The goblin, Sheerspike, frowned at him, then at the scroll that had appeared on his counter, then at Severus again. He leaned back and muttered in Gobbledegook into a shining brass speaking tube. Severus kept his face an impassive mask. The words were too low and quick for him to catch.

He'd owled for an appointment and —unexpectedly— been floo-called with an acceptance for an immediate appointment. He thought he'd had luck on his side for a change. But…him and luck? What fresh nightmare would find him now?

No, the only luck he'd had since finding himself alive the year before was Hermione's vicious little scheme to hide his business. Everything else had churned up shit.

Sheerspike narrowed his eyes. Something shone in their black depths that pricked at his well-honed paranoia. Hermione had not fumbled. Her paperwork was perfect. He trusted that. Absolutely. No, this was something else. The shine in Sheerspike's eyes. That was avarice.

"An office is necessary for further discussion, Master Snape." Sheerspike waved a gnarled hand. "The end of the banking hall. If you please?"

Please.

Fuck, that tested Severus' impassive mask. Since when would a goblin say please?

What did he have that they coveted?

Everything he had was sunk into his potion business. Money and house. All of it. He didn't have anything extra beyond a measly stipend tied to his Order of Merlin.

Severus jerked a nod. He turned and enjoyed the echoing clack of his dragonhide boots against smooth marble. More than one witch and wizard slid him a look, before their gaze darted away. He kept his chin high. Fuck them.

"Master Snape."

Sheerspike dipped in an almost bow and that simply rachetted Severus' paranoia. They only...sort-of-bowed to the likes of Malfoy. Or Albus. They'd practically scraped noses on the floor for Albus. Money and influence. But...he had neither.

Severus stepped into a lamp-lit room and his fingers itched for his wand. A hex already burned on the edge of his tongue.

"Sit, Master Snape. Please."

The 'please' was chaffing the creature. Sheerspike had been dealing with his account since he was eleven years old. Obviously the change in circumstance —whatever the hell it was— had thrown the goblin.

A comfortable, wizard-sized chair stood before a mahogany desk. Severus sat, crossed his legs, and dragged his coat over his knee. Calm. Elegant. The perfect front. Sheerspike climbed into his own chair, equalling them in height.

"You have not sought out the services of the Bank for some time, Master Snape."

Small talk? From a goblin? Severus gut cramped, but there was no harm in greasing the pot. "No. Your effiecency gave me little need."

A muscle twitched under Sheerspike's eye and his lips thinned. He waved a gnarled hand, a pile of scrolls popped onto the desk and the goblin snatched at the first one and unrolled it. "In seeking us out, it has come to the attention of the Bank that your position has changed."

A goblin always anthropomorphised the Bank. They served it. Perhaps, as with Hogwarts, there was a touch of sentience to the building. An unrelenting, grasping sentience.

Severus lifted an eyebrow and waited for Sheerspike to continue.

The goblin pressed thin lips together into an even harsher line. "You are the only son and heir of Tobias Snape. Squib. He is of the House of Shafiq. Your blood is now, as of today, and in presenting yourself to the Bank, recognised as the last wizarding and the last magical Shafiq. The scheme, known as the Shafiq Clause and upon one condition, is wound up and the capital sum is yours."

Severus blinked.

Fuck.

Buggering fuck.

His bastard of a father, the magic-hating, drunken arsehole was a squib?

Had his mother known? No, she couldn't have. Her family wouldn't have disowned her for marrying someone who was a squib. Any resulting children would still be pure-bloods...

Merlin's saggy ballsack.

He was a pureblood.

He breathed. In and out. Money. Capital. Sheerspike had said capital sum. And was saying...please. His pulse raced. And he clamped his will on the surge of adrenalin, wrapped his swirling thoughts in icy shields. He didn't want to know anything more about his shit-stain of a father, what or who he was. But the rest..."The Shafiq Clause. Explain."

"It is their singular tontine, Master Snape. All descendants are...garnished, with one sole beneficiary. You have been the last one for a number of years, but as you have not come to the awareness of the Bank, we could not wind up the tontine."

"Garnished?"

Severus, even wrapped in ice, was still having trouble pushing out even one word questions. He was the last in his line. Last Prince —though that had gifted him little more than the tumble-down cottage he now lived him. Last Snape. That had brought him nothing...or so he'd thought.

His foul shit of a father had been a squib.

No, he wasn't getting over that fact any time soon.

"All monies earned by squibs and half-bloods —either in the muggle or magical world— had a quarter cut taken. Once the last wizarding descendent of the scheme made themselves known to the Bank, the scheme was to be wound up and the final payment made."

His accounts. His money had been cut away...to give to himself. Oh, for fuck's sake.

"My profits were cut?"

"Yes, Master Snape. As were other gifts and benefits not given through other wizarding Blood."

His Order of Merlin. It had even cut away at that.

"But," and he was truly confounded that he would ever utter the words, "I'm a pure-blood."

"You've been the final member of the tontine for a number of years, Master Snape. The magic within the Clause has...fed upon itself. The binds on the tontine made it impossible for us to end it. Nor for us to make you aware. You have our apologies."

And about that, he was lying through his little pointy teeth. Oh, not about the contacting him, he was sure that was the truth. "There was a mask on the Clause." Those...garnished never knew, could never find the root of the disappearing money. Just as he and Hermione hadn't...though they knew something was wrong.

Fuck. It had deepened his poverty. It'd stripped what little money he'd had growing up, pulling it from his bastard-father, who'd already been far too easy with letting it slide through his fingers.

"The Clause ran for 400 years. An impressive scheme." Sheerspike's nasal voice warmed. Yes, a goblin would love the idea of fleecing so many people and their knowing nothing about it. "And now it is at an end." And there was his disappointment. "You must meet the final condition and the capital sum, the vaults and all sundries will be yours, Master Snape."

"How much?"

Severus wanted a little bit of good news —or bad, because he knew, he knew the condition set on it would be one he couldn't meet. That was his lot. Perhaps the Shafiq Clause wrapped bad luck around everyone tied to it?

Sheerspike frowned and looked away, as he if he were...conferring. The Bank communed with its servants, then. "As of the last accounting —taken three minutes ago— you, if conditions are met, have 73 million galleons, 12 libraries, an estate in Shropshire, a townhouse in Belgravia and several properties currently tenanted. This sum does not include investments and royalties. Also a…not insignificant sum." A gnarled hand patted a very fat scroll. "The full inventory is here."

Severus discreetly pinched his leg. The sharp bite of pain proved he wasn't dreaming. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. He wouldn't have to grub about, fussing and worrying, straining to make enough galleons to run his business and feed himself. He'd be free. Absolutely and utterly...free.

A stone sank into his stomach.

There was a condition.

"What criteria must be met, Sheerspike?"

"Marriage and an heir within a year and a day of your being confirmed by the Bank as the last of your Blood." The goblin frowned at him with displeasure. "You do not meet this need, Master Snape."

Well...fuck.