows the last heir of the Shafiq family. Whoever it is does not know of his privilege and has to be introduced to his rightful place" The dark Lord made an inviting gesture.

Severus nodded curtly.

"I understand you are an apt Legilimens?", the doubt in his lord's voice hurt Severus pride.

"Yes, I am" he said somewhat indignant.

"Well, what are you waiting for then? We need to find our lost sheep!"

The last words of Lord Voldemort echoed in Severus mind. A lost sheep - that was what they had called him, when they found out, that he was heir to the Prince Estate. Before he was just 'the Half-blood' - respected for his abilities but not fully accepted. Now it was he, the dark Lord called first, he was working his way up the ranks and was about to become his Left Hand. The right hand obviously belonged to Lucius and Severus had no qualms about what would happen should he question that part of the hierarchy. As he took the last steps down into the deserted corridor, he was determined to cement his place next to the Lord by mastering his task in record time. A few steps further down he wondered why the Lord, an unrivalled Legilimens did not do the task himself. Stopping before the occupied cell, he became suspicious. He stood in front of an iron door, without a window for light or food and the magic woven into it was palpable.

Nepomuk blinked at the dark silhouette that peeled from the painful white. He made out long hair under a silver mask. The spinning cogs in his head made an inaudible click. The words 'Death Eater' danced in his mind, mocking him for his idiocy. Severus stared down at the half-naked creature on a bucket. His first thought was that he never wanted to see a Goblin without his pants again. Ever. The second thought was more a feeling of betrayal. His high hopes of a heroic interrogation with an aggressive and dangerous Mudblood were replaced by disgust for the task at hand and a certain degree of thankfulness for not having any witnesses.

Legilimency does not work on all magical creatures, only on humanoid beings such as Goblins, Centaurs ore Merepeople. Nevertheless, slipping into the mind of a whole other species is a confusing thing if the other part consents to the connection. Some of those, who tried to force their way into a werewolf's mind, turned into werewolves themselves, those who penetrated the thoughts of a Merepeople often drowned and there were more horror stories to tell for each species.

Severus did not know an example of a Legilimens trapped in a Goblins head, however, he did not want to become one of those bad examples. Although he guessed that he would not have been tasked to legilimens the Goblin, if he would simply tell him what he needed to know, Severus needed to try the alternative before risking his sanity.

Nepomuk watched with interest as bony fingers removed the mask in a swift motion, revealing a tired face. He knew that boy from somewhere, he thought. A boy - that was what he was. Too young to come into his cell to torture him. Too young for...

"My name is Severus", the young man declared.

Nepomuk noted that his intensely staring eyes were - much like his own - beetle black.

"Nepomuk", he croaked.

Maybe, maybe everything would turn out well.

"Nepomuk", Severus repeated contemplatively and crossed his arms, "Do you know why they brought you here?"

Slowly measuring the distance between man and door, Nepomuk shook his head. Better to play dumb.

"I was told that you stole something... " a wand found its way into the spidery fingers.

"And what would that be?", Nepomuk squinted the light still hurting his sensitive eyes.

The boy - Severus - gave an exasperated sigh.

"How would I know? I am just a lower rank and was sent here to look after you", he turned to the filthy pile of trousers.

With a flick of his wand the stains faded, and the faint scent of cedar wood filled the room. Nepomuk eyed him critically.

"What do Goblins eat? I don't want to poison you" the boy rambled on.

Again, the inaudible click as the boy said 'poison'.

Severus, Severus Snape, the aspiring Potions Master whose poisons kept the vaults of Gringotts creature-free. Severus Snape, the first potioneer to develop healing potions for Goblins. He wanted to lull him in. He knew exactly why Nepomuk was here. Nepomuk checked the way to the door again. A few more steps in and he stood a chance to get out before getting killed.

"Fish and insects mostly", Nepomuk answered slowly.

Snape took another step inside, taking out a can of sardines.

"So, these will do?", he asked as if overwhelmed by the task of feeding a prisoner.

He played his role well enough, Nepomuk thought. But now it was his time to strike. In an explosive movement the small Goblin jumped from his bucket and ran for the door. Snape did not even react. A grim smile played around Nepomuks lips when he crashed into an invisible wall on the threshold. Snape turned deliberately slowly; his second mask had fallen. Displeasure was written all over his face. Panic filled Nepomuks head. Severus came closer to the wide-eyed Goblin, grabbing him by the shoulders, holding him in place against the ward, locked eyes...

"Legilimens" - it was barely a whisper.

Severus found himself in yet another dungeon. This one was bigger, gloomier and treasures were piled to the ceiling. The inside of the Goblins mind felt disconcertingly realistic. He could hear coins crunch under his feet, smelt the dust and copper from gems and gold. Tasted the stale earthy air. Felt the warmth of a breath tickling at his nape. Severus whirled around, aiming his wand at whoever was behind him. Only that there was no wand in his hand. And it would have changed very little now that he was face to face with a full-grown dragon.

"GET OUT ", Nepomuks hoarse voice droned through the vault "NOW ".

Before the dragon could attack Severus, his instincts took over and he ran. Headless his legs carried him to the dragon's tail before the beast realised that the first fire blast did not roast him.

"Do you know what happens to Legilimens invading a Goblins mind?" Nepomuk mocked.

Severus did not wait for the answer but made for a stack of silvery chests when a fireball exploded a few feet behind him. Ducked behind the chests he was doomed. There was nowhere to run to.

"You will never find her!", Nepomuk laughed evilly and Severus stopped dead in his tracks.

So, the bastard knew the heir. And it was an heiress. A fact that the dark Lord would be pleased to hear - females being much easier to control by a faithful husband. He would not fail his master. Not today. He was Severus fucking Snape. Hastily he searched his surroundings for something - anything of help. He found it in a copper-plated axe as it was used in the Goblin wars in... shut it know-it-all, he told his brain. It was a matter of seconds before his shelter would be blown apart. With his heart pounding in his ears he dashed out of his hide, grabbed the axe, ran further towards the dragon, who was now collecting his breath for him. Remembering his Defence-lessons he hurled coins with his axe at the dragon, confusing the beast for a split second, in which he reached his enormous chest. He saw the flames rummaging where with any other creature the heart would be. He had one chance. He took a swing and slashed the axe deep into the softer scales at the chest. Boiling hot blood shot out of the slash, burning his arms and hands, letting him drop his axe. But the dragon was not dead yet. Enraged though. The long neck arched so that the triangular head was staring down on him. How he made it far enough away when the maw came down on him would be a miracle forever. It was his luck that the dragon had hit his head on the ground a little too hard in its rage. Picking up the axe again Severus sprinted to the neck and almost beheaded the beast. The blood flowed slowly this time and the dragon slumped down, whistling his last breaths through the split windpipe.

Suddenly robbed of all strength Severus dropped the axe and collapsed onto the floor as well. His heart was still hammering in his ears and the smell of blood was overwhelming. He felt sick. Bending down to heave what little he ate these days onto the coins, he saw the moving coinage of a sickle, staring into his own stern face. So, the treasures were memories. He forgot his momentary nausea and stood up again, taking in his surroundings once again. He was screwed. There was no visible system in how chests and diamonds, coins and golden tools were littered across the floor. And what if the dragon was lying on top of the memory? There was no way, that he would find the picture of a woman he did not even know.

"You will never find her", Nepomuks voice, weaker this time.

Closer. Severus whirled around. There was a dark crack in the opposite wall. A small dark zigzag line across dark stone. Quietly he picked up his axe again. It felt heavier this time, the adrenaline having subsided slightly.

"Who is she?" Severus asked into the vault, his echo mocking him with the unanswered question. "We have to find the rightful heiress and"

- "steal all her wealth to fund your crimes?!" Nepomuk seemed enraged now.

If he despised wizards, he worshipped their wealth. And her wealth would be his treasure as well. Sure, now of Nepomuks location Severus jumped into the crack. A smaller room opened in front of him, furnished like an office with a large iron scale on top of a desk and a surprised goblin behind it. Axe swinging, Severus stepped closer. A single vibrantly blue sapphire lay inside the scale. A big weight was placed on the other side, apparently still much lighter than the gem. And Severus knew. Keeping the Goblin at distance with his axe he snatched the sapphire. A young woman smiled mischievously from the inside. He pocketed it and was gone.

In front of him Nepomuk fell to the floor, nose bleeding, panting heavily. Severus conjured himself a glass of water and drank greedily. Then he conjured another one and set it down next to the sardines, he was not a monster after all. With his indifferent mask back in place he shut the door and allowed himself to enjoy his victory. His burnt arms would have to wait until after his report to the dark Lord.