It was the next morning before Aoife was ready to return to the office.

The streets were quiet at this time of the morning; the sun was not yet high enough to begin baking the narrow, mazy streets and she took the time just to revel in the reprieve from the heat. Her ribs were no longer sore as she breathed in the cool air, the healers at the Mustashfaa had done a good job. She just wished it hadn't cost so much gold to have it done. She wasn't sure which was worse; handing the money over or the cheery way in which the witch had accepted it. She had even wished Aoife a "happy day" and a "Hope to see you again soon", which seemed an odd farewell for a healer.

She had been sent off with instructions of course, no strenuous activity for at least a few days. Well, that wasn't going to happen. If a million detentions with Snape hadn't stopped her then some gold-hungry healer certainly wasn't. Already she could feel the flicker of devilment in her, the delight in breaking the rules. How often had she and…

The thoughts tailed off. The mischievous feeling was gone, replaced by a crushing emptiness, a surge of guilt rising up her throat as if she were going to be sick. She squeezed her eyes closed but all she saw was his face floating before her. Her side began to ache, a pain that had nothing to do with her ribs. So many happy memories gone, tainted forever by what had happened, by her failure.

Compared to the massive, marbled monstrosity in Diagon Alley, the Gringott's branch in the Bazaar was rather more modest. It was sandwiched between two other shops in a particularly grotty back street. Aoife passed them without a second glance and into the building marked only by a faded sigil hanging above the door.

Inside was a cramped room swirling in dust. The entire back wall was covered from ceiling to floor in shelves packed tightly with rolled up parchments. Sitting at a desk was a goblin, long nosed and pointy eared, he looked up from where he had been scribbling with his quill, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

As she opened her mouth, the goblin cut across her sharply, "You may enter Miss Moran. He wants to speak with you."

"Thanks Robby," She grinned as the goblin leant down and grunted with the effort of pulling back a long, slender lever. The room filled with busy shuffling as the parchments began to roll out of the way. Once Aoife had leapt through the small gap, they snapped back into place behind her in darkness.

She took a deep breath to steady herself and stepped forward. A pair of torches mounted to the wall burst into flame above her head. They revealed a set of winding stone steps curling down into the inky darkness. As she climbed, the torches behind her extinguished and another pair lit before her, giving her just enough light to see the next step. She could feel the clamminess in her palms and took a few more deep breaths.

At the bottom of the stairs was a chamber with a large and circular metal door. It was lit only by the torches with a steady drip, drip of water from somewhere behind her. Another goblin stood in this room, hands behind his back and wearing the robes of Gringott's security.

"Morning Toby," Aoife said cheerily, the top of her ponytail only barely clearing the stone ceiling, "How's things?"

He grunted, holding up a metal rod, "Arms out."

Aoife did as she was told while the goblin scanned her. When he had to reach her shoulders and face, Toby clicked his fingers and the slab on which he was standing rose out of the ground until they were face-to-face. As soon as he met her eyes she pulled a face, eyes crossed and tongue poking out. He did not so much as twitch a muscle. Oh well. She would get him next time.

"You're clear," The step withdrew back into the stone floor and allowing the goblin to stride across to the metal door, "He's-"

"Looking to speak with me? Did I ever tell you I could read minds?"

Toby scowled but reached out and stroked the door. There came a hiss as it rolled aside to grant her entrance.

The first thing that always hit her was the smell; the stench of too many people too close together for too long. The 'Pit', as it was known, was home to two dozen desks organised in neat rows beneath her. Most were scattered with the detritus of their work; books, maps, ciphers and scrolls. Many of her fellow Curse Breakers were already at work and the room was filled with the rattle of typewriters, the scratching of quills and the low babble of conversation.

Directly across from her and above the babble was an office where the outer wall was entirely glass. Within sat a goblin with his grey head bowed, quill flicking furiously as he wrote. Good. He hadn't looked up, that gave Aoife a chance to get a coffee and put off the inevitable bollocking.

The activity died down a little as her fellow Curse Breakers looked up and saw her climb down the stairs. None met her eye, but Aoife noticed them hunching over their work protectively as she passed. Aoife felt some injustice well up inside her but also some of that old devilment. She leant towards some of the desks as she passed and enjoyed as their occupants scowled and pulled their work back. She even faked a sneeze in front of Margaret Bogwood who jumped so high she nearly fell out of her chair.

At the back of the room was a small kitchen where two men were speaking in low voices, both holding steaming mugs. The younger was holding something in his free hand which he was demonstrating rather proudly. The conversation fell away abruptly as she approached.

The younger man broke into a sneer, "Well Moran, I see you're empty handed, again." He had beady, blue eyes with a long, thick and entirely too straight nose. He always reminded Aoife of a Roman statue sculped by someone who hadn't liked their patron very much.

"Morning Magnus," Aoife replied cheerfully, "Nice to see your head hasn't shrunk much."

If anything, his grin grew even wider and he held up the medal he was holding, "It's not arrogance if you can back it up, Moran. I've just received my third commendation of the year. Cleared a tomb outside Giza last week. Got a nice little haul out of it as well."

"Oh, congratulations," Aoife made a show of looking at it, "This was the one guarded by the sphinx statue, right? The one with the missing leg?"

The older of the two men, lined with greying brown hair, looked as if he was fighting not to smile. Magnus' smirk slipped ever so slightly but it was only a flicker before he regained his composure and puffed out his chest, "That statue had considerable magical power. It took a lot of skill to defeat."

"Oh, I'm sure."

"And it's a great deal more treasure than you've managed to find."

"I've managed to find plenty, thank you very much. It's getting it back has been the problem."

"So you did lose the tomb then?" The elder man asked.

"Well, Barcroft" Aoife shrugged, "When you face down a Nubian Bronzescale, that will happen."

Magnus' eyes widened ad Barcroft frowned, his voice low and gruff, "No one has seen a live Bronzescale in over three thousand years."

"Close," Aoife picked at her teeth, "As of this morning, no one has seen a live Bronzescale in about 18 hours. Is there any coffee left?"

"How convenient," Magnus had regained himself and that smirk had returned, "You return with no treasure and just happen to have encountered an ancient dragon no one has seen in thousands of years?"

"That's the height of it, yup," Aoife kept her reply jovial as she squeezed past Magnus, pulled out her wand and pointed it at a large silver kettle. It shot into the air, whistling and billowing steam up towards the ceiling.

"Well, I'm sure Goghol will be delighted with this newest setback of yours," Magnus said sardonically as the kettle hovered over a mug and filled it with steaming coffee, "What'll it be next I wonder? A vicious unicorn perhaps? A giant flobberworm? Maybe the next tomb won't have any gold at all in it! Maybe it'll just be a parchment with an I.O.U!" He laughed humourlessly as Aoife slipped her wand into her back pocket with her mug-less hand, "Not that you'll find another tomb of course. Not unless you're working on looking over people's should-aah!"

Magnus' mug had broken cleanly in two, leaving him holding the handle rather foolishly while the mug itself landed on his foot and shattered, soaking his trousers and shoes in coffee. He leapt back and cursed as he placed his medal in his pocket and pulled out his wand.

"Aw that's so unlucky Magnus, you must have gotten a bad mug," said Aoife, taking her hand out of her pocket and trying very hard not to laugh, "Well, I'll leave you to clean up your mess."

Barcroft followed her, his look sterner still. He waited until they were out of earshot of Magnus, who was running his wand over his shoes and socks, before turning to her, "I suppose that was your idea of a joke? You know jinxes are not allowed on the premises."

"I didn't use them on the premises," She said innocently, "I used them on Magnus because he's a prat."

"Very clever Aoife."

"Are you going to report me?" She gave him a sweet smile.

"Not this time, but I had hoped you would have shown some maturity."

"I needed to show maturity? Really? Besides, it's hardly like he's been irreparably damaged."

"That," his voice now had an edge of annoyance, "Is beside the point. I told you when you started what this job requires. Patience, maturity, and discipline. If you master these qualities even a little, there's no reason you cannot be an excellent Curse Breaker."

"Are you implying I'm not good already?" She said with a mock pout to hide the hurt his words had caused, "It's not my fault I keep going for the dangerous assignments. I could have taken down a cock-eyed statue if I had wanted to."

"Then why didn't you?" He hissed as he turned to her and stopped her in her tracks, "I offered it to you first for a reason. It was an easy assignment; one you could have done in your sleep, that could have given you some leeway with Goghol!"

Aoife shrugged, because she had no better answer to give. What could she say? That there was no assignment in the world would give her leeway with Goghol? That it would never be enough to wipe away the stain she carried? The failure?

"I don't suppose Gogey's in a good mood today?" She changed the subject.

"As a matter of fact, he is," Came another voice, smooth and measured. Aoife and Barcroft both turned to see a man coming down the stairs. He had a thin face, slicked back dark hair and a pencil-thin moustache that Aoife always thought he had drawn on. His suit was bedecked in gold; golden cufflinks, a golden pocket-watch and a golden eye of Ra with a ruby pupil suspended from a golden necklace.

"I have just made a fine discovery south of the city. It looks to be the tomb of an old sorcerer from the tenth Dynasty. He was buried with quite the tribute. It should soften the blow for poor Goghol."

"Congratulations, Tobias," Barcroft nodded his head, "Another excellent find for Gringotts top Curse Breaker."

"Thank you, Roger," He smiled magnanimously, "Of course without your help, I could never have found it." He turned his attention to Aoife, "I hear you had a stroke of bad luck on your most recent expedition?"

"You could say that." Aoife's eyes flicked from his eyes to the golden watch in his top pocket.

"You met a Bronzescale, Goghol tells me?"

"Met, woke up, shot spells at, ran away from," Aoife shrugged, feeling rather foolish, "We had all sorts of fun."

"A large dragon?"

"Huge."

"What else did you face? Any old spells? Medjay?"

"A few," She shrugged again, "The Medjay were fun."

"As they always are," He gave her a patronising smile, "I recommend a Flaginis charm if you face any again. They're weak around the midriff, the casting there was not very strong."

"Cheers, Tobias," She rolled her eyes, "I'll be sure to remember that next time one of them is coming at me with a sword."

His smile grew wider, "Be sure that you do."

"I believe further congratulations are in order, Tobias?" Barcroft said, "I believe the British Ministry wishes to honour you for your contributions to the aurors and to Curse Breaking?"

Harpham frowned and shook his head, "Meaningless platitudes. I do not measure my worth by the adulations of the Ministry but by the respect I gain for my work."

"Well, you're not in any danger then," Aoife chipped in, "Not that I would say no to a nice banquet mind, reckon Goghol will give me one?"

The frown disappeared from Harpham's face as he chuckled, "Commiserations on your loss, again. Roger, may I speak to you for a few moments?"

"In a moment, Tobias," I just need to speak with Aoife regarding something."

Harpham bowed his head and left. Aoife did not like the look Barcroft was now giving her, "What?"

Barcroft was now looking distinctly unimpressed, "I hear talk that you stole Bill Weasley's research on that tomb yesterday."

"I did not steal it," Aoife's said indignantly, "He left it on his desk, and I happened to see it as I passed. What was I going to do? Obliviate myself? Hammer my head against his desk until I'd forgotten it? Set fire to his map?" That last one was actually quite a good idea. She made a mental note of it as Barcroft shook his head.

"Why not talk to him about it? Pool your resources. The others do it, I don't see why you have such a determination to do it alone."

Aoife said nothing to this. She could not. A shiver ran through her as though she just jumped in ice. She could see the blackness in her mind, filling her ears, running down into her throat; choking and blinding. She felt that same pain in her side, that same guilt. She looked away from Barcroft, hoping he wouldn't see.

He must have done, for his next words were soft, "We're not all like him Aoife."

"No," She said but her voice sounded hollow and distant, "None of you are."

Never again…

"Moran!" She was spared a response as she looked up to see the grey-haired goblin standing on the walkway, glaring down at her past his long, pointed nose, "My office. Now!"

Aoife noted the sympathetic look from Barcroft and climbed the steps warily to the office of Goghol, Egyptian Branch Manager for Gringotts.

He sat behind his wide wooden desk, scribbling furiously on another piece of parchment. The neatness of the room offended Aoife; how the piles of parchment on his desk sat without so much as a corner out of place, how the bottles of ink were so tightly aligned she was not sure a fly could have passed between them. There was not a single picture on the goblin's desk. Had it not been for the briefcase inscribed with a golden "G.G" placed alongside his chair it would have looked as though he had just moved in today.

Goghol dipped his quill into his ink pot and laboriously wiped it on the lip before continuing to write. The seconds dragged on. Already she was growing bored of this power play, of him making her wait. That mischievous ember within her flared up as she cleared her throat.

"Well, I see no reason for concern here, though I think your office could maybe do with a tidy up."

He looked up at her with black and cold eyes, expression hard before dipping his quill and continuing to write.

Aoife waited a few seconds longer before she spoke again, that thrill of danger filling her now, as if she were taunting an enraged bear, "Would you like me to sign a few of these?"

"Sit." Goghol pointed with a long finger at the chair before his desk. Aoife sat. She knew she had not made her case any easier, had possibly even made things worse but the regret was outweighed by the satisfaction of seeing him carefully replace his quill within its ink pot as finally he gave her his full attention.

"What," He said in a sharp but controlled voice, "Happened?"

Now it was her turn to drag out the silence as she thought how best to explain the previous day. How did one really describe coming face-to-face with a thousands-year old dragon in full strength? How could she ever tell him what had awoken it without making herself sound like a complete eejit? Would it be okay to blame him for sending Aldergrove along in the first place, making her job that much harder?

In the end, her mischievous streak won out.

"Well," She said slowly, "I came down the stairs as usual and-"

"Miss Moran," Goghol's frown had turned ugly, "My patience hangs by a thread. Do not insult my intelligence."

"Fair enough." The silence dragged.

Goghol gave her a long, searching look before reaching into a drawer in his desk and pulling out a piece of parchment covered from head to foot in tiny writing, "I have Mister Aldergrove's account of your expedition here." Again, he went quiet, evidently expecting this information to unsettle her.

Aoife did indeed feel her stomach turn over, but she forced herself to smile, not to show that weakness, "Did you like it?"

"It was very illuminating. Particularly," He drew his finger down the scroll and tapped one particular paragraph, "This part. Where you admitted to stealing another Curse Breaker's work. Where you awoke an ancient dragon. Worst of all," He was now looking at her unblinking, "Where you lost the treasure."

"I hardly lost it," Aoife protested, "I know exactly where it is. If you fancy going and asking the Bronzescale for it back, I'm sure he'd be happy to chat about it."

Goghol did not laugh. "You have not only failed to recover assets of considerable value, but you have destroyed what might have been a tomb of great historical importance." He reached over and picked up another piece of parchment, "The Egyptian Ministry has already been in touch."

Aoife felt that cold chill in her stomach. Not again…

"A fine," He growled, "A considerable fine. Not only have you failed to enrich us Miss Moran, but we have ended up with a great deal less gold than when we started. After the break-in at headquarters last summer, we are very intolerant of further reputational damage to this bank."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself, "Are you going to bill the dragon?"

Goghol gave her a malevolent look, slamming both pieces of parchment back onto his desk and making her jump, "The Curse Breakers of Gringotts are an elite group. It is a privilege to be amongst them. We gave you a second chance after Sima, Miss Moran. We took a risk on the word of Albus Dumbledore, who seemed to think you still had something to offer us," He smirked, "It is gratifying to know even the greatest of your type can be wrong."

She said nothing, but she felt the sweat in her clenching palms.

"You are on a formal warning. If I hear that you have cost this bank so much as another knut, you will be returned to the wolves we so graciously saved you from."

Aoife could only look at him, not sure she had heard him correctly, "Are you sure?"

Goghol sighed and looked down at the parchment on his desk, "Mister Aldergrove's report was, until the final few paragraphs, favourable. He was most impressed with your skills. He seems to think you have something left to offer the Bank, as does Mr Weasley,"

"You've spoken to him already?" She asked, a little alarmed.

"Yes," Goghol scowled at the interruption, "He made no mention of your theft, even when prompted and he likewise was impressed with your skills."

"I take it there's no punishment for him?" She asked petulantly.

"He is also on a formal warning," Goghol narrowed his eyes, "His part in such a loss has not been glossed over. Now," Goghol reached for his quill once more, "Go. If I have to speak to you again, then rest assured your employment with us will be terminated immediately."

She did not give him the chance to reconsider. She did not even dare thank him. Instead, she leapt up out of her seat and fled to safety as quickly as she could. Still her heart was beating furiously but she could not keep from pumping her fist once she was out of the goblin's eyeline.