All the usual disclaimer statements apply here.

Huge thanks to my beta, Melusin.

Chapter 5: Humble Pie and Fillet Steak.

Hermione didn't know how to react. She'd never been kicked out of somebody's house for being offensive before. Stomping her feet and slamming the door didn't seem quite right, and besides, it would have taken considerable effort and looked utterly ridiculous because she was in her socks. She opted for a quiet, graceful retreat, managed not to scrape her chair against the floor too loudly and deliberately neglected to shut the kitchen door on her way out. By the time she reached the front hall, she'd broken into the cold sweat of absolute mortification. When she realised that she'd have to put her boots back on before she could leave, the concept of a dignified exit bit the dust completely.

The first sob erupted noisily and nasally as Hermione sat on the hall carpet, tugging on her left boot. It was followed by a tear, which dangled for a long moment from the end of her nose before dripping onto the third finger of her left hand where it shimmered spitefully. More tears followed. Much as she tried to keep the blubbing to a minimum, the sniffling noises were an absolute giveaway. And her right boot refused to cooperate, taking two shaky attempts and a frustrated whimper before it slid into place on her foot. She crawled on all-fours to the door and heaved herself upright using the door handle before tottering weepily out into the darkness and disappearing with a damp pop – a shining example of feminine pathos as a consequence of shameful behaviour.

Arriving home to a cold, dark flat, Hermione washed off her carefully applied (and now liberally streaked) makeup. The water pipes shuddered and clanked eerily as the hot water tank refilled, making her skin prickle at the idea of being there alone. Snape had not even pointed his wand in her direction, let alone modified her memory of the evening, but for once in her life, Hermione forgot to think rationally. An insidious internal moan of I've lost him, I've lost him, I've lost him ... made her stomach roil, so she concentrated on the possibility of retribution instead.

Wandering aimlessly from the bathroom to the kitchen and back again three or four times, Hermione began to ponder the fact that her Gringotts account was registered to the flat's address. If they knew where she lived, and what she knew, they could find her and deal with her as they saw fit, regardless of who her friends were. She imagined a hoard of goblins bursting through her front door, waving homemade wands and squealing, "Obliviate!"

Almost immediately, she ransacked her wardrobe, her drinks cabinet, her bookshelves, and her poorly stocked kitchen cupboards before throwing the results into her handbag. She locked the door of her flat and Apparated to number 12, Grimmauld Place, arriving at precisely ten p.m.

Mercifully, the children were asleep and Ginny was in the bath, enjoying a rare period of 'quiet time'. Harry stood in the hall looking utterly bemused at Hermione's out-of-the-blue request for the use of his tent for a few days.

"It's night-time in February, Hermione. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine! It's just that I've … I've had a disagreement with the goblins over my bank balance, and they turned a bit nasty. I thought I ought to make myself scarce for a few days until they calm down a bit, and I don't want to worry my parents."

Given the ridiculous nature of her excuse, it was a shock when Harry nodded understandingly and began to rifle through the cupboard-under-the-stairs.

"They're buggers, aren't they?" he muttered in a don't-wake-the-baby undertone. "I was worried that they wouldn't be able to resist helping themselves to any goblin-made items they came across, so I asked to see if they had an inventory of the contents of my vault. They weren't helpful at all and actually got rather aggressive with me. I was so fed up that I exchanged all my gold for pounds at the bureau de change and put my inheritance into a building society instead. The interest rate is very good there; Ron's moved his savings over, too."

Hermione choked on her own saliva and coughed very loudly until the stuttering wail of a baby began on the first floor. Harry thrust his tent into the handbag she was holding open for him and dashed upstairs to soothe his daughter back to sleep, just as Ginny started to yell at him from her bath. From the sound of things, Harry wouldn't be back any time soon, so Hermione simply shut the cupboard door and Apparated quietly away.

Until Harry mentioned his inheritance, Hermione hadn't got around to considering the way her parents had changed money at Gringotts to pay for school things. She could remember the counter at the end of the bank's impressively marbled hall. The same goblin always seemed to be on duty when they visited, and he always seemed to be in a funny mood – something she'd attributed to the fact that he was dealing with Muggles. On the wall behind him, a parchment displaying that day's exchange rate in pounds to the Galleon hung in a heavy gold frame. Occasionally, the numbers had changed while they watched, in an odd pastiche of the constantly flickering LED screens she'd seen in the windows of Muggle bureau de changes. The exact numbers on the wall at Gringotts evaded her memory, but there was definitely always a five or a six involved. The six meant her father grumbled, the five meant he ignored her mother's anti-sugar rhetoric and bought her an ice-cream. Numbers such as three-hundred-and-seventy-three had definitely not been displayed.

The mystery occupied Hermione nicely as she put a warm jumper and a coat on and then airily waved her wand, smirking at the incantation required to erect Harry's tent in a fraction of the time it would have taken him to do the same job. She cast the usual series of protective charms and checked that the sheets and duvet on one of the large camp beds were clean, in case Ginny hadn't done the washing. Satisfied that she'd chosen the last place people would expect her to visit, she cracked open a bottle of vodka, unwrapped a bar of Dairy Milk and got thoroughly stuck in to both.

Chocolate and vodka partially aided the digestion of a large piece of humble pie. Lying in her camp bed for hours on end, reading romance novels, helped in the short-term, too. But every time the realisation that she'd blown the chance of further interaction with a man she desperately fancied – who had voluntarily cooked her dinner at his 17th century Devonshire farmhouse – hit her, Hermione suffered a severe setback. She spent the week self-pityingly reacquainting herself with the experience of sitting around doing nothing, not eating properly, and crying herself to sleep over a man. It was even worse than the last time she'd gone camping because she couldn't blame the situation on somebody else, and because she'd spent twelve years being jolly careful not to get into that sort of state again.

By the early hours of Wednesday morning, Hermione had run out of booze. By noon, she'd finished her last book, and her hangover had begun to recede. She ate a truly disgusting Pot-Noodle and decided to go for a little walk, in an attempt to cheer herself up. Sunlight filtered easily through bare branches, and the lack of wind emphasised the absolute peace of the spot she'd Apparated to. Using a 'Point Me' spell to help keep her bearings, Hermione spent a pleasant two hours watching great-tits and wrens flit through the undergrowth and listening to greater-spotted woodpeckers hammering the hell out of any dead tree they could find. Clumps of wild daffodils signalled the approach of spring. Perhaps camping without the added presence of two teenaged boys or a guilty conscience would be fun. At least the new tent didn't require the use of sleeping bags.

Feeling much better, and genuinely sleepy for the first time in four days, she found the tent again without too much difficulty, toed off her shoes and crawled straight back into bed. She decided that – if she was feeling brave enough the following morning – she'd Apparate to her parents' garden, get some much-needed proper food, and then go and stand outside Snape's house until he agreed to listen to her profuse apology. It was stalker-like behaviour, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and at least he'd be familiar with her tactics.

The tent was therefore pitch-black and filled with the sound of gentle snoring before a silver, four-legged creature wandered in and lit the place up like a full moon on steroids. Hermione woke with a snort and a squeak, and found herself confronted by a goat, which butted the camp bed moodily as a stern voice said, "Come outside where I can see you. I owe Bill Weasley a case of Old Ogden's for helping to track you down."

Hermione rubbed her eyes in sleepy disbelief, but the goat remained visible. It tossed its head and dissipated abruptly, plunging the tent back into darkness. She scrambled out of bed, pulled her shoes on and grabbed her wand. Beyond her ring of protective enchantments stood a deeply frowning Severus Snape – who was wearing a black business suit, a white shirt and a plum-coloured silk tie.

"Backpacking in the Forest of Dean? Whatever possessed you?"

Hermione simply stared. Even in the blue-white light of his wand, Snape looked fabulous. His gaze flicked over her grubby jeans and tangled hair.

"Have you got anything smarter to wear? We've got an appointment in ten minutes."

"What? What's the time? What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

"I'm here to escort you to Gringotts; it's seven-thirty in the evening, and for somebody who can't bear camping, you seem to end up in these woods rather often."

"Gringotts?"

"Yes. A colleague of mine has stayed at work later than usual especially, so try and be polite."

"Am I in a lot of trouble?"

Snape frowned again.

"Yes. But not necessarily with the goblins. Although you will be, if you don't get a bloody move on!"

Hermione dashed back to the tent, went to the loo, put on her black trousers and boots and put her hair up in a ponytail. She was about to start packing up when Snape said, "Leave it! We can come back for the tent later. It's not as if we won't be able to find it."

Then he took her cold little hand in his large, warm one and Side-Along Apparated her to the shadows just outside the very obviously locked doors of Gringotts Bank.

Hermione turned towards Snape, at which point he gently released her hand.

"Your Patronus is a goat," she whispered.

Snape nodded gravely. "So I've noticed. It seems to have changed into the animal that caused Albus Dumbledore the greatest degree of embarrassment. It wasn't conscious on my part, but I can't help liking it after the old bastard manipulated me so much. It's a welcome change as well – you can imagine how I felt about Potter and I having his and hers Patronuses."

It was a very welcome change as far as Hermione was concerned, too, and she might have said so if an enormously fat goblin hadn't appeared through a little hidden door and croaked, "Severus! You've found her, then."

Snape stooped and followed the goblin back through the little door, giving Hermione a wonderful view of his bottom as she followed in turn.

"Indeed I have," pronounced Snape as he stood up straight and rolled his shoulders. "Hermione, this is the staff resources director of Gringotts International, Hammerkop. Hammerkop, this is Miss Hermione Granger."

Remembering Snape's warning about being polite, Hermione bent down to shake the goblin's hand.

"Well then, Miss Granger. What are we going to do with you?" he grunted wheezily.

Hermione wisely said nothing.

"I think a guided tour of the highlights and a spot of dinner are in order."

Hermione's eyes widened, but Snape nodded in agreement and held his hand out again.

"I'll need to lock your wand up while you're behind the scenes. It would spontaneously combust otherwise."

"So you're the one responsible for the wand restrictions here now!"

"Among other things, yes. Let's not keep Hammerkop from his dinner any longer than necessary."

Rather grudgingly, Hermione handed over her wand and watched him slide it into the circular hole in the security desk by the door. A moment later, a parchment ticket fluttered out of a slit in the front of the desk and was deftly caught by Snape and handed to Hermione. Hammerkop folded his hands over his ample stomach and watched approvingly.

"Nothing like evening things up a bit, is there? You witches and wizards are mighty twitchy about letting go of your wands, but not enough to separate yourselves from your gold!"

Hermione watched Snape instinctively check the inside pocket of his jacket with envy. Her uncomfortably bare feeling was akin to the sensation she'd had during dreams in which she'd forgotten to put any clothes on before she went to breakfast in the Great Hall.

"Of course, our employees' wands are registered, and they may carry them anywhere in the bank," said Hammerkop with a smile and a cheerful flick of his tongue. "Follow me, and you can see what else Severus has been up to."

They walked on through the hall until they reached a pair of doors guarded by two particularly mean looking goblins. The pair bowed respectfully at both Hammerkop and Snape before opening the doors that led to Gringotts' infamous rail system. Instead of a wooden mining cart, a smart carriage sat waiting, complete with sports suspension and a row of little doors, each leading to a red velvet seat.

"I've never seen this before," said Hermione.

"Of course not! You don't think we'd make the wizarding customers' journey to our vaults any more comfortable than necessary, do you?" replied Hammerkop. "Hop in, and you can ride like the staff do."

It was comfy. It was fun. Especially when Snape leant forwards in his seat and rested his hands on Hermione's shoulders so he could whisper in her ear.

"Look up. No more Defodio for you these days – and not a dragon in sight."

Usually, Hermione kept her eyes tightly shut while riding a cart to her bank vault. But as soon as she began to look around her, she realised the walls of the tunnel formed a smooth cylinder of what looked like steel. Any spell that hit the wall would find no point of weakness and would probably rebound and hit the spell caster. Hermione's mind boggled at the expense involved until Snape continued to murmur into her ear, "The goblins come across the required raw materials while they mine for precious metals and gems. They simply adapted one of their existing furnaces, built some new moulds for the wall sections, and I levitated each section into place. It took us six months to complete, and I've still got fifteen more branches on my to-do list. Merlin knows how the people running the London Underground cope!"

"They rarely do," replied Hermione.

At a junction in the line, the carriage smoothly took a left turn and passed a series of huge blast furnaces. Goblins swarmed and sparks danced. Rivers of molten metal ran under the rail tracks and into sets of ingot-shaped moulds.

"The furnaces haven't been this busy for years. We're stockpiling gold, silver and bronze!" shouted Hammerkop gleefully. "The baby-boom since the war means that the European wizarding population is on the increase. We'll need the extra currency once the little buggers start leaving school!"

A moment later, the tunnel narrowed again and began to curve down and to the right. Numerous vault doors began to appear, and as the carriage decelerated, Hermione realised they were approaching from the opposite direction than usual. They stopped at vault number 666. Snape gracefully slid out of his seat, stepped out of the carriage and pulled a little golden key out of his pocket. He inserted it in the vault's lock and then turned back to Hermione.

"My vault," he said. "Why don't you have a look?"

Hermione descended from the carriage and glanced up at the man beside her. In the flickering torchlight that surrounded them, she could see that Snape was smirking.

"No, thank you! I may have a reputation for curiosity, but I'm not overly keen on the cat killing part of it."

"I promise you faithfully that it won't hurt a bit."

Hermione strongly suspected that Snape was either about to put her trust to the test or teach her a nasty lesson. Behind them, Hammerkop chuckled quietly.

"Severus is nothing if not a man of his word, Miss Granger. The first time I met him, he said he'd never brew another potion and he'd never wear his robes again. It's been more than twelve years, and I'm still waiting!"

"No robes!" exclaimed Hermione.

"I can't exactly stroll into Gladrags for a fitting, can I?" said Snape with a dismissive shrug.

"No potions?"

"No beetle eyes, no mangled amphibians, no slugs, or snails, or puppy-dog tails. Bill's wife brews a mean Polyjuice, and after spending more than half my life in a Scottish dungeon, I'm impervious to the common cold. Now, stop procrastinating and open the vault. It's not often that I get to show off, and you know how much I enjoy it."

Hermione stepped forward with a huff of annoyance and gave the vault door handle a hefty yank. To her surprise, it opened so easily that she fell backwards and landed in Snape's open arms with a grunt. His chest felt warm and solid against her shoulders. The vault was absolutely empty.

"Impressive," muttered Hermione weakly.

Snape's hands slid across her stomach to her hips as he gently propped her upright again.

"Very," he muttered back. "Now, read this."

He dangled a parchment scroll in front of Hermione's face. She took it, shakily unrolled it and read the horribly familiar spiky handwriting:

'Severus Snape. Current Balance – G832,167 S4,522 K99'

When she looked up, the vault was still empty. Snape walked in, picked up a handful of nothing and walked back out. The handful of nothing promptly turned into five Galleons. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"So it isn't Secret Kept?"

"No, no. That would be far too easy to sidestep. Have you ever seen the Mirror of Erised?"

"No. Harry told me about it, though."

"In the mirror, you can only see what your heart truly desires. Nobody else can view the reflection, even if they stand directly beside you. At Hogwarts, I was so used to keeping my mind Occluded that I used to see the most random of things. Watching girl-on-girl action while Dumbledore fretted about hiding the Philosopher's Stone was pretty good fun, though."

Hermione rolled her eyes. At heart, all men were frighteningly similar.

"This enchantment works along the same principle," continued Snape. "Regardless of whether you've managed to steal somebody else's key, you can only ever see the contents of your own vault. And if you are not a member of staff, and you happen to be carrying a wand, then you can't see anything; a localised Fiendfyre takes care of the wand, and if the fire doesn't finish you off, a security-goblin certainly will."

"Now, now, Severus. No need to be patronising," croaked Hammerkop.

"Old habits die hard, Hammerkop. Especially when somebody like Harry Potter gives me the idea in the first place."

Hammerkop chuckled again and mimicked Harry in a strop. "'But I don't know exactly what's in my vault. I didn't even know I had a vault until I was eleven – and I never thought to ask before!' His pretty little wife did though …"

Snape laughed as he shut the door of his vault and removed the key. Hermione couldn't help but grin appreciatively at the healthy cynicism on display.

"All high-security vaults in all of our branches carry the same enchantment, Hermione. Thefts have decreased by seventy-eight percent. If I'm not careful, I'll magic myself out of a job. And now, I think it's time for some dinner."

Hermione's much abused stomach rumbled loudly in agreement.

Hammerkop's personal caves were stunning. Romanesque under-floor heating kept the atmosphere warm and dry; the ceilings were covered in stalactites, which glittered prettily in the candlelight, and the walls were littered with display cases full of goblin-made objet d'art. The unlikely trio sat in intricately carved wooden chairs at a round oak table and stuffed themselves rotten with fillet steak, green beans and chips. To Hermione's delight, a bottle of ketchup stood next to the English mustard. When she smiled glowingly at Snape, he merely raised an eyebrow in acknowledgement.

As rhubarb crumble and custard appeared before them, Hermione finally plucked up the courage to ask why she was there.

Hammerkop eyed her appraisingly and croaked, "Given your past record, we feel that it would be better if we could keep a close eye on you. Severus here seems to think that memory modification would be a waste of valuable grey matter, and I'm inclined to agree. You already know our biggest secret, and you haven't spent the time since you found out attempting to sell gold to Muggles, so you're obviously not completely stupid."

Hermione let out an audible sigh of relief and tackled her crumble with renewed gusto. Hammerkop licked his lips (and his nose, and his eyes). He swallowed his helping of pudding in one gulp and began to serve himself seconds as he continued to speak.

"Our curse-breaking records are in a mess. Because we goblins don't deal with wand-lore, we tend to get confused when it comes to filing the field reports from Bill Weasley's team. It's best practice to have a complete set of records in the library at each of Gringotts' main branches, so that the curse-breakers can visit their nearest library to carry out their research."

Hermione nodded. International Floo travel was horrible and arranging a Portkey could take days.

"I understand you have several years of experience in the archives at the Ministry of Magic," said Hammerkop. "How would you feel about coming to work for us when you've finished whatever it is you're doing for Kingsley Shacklebolt?"

Hermione dropped her spoon.

"I can't even read Gobbledygook!"

"You can use translation charms to begin with, but we'd expect you to learn Gobbledygook as quickly as possible – as do all our human staff. We'd match your current salary, wizarding and Muggle, in Galleons, and allow you to exchange the Muggle money you need to cover your mortgage and utility bills at the realistic rate. It's a perk of the job. Are you interested?"

"Where would I be working?"

Coffee cups, a cafetiere, a jug of single cream and a bowl of sugar appeared before them. Snape began to pour as Hammerkop took a deep breath.

"London, mainly. With the odd week in Athens, Moscow, Jerusalem, Cairo, Mumbai, Kuala-Lumpur, Beijing, Bankok, Manilla, Sydney, Cape Town, Nairobi, Yaoundé, Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires, Lima, Bridgetown, Toronto and Reykjavik. We have staff accommodation above ground in each city, of course."

"Nothing in the United States?" replied Hermione sarcastically as her insides danced a merry jig.

Hammerkop sighed as Snape grinned into his coffee cup.

"The curses are too widespread to make the country economically viable to investigate. We tried once, and inadvertently triggered a Muggle gold-rush."

Hermione took her time sipping and met Hammerkop's glinting eyes determinedly.

"I'm very interested. And I'm willing to start whenever you want."

"Do you have any other questions before we organise a proper tour of the library here?"

"Is it all right to speak freely here?"

"Once you are beyond the public areas, you may say what you like."

"I was just wondering. How come the sterling to Galleon exchange rate is so low for Muggles? My parents never complained too much about buying me books and things."

Hammerkop almost managed a benevolent smile.

"We goblins are told we cannot perform spells because we are lesser magical beings. We don't complain too much, although you can see we derive a certain enjoyment from making the average witch or wizard's life a little less pleasant. We subsidise the schooling of Muggle-born witches and wizards because we believe that everyone should have the chance to learn how to use magic. Nowadays, it doesn't matter so much, but in the past, the fact that we allowed Muggle parents to use Galleons at all angered the purebloods immensely. I have always thought it a great shame that Cornelius Fudge and Lucius Malfoy never knew how much help we give to the Muggle-borns."

"Oh, Hammerkop, I don't know how to thank you!" exclaimed Hermione, immensely humbled and not in the least bothered about the fortunes of Harry and Ron.

"For a start, you can make sure the Muggle Prime Minister receives this," croaked Hammerkop as he turned in his chair, grabbed a thick scroll of parchment off the shelf behind him and slid it across the table. "In the future, work hard and don't ask me for a pay-rise."

He clambered out of his chair, belched magnificently and bade Hermione and Snape goodnight. They watched him waddle out of the door before eying each other awkwardly.

"I'll have to take you home," said Snape. "You won't be able to get out of here under your own steam."

"As long as you give me my wand back first, I don't mind. Do you know where I live?"

"Not exactly, no. I'll have to take a quick look."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm a Legilimens, Hermione. Think of your flat."

Hermione thought of her sitting room. Snape gripped his wand and stared into her eyes in such a concentrated manner that her thoughts began to head down the corridor towards her bedroom. A direction that had them both blushing in seconds.

"I've seen enough," Snape muttered as he ducked his head and rose from the table awkwardly. "Come on."

Author's Notes:

1, "Backpacking in the Forest of Dean? Whatever possessed you?" paraphrases dialogue in The Eyre Affair by Jasper Fforde.

2. A hammerkop is a bird from southern Africa.

3. Obviously, my Hammerkop would prefer not be referred to as the Director of Human Resources or Personnel Director.