"Professor Snape."

The man in the black robe turned slowly and looked the speaker up and down. "A Weasley. Long red hair and fang earring. William, is it not?"

Bill Weasley grinned at the man. "I keep telling my mum there's a reason for the hair and earring. Makes it easier to distinguish me from the rest of the horde." Weasley offered his hand in greeting. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Professor."

Snape ignored the hand. "I doubt that, Mr. Weasley. The pleasure is usually in the avoidance."

Weasley's grin slipped a little and he allowed his hand to drop. He shook his head. "Actually, Professor, I was just leaving the offices to go look for you."

That didn't go over well, thought Weasley as Snape stilled in such a way that Weasley wondered if he wasn't preparing himself to hex the curse breaker into Muggle London.

Snape slipped his thin money bag into a pocket and turned away. "Well, you have now looked upon me, Mr. Weasley. Good day." And he began walking towards the main doors of Gringotts.

Weasley fell into step with him. "I was wondering if you might join me for luncheon, Professor."

At the door, Snape stopped to glare full face at Weasley. "Why? Is that how the Ministry has decided to eliminate me, Mr. Weasley? A last meal duly peppered with poison?"

Weasley placed his hand on Snape's arm. "Professor." He kept his voice low and calm, not out of fear of attracting the attention of other Gringotts clients, but in hopes it would quiet the storm that was gathering in Snape's face. "Lunch at Gringotts. Far away from Ministry eyes and ears." He waited until that had penetrated Snape's anger and then added, "It's the offer of a meal, Professor, in a feeble attempt to thank you for what you did."

Snape's grimace grew sharper as did the sarcastic sneer. "And what is it exactly that I did, Mr. Weasley?"

Weasley's easy grin was back. "You mean, besides enduring us Weasleys and pounding some potions skills into our thick skulls?"

Snape neither relaxed nor found the quip funny. Weasley cocked his head and allowed his voice to drop into the serious. "Then shall we say for the fact that you put your life on the line for us. The Ministry may have forgotten, but I haven't. Lunch, Professor, in Gringotts' private dining room. Not even the Minister himself can say that he's ever been offered a chance to eat upstairs. You should be able to dine out for weeks just on that fact."

Snape scoffed. "Even that wouldn't be enough for anyone to invite the madman for a meal."

Weasley caught the dare and smiled. "Well, you know what they say about us curse breakers, mad to the last one. If you join us for lunch, you'll only be one among many." He gestured to the hallway that led to the stairs. "Shall we?"

Snape held Weasley's eyes as he decided. "Mr. Weasley..."

Weasley added one last incentive. "Menu is really quite ordinary, I promise you. But delicious. And I know for a fact that there's a Merlot on the list that's ambrosia."

Snape closed his eyes and finally nodded. "All right, Mr. Weasley." He straightened his shoulders as though bracing himself and began walking towards the hallway. "It's been a while since I could afford a Merlot."

It looked like the regular dining room of some select club. There were tables covered with thick white linen, fine china, silver and crystal, along with comfortable chairs. The conversation at those tables which were occupied was subdued and very business-like. Well, of course it would, thought Snape as he followed the Goblin who was escorting them to a table in the corner. Eyes occasionally looked around to watch for a moment before returning to the subject of discussion, but that had more to do with the fact that he and Weasley were the only non-Goblins in the place than with the fact that it was he.

And though the table was in a corner, it was not a dark corner, but one right by a window that allowed the sitter to look out over Diagon Alley. The window was a surprise: from the outside, all one saw was solid wall. The Goblin-sized tables and chairs grew to accommodate the wizards. The waiter said nothing, merely handed them both a menu written in Goblish that hastily rearranged itself so that it was in English.

After glancing at it, Snape commented, "What, no stewed babies?"

Weasley lowered his menu enough to send one of his own patented glares at Snape. "And no smashed equipment, seasoned with shattered glass and destroyed ingredients."

Snape's head stiffened. After a very tense moment, during which Snape reassessed his opinion of Weasley, he nodded. "Point taken, Mr. Weasley."

Tone less challenging, Weasley once more studied the menu. "I can recommend the lamb. It's not as good as the one back home, but it's quite edible."

Snape pretended to look at the menu. "By home, do you mean the Burrows or Egypt?"

Weasley laughed softly, surprising Snape again with the quick shifting of mood. "Egypt. Mum is a great cook, but in the British style, if you know what I mean."

"Well, will he?"

Snape and Weasley lowered their menus at the sound of the growl. A Goblin, dressed in Goblin finery and uncomfortable with it, stood by the table, scowling at the two wizards.

"Ah, Gorkopol," smiled Weasley, a little stiffly, then added, through almost gritted teeth,. "How nice of you to join us for lunch. The professor and I have just been looking over the selections."

"So, you haven't asked him." Gorkopol snapped his fingers and a chair hurried over to the table, rising once he'd sat in it so that the Goblin could eat comfortably at the higher table. The Maître d'hôte arrived at the same time, with a bow and a menu.

"Master Gorkopol," he spoke in English, "you honour us, sir."

Gorkopol hmphed and, ignoring the pompous Goblin, tossed the menu onto the table. "What are you waiting for?"

Weasley sagged back in his chair. "I've invited the professor to join me for lunch."

Gorkopol rolled his eyes. "You and your bloody Wizard habits."

Weasley scowled right back. "Well, excuse us. We do happen to be Wizards, in case you hadn't noticed."

Gorkopol grimaced. "Thought we'd beaten that out of you by now," he muttered, glaring at Snape as though he were responsible for Weasley's Wizard manners.

"Have you decided on your selections, gentlemen?" It was the Maître again.

"Ah, I assume that this is the Potions Master. Excellent work, Bill."

They all turned to the new voice. This Goblin was elderly, even by Goblin standards. He wore thick glasses that were slipping to the tip of his long nose, in a face that was wrinkled from more than his squinting as he focused his attention onto Snape. Who merely stared back, face blank of expression.

The Goblins ignored Weasley's loud sigh. "Professor Snape, may I introduce you to Sfankt Ashkentag and Sfankt Gorkopol."

At hearing the Goblin title of high ranking, Snape rose politely to his feet, thereby towering over the two. He bowed respectfully to both. "It is an honour to make your acquaintances, Sfankts."

Gorkopol looked impressed at Snape's reaction. He turned to Weasley who grinned at him.

"Wizard habits," Weasley said, with a certain relish.

Gorkopol sighed loudly then muttered, "Wizard foibles, you mean."

Another chair appeared behind the elderly Goblin who sat down. "Well, Professor Snape, what say you?"

Snape found his chair again and glared at Bill Weasley. "I have no idea what to say. I have no idea what any of this is about. I only know that I was invited, it is now obvious under false pretenses, to a meal. With Merlot."

"Very good choice," growled the Maître. And suddenly there was a Goblin hurrying over with a tray. He efficiently placed a wine goblet, etched with the emblem of Gringotts, before each of the sitters, and a carafe of deep red, almost purple wine at the centre.

Weasley sighed again before turning to the waiting Maître. "Just serve us your very best, keeping everyone's interests in mind."

Their waiter quickly served bowls of soup, those of the Goblins different than those of the Wizards.

Weasley shrugged and gestured to Snape. "I'll explain after we eat, Professor. It wouldn't do to let the soup grow cold. Please."

For a moment he thought Snape was going to refuse. The Potions Master stared at him, eyes black, face...tired. Was this really the man who had gone on a rampage that first day of classes after the War, destroying his classroom and his laboratory, terrifying the students?

His mother, communication central for all Weasleys no matter where they lived, had written him that Minerva had confided to the Order that she had had to stupefy Snape. It had been the only way to get him to stop screaming and pulling down the cases that held his potions and ingredients. They'd had to send him to St. Mungo's for several weeks, after which the Governors of Hogwarts had refused to allow him back on the grounds for fear that his behaviour would prove too erratic for the safety of the students. They'd been traumatized enough by the War and its horrendous repercussions, said the Governors: they didn't need to wonder if their Potions instructor was suddenly going to go berserk on them.

According to Molly, Minerva had had to argue long and loud for them to allocate a small pension for the years of work Snape had provided the school. And the Ministry had refused to add to it, saying that it couldn't provide for everyone who went crazy, War hero or not.

It had been a sheer fluke that, as he'd headed out to find Snape, Weasley had come across him downstairs at the bank, making a withdrawal. Which had been a good thing since he'd had absolutely no idea where to begin looking for the Wizard.

"Please, Professor."

Snape shrugged, picking up the soup spoon. "A free meal is a free meal, Weasley. I can't afford to turn it down."

Ouch, thought Weasley . And far too true, he added, as he watched Snape slowly work his way through the soup, the lamb stew, two glasses of Merlot, the apple crumble as though savouring every mouthful. Snape's thinness made him look almost...fragile.

Gorkopol quickly picked up the atmosphere and ate in silence. Now and then, he did glance up from his hippogriff steak to Weasley, an unspoken question in his eyes. Ashkentag, due to his near blindness, concentrated as usual on getting his food to his mouth without any spillage.

Snape waited until he'd scrapped the last of the crumble off his plate to sit back and look at his companions. "Well, Mr. Weasley, I am now ready to pay the piper. What is it that you were supposed to ask of me?"

Weasley signalled over and their table was cleared, with a bottle of cognac and glasses left behind. He poured for everyone, while thinking of the best way to approach Snape.

"Just spit it out, Weasley."

Weasley took his snifter in hand and stared at the amber liquid. "I would if it were easier that way. But this does require a little explanation."

Snape waved the snifter under his large nose. "Then take your time, Weasley. I doubt very much that I'll ever have another opportunity to enjoy this fine a bouquet."

"I'll start by performing proper introductions. Professor Snape, may I introduce Sfankt Gorkopol, who is the Site Manager to whom I have been assigned since I was an apprentice Curse Breaker."

"Sfankt Gorkopol," acknowledged Snape. "May I compliment you on enduring a Weasley for...how many years has it been?"

Gorkopol made a sound that could have been mistaken for a gurgle had it not been for the grin that appeared on Weasley's face. "Almost twenty, Sfankt Professor."

The honourific took Snape by surprise, though he didn't make reference to it. "I'm certain that you remember every day of it, Sfankt Gorkopol."

The gurgle deepened as the Goblin sat back in his chair.

Weasley ignored the comment. "And Sfankt Ashkentag is Gringotts' Senior Egyptologist."

"It is indeed a pleasure to meet someone of your expertise, Sfankt Ashkentag."

The elder Goblin actually smiled. "Actually, it is your expertise that is important in this case, Sfankt Professor."

Snape focused his attention on Weasley. Even if he had only had Weasley as a student in his classes one year, it pleased Snape to see that he could still make him wriggle a little. "My expertise?" he asked coldly.

Weasley nodded, leaning forward in his chair. "We have a proposition to put to you, Professor."

"So I have divined, Mr. Weasley."

"Will you get to it!" snarled Gorkopol.

"Yes, Mr. Weasley," Snape's voice was tired, "do get to it."

"We've been working on a new burial site. One that it turns out belongs to a Court Wizard. One that the Muggles will never find as it is far too dangerous for them."

"Almost too dangerous for anyone to find," said Sfankt Ashkentag, placing his glass down onto the table. "We have concluded that it belongs to someone called Djen. He seems to have been Court Wizard to Hetepsekhemwy, the first ruler of the Second Dynasty. We have not yet determined the exact date of burial, but we calculate around what the Muggles date as 2860 B.C.E."

Snape looked at the Egyptologist. "An interesting discovery, to be sure, but what does it have to do with me?"

"As you may know, Wizards of the time were a combination of magician and physician. We think Djen was...well, for want of a better term, a specialist in potions."

Snape suddenly did look a little more interested.

"And it seems that he was buried with all of his potions."

Snape was now more than a little interested.

"These potions need to be examined properly," growled Gorkopol.

"There is material left after all this time to be examined?" asked Snape, looking at Weasley .

Weasley nodded. "Not much. Some jars seem to contain nothing but dust. Others..." He sighed loudly, looking less than happy at a thought. "Others have proven to be...active."

Snape sat back in his chair. "Still? After all this time? Merlin!"

"Yes, indeed," said Sfankt Ashkentag.

"How active?" Snape didn't remove his gaze from Weasley who shrugged.

"One of the assistants on the site opened a small vial and stupidly sniffed the contents. He was transformed into a snake."

The sudden silence at the table intrigued Snape. "How was he changed back?"

The three others looked at each other. "He wasn't," said Gorkopol. "The moment natural light touched it, the snake...disintegrated into dust."

Snape's expression of appreciative respect reminded Weasley why they'd thought of him in the first place. "We've set up security wards around the site. No Muggle will be able to enter it. It is, however, imperative that we remove the items."

"But it is also vital that they be identified," said Sfankt Ashkentag. "Not only for determining which are active and which not. But also as to their contents. And their potential effects. We have no records of any but the most common of potions from that time."

Bill Weasley rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. "So, after some discussion, it was decided to find a Wizard Potions Master who might be interested in the work."

"Because we Goblins are experts in Treasure and Artefacts, but not Potions," said Sfankt Ashkentag. "And you, Sfankt Professor, are an expert in potions."

"And because I'm mad, you think this will appeal to me?"

"Yes. As for the madness," Weasley suddenly grinned, "well, as I said before, you'd only be one among many, Professor Snape."

"Welcome to my hov...home, Mr. Weasley."

Hovel might have been a more appropriate term, thought Weasley . It was a room. Not a particularly large one. In a decrepit building just off an alleyway snuggled between Diagon and Knockturn.

In one corner was a narrow, neatly-made cot that seemed to serve as bed and couch. There was a small table with one chair in another. No wardrobe or closet, just a shelf above some pegs on which hung two robes, that looked rather the worse for wear, a nightshirt and Snape's winter cloak. A small book case with only a handful of books, nothing like the library that had filled Snape's office. Nor Snape's rooms, the one time that Weasley had managed a peek into them when Snape had offered to lend him a book to help with his final NEWT research project. But worse than the atmosphere of the place was the fact that there was not one cauldron steaming, not one potion simmering or stewing.

Snape noticed him looking around. "It was one of the conditions of my release from St. Mungo's that I was not to indulge in potions. Not in the brewing of them. Not in reading any of the literature. And no magic. They...they took my wand to ensure that."

"Bloody hell!" muttered Weasley . He sat on the bed-couch and stared at the Wizard whose whole life had been potions.

Snape sat on the small chair and slipped his hands into his sleeves. "That is why, much as your offer is tempting, Mr. Weasley, I have had to refuse it. No one from the Ministry will return my wand. And even if I did have it, I would not be permitted to leave the country. In fact, I may find myself back at St. Mungo's should word leak to them that this offer was even made to me."

Weasley was horrified. "They won't find out."

Snape didn't seem to be convinced. "It is fortunate that the meal was so good and the cognac so well aged."

"What the hell is this..." He passed a hand over his scalp, not finding the words to deal with his shock. "What the hell is going on here, Snape?"

Snape said nothing at first, only shrugged. After a minute spent inspecting the toes of his shabby boots, he recited, "It is only wise and right that anything with the potential of danger to our society should be kept out of the hands of one such as I."

"Bloody hell!"

Snape blinked at the vehemence in Weasley's voice. "Are you disagreeing with the wisdom of the specialists at St. Mungo's?"

"That's not wisdom, Snape. This is punishment. What the hell did you do this time?"

Snape's sneer was pronounced. "This time, Mr. Weasley? This time, I went...now what is the technical term? Ah, yes. This time I went bonkers. I freaked out. According to..."

"To whom?"

Snape suddenly looked very tired. "It is time to take my medication, Mr. Weasley. Another condition of my release. Once taken, you will find me a far less interesting conversationalist though, I believe, a good topic of conversation."

He rose and went to the small shelf over the clothing pegs and took down a large serving spoon and a smallish brown bottle. "Please see yourself out, Mr. Weasley." He poured a dark, viscous material into the spoon.

"Snape."

"Thank you for the meal, Mr. Weasley." He swallowed the contents of the spoon and carefully set it next to the bottle on the table. "And for the offer," he whispered. He made it to the bed and lay down as sleep claimed him.

When Weasley closed the door behind him, with so many questions unanswered, he was grabbed by a young Auror, who was obviously very put out. "Who the hell are you and what were you doing with the nutcase?"

Weasley yanked his arm out of the young man's grasp. He glared at the man who looked slightly familiar and put a name to the face. "You're a Clearwater. One of Penny's family."

The Auror looked taken aback. "Oh, shit. A Weasley. Yes, Penny's my cousin. We would have met at the wedding except I had the measles and missed it. Which one are you?"

"Bill. What are you doing here, Clearwater?"

The young Auror rolled his eyes and scowled at the door. "Checking up on the madman. It's our trainer's idea of punishment. As per MLE orders, we have to check that the Greasy Git takes his meds every day. Whoever is in the trainer's bad books that day gets the privilege."

Weasley leaned a shoulder on the wall and shoved his anger down. He made sympathetic noises. "Tough."

"Yeah. Hey, what were you doing in there? We're supposed to report any visitors."

Weasley shook his head as if in commiseration. "Sound like a job for a highly trained Auror all right."

Young Clearwater scowled. "Tell me about it. I don't see why we're involved in the first place. He should be locked up in some ward. Like we need more nutcases running around, ready to go amok at some imaginary enemy. Hell knows, we've all had enough of that shit!"

Weasley put his arm around the young man's shoulders. "Tell me about it. Well, since you're not busy right now, why don't we adjourn to the Cauldron? I'll buy you a drink and you can bring me up to date on the latest Clearwater-Weasley news."

Clearwater opened his mouth to say something then closed it. "Bloody hell, why not? Not like the Git is going somewhere." He allowed Weasley to turn him around and head back down the stairs. "You know that Penny's pregnant again?"

"No, I didn't. Thanks for the warning. I'm off to the family tonight. Is Percy suffering morning sickness for her again this time?"

Snape woke slowly, his mouth as usual dry as cotton batt. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to see the line of sunlight that was all that made it past the buildings to his one window. The movement of that line was his clock. Not that clocks had been denied him, but he'd sold his timepiece in Knockturn Alley last month to pay for repairs to his boots and for food to make it to his next pension payment. This month he might not have to sell anything, not that he had much left to sell. He'd gone three days with just water after that luncheon at Gringotts. Mind, there'd been a time there, in the dining room, when he'd thought he might lose the whole meal. His stomach had gotten out of the habit of dealing with so much food in one day, let alone at one sitting.

After he paid the rent on this...castle of his, he had to dole out his knuts carefully. He was being robbed blind on the rent, but no one else would rent to him. Oh, he might have found a cheaper room in Knockturn Alley, but he wasn't ready for that yet. One day, and probably soon. But not yet.

He should think about getting up. Not that he had anywhere to go or anything to do. And the little that he did do was so difficult, took such effort.

Hermione Granger had visited one day at the hospital, telling him she'd read up on it – of course she had! – and that it was called Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Of course, the medi-staff there had another name for it: Pernicious Insanity. They'd wanted to keep him in the secure ward till the end of his days.

It had been someone's idea of punishment to allow him this so-called freedom of his. And of a joke.

Snape grimaced: someone was laughing. Not near-by. In the distance. Not a sound heard at all here in Priceless Alley.

He opened his eyes.

And discovered he wasn't where he was supposed to be.

"It's all right," said a voice he knew. "It's not a dream or a nightmare. You're not in Britain. You're in my home, in Egypt."

Snape's head snapped around and he found himself staring at Bill Weasley, whom he'd last seen...when was it? A week earlier? He slowly propped himself up onto his elbows and had to admit that this was indeed not his room. He dragged himself up into a sitting position against the headboard. "Well, I must say my last hallucination was nothing like this."

The room was large and airy. There was darkness but it was of the screened variety. The walls were light coloured, possibly cream. The bed was much larger than his cot, far more comfortable, with cool, clean white sheets and a light cover. And instead of being dressed in whatever he'd been wearing when he'd taken his dose of medication, he was garbed in a white nightshirt of a fine, thin cotton.

"Breakfast, Professor?"

Snape turned his attention to the man watching him from the comfortable armchair by the bed. After a moment, he nodded. "Certainly, why not? I often dream of food. I wonder what it is I can hallucinate for breakfast."

Weasley called out a word Snape didn't recognize, but that someone did. A House Elf... Well, it had the general shape and size of a House Elf. But instead of greyish, it was brown. It wore a short white skirt of some kind. And that was all Snape noticed because the tray the elf was carrying was placed on his lap and the aromas of coffee and sweetened, creamed porridge overwhelmed his senses.

He placed both hands around the mug of the almost pitch black coffee – something long beyond his financial resources – and raised it reverently to his lips. "Oh, Merlin," he whispered, "please, let this be real."

Weasley said nothing as he watched Snape down the coffee ecstatically. He'd vented his anger at the treatment Snape had been getting to Gorkopol and Ashkentag, and thought he'd dealt with it well. But right now, he would have loved to get his hands on whomever was responsible for what had happened to this man.

Snape waited until he'd scrapped the bowl of the last of its contents to sit back with a sigh of pleasure and face Weasley. "All right, perhaps now you might care to explain just what is going on?"

Weasley grinned. "Well, I did mention, I believe, that we were madmen here. So we did what madmen do: we spirited you out of Britain."

"Just like that?"

Weasley slouched down in his chair and propped his sandaled feet up on the edge of the bed. "After some discussion, we decided that our needs were greater than your so-called insanity. Besides, our proposition did interest you. We wouldn't have done all this if it hadn't. We just thought it might be easier to persuade you if you were away from Ministry eyes and ears."

Snape rested his head against the headboard. "Weasley. At my best, I can barely get through a day..."

"Ashkentag had the medication you take analyzed. Besides being a sleeping draught, it contains depressants. Did you know that?"

No, obviously not.

"And it's addictive. Did you not know that as well?"

Snape closed his eyes. "Yes, that I did know. A few months ago, I decided to see if I could do without it. I pretended to sleep when my...‘attendants' checked in on me. I managed not quite two days before I...gave up."

Weasley crossed his arms over his chest. "I find it hard to believe that you gave up. That you would give up on anything. In the letters Ron and the twins sent me from their part of the War, their one constant complaint was that you never allowed them to give up. No matter how tired or how discouraged they were. No matter how tired you were. They felt that you were challenging them to keep up with you."

Snape shrugged. "On the second day, it dawned on me that I had no reason to stop taking the medication. At least asleep, time passed on. Awake, I had nothing much to do other than stare at the walls or pretend to be fascinated by the only books I am permitted to withdraw from the Ministry library."

"Les Malheurs de Sophie." Weasley grinned. "I scanned your bookcase when we went and got you."

"It has improved my knowledge of modern French."

Weasley dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. "The facilities are just down the hall. You'll find some clothes in the wardrobe here. Nothing in black, I'm afraid. It's too hot here for black. I have some work waiting for me in my office. Barir will show you to it when you're dressed. Then I'll give you a tour of the site. You can evaluate your options later."

Barir turned out to be the House Elf. He bowed respectfully to Snape when he came out of the bedroom and conducted him to the large, airy, sun-lit bathroom.

Snape took full advantage of the bathing facilities. Back in Priceless Alley, he'd shared a small, tin shower with the other residents. The water, usually cold, trickled out. Here, not only was the tub filled and waiting for him, there was a thick bath sheet sitting on the hamper. Along with his shaving kit, there was also a new bar of soap and a small bottle of shampoo. He wouldn't have to use the sliver of soap in his kit for both purposes.

And part way through his luxurious soak, Barir appeared with a small tray bearing another mug of coffee. Which proved not to be a hallucination and as ambrosial as the first. The elf grinned widely at his fervent thanks.

The mirror by which he shaved himself – he'd always liked the rhythm of Muggle-style shaving – was large, unlike the small palm-sized one that hung in the rooming house facility. Unfortunately, it also allowed him to assess his reflection. He noted the mirror was silent. He did n't blame it.

He stood, razor in hand, face partially cleared of soap, and wondered who the hell was staring back at him. He recognized the nose. But the face had aged and not well. And the eyes were so empty that he could barely stand to look at them. He'd lost far too much weight. His visage was skin stretched over the bone structure. He stepped back and looked at more of himself. Sharp edges. Collarbone and ribs sticking out. Arms nothing but sinew over bone under skin.

He forced all thought out of his head and concentrated, as usual, as best he could on scraping the soap and beard off his face without succumbing to the urge to cut his throat.

Back in the room, he found that the House Elf had decided for him what he was wearing. White boxers, made of some light material. A cream-coloured tunic, high-necked, long-sleeved, but much narrower than the robe he was used to wearing. Instead of his cracked, worn boots, a pair of light shoes, with open woven uppers. And a length of thin leather that he used to tie back the hair that the mirror had shown him had grown long, ragged and streaked with grey.

Weasley looked up from the scrolls he was examining when Barir led Snape into his study. He wisely made no references to the way Snape now looked, though it was hard to miss the interest that lit up the man's face as he checked out the room. Of course, his eyes would go first to the books. He even made a move towards them before forcing himself to stop.

"I thought you might like to see the site." Weasley went over to the French doors off his study and opened one. "Goblins find us Nons to be peculiar in our need for stability, so they move our entire houses, contents and households included, to whatever site we're working at."

Snape followed him out onto the veranda that girded the small house.

"Masters!"

Weasley turned and grinned at the House Elf. "Yes, Barir, I know."

And he took one of the large, wide-brimmed straw hats from the elf, the battered one, plopping it down on his head. Snape accepted the second, newer one with a murmured, "Thank you, Barir." He examined it before putting it on and thereby missed Barir's pleasure at being thanked.

Goblins tended to ignore House Elves even more so than Wizards, but Weasley was rather familiar with the amount of work required to maintain a household. His mother hadn't had any elves to help her, so she'd collared her children into doing the usual House Elf chores. As the eldest, Weasley had done more – he felt – than his fair share. Now that he had House Elves of his own, he remembered to thank them regularly. His visitors tended to ignore House Elves , so Weasley knew Barir was more than delighted that, for something as simple as a hat, he had been thanked.

As they walked about the property, Weasley explained. The site was not all that extensive: the tomb in question wasn't a large one. The people of the First and Second Dynasties often buried their dead in caves in the hills before closing them off. Warding them as well, in most cases.

This one was a bit of a rarity. First, because it had been found intact, probably due to the density of the wards they had had to work their way through. And due to whom had been buried in it.

"There are three chambers in all," said Weasley as they entered what to Snape looked to be nothing more than a tall hole in the side of a small bare hill. "Well, more widenings in the passageway rather than the chambers we find in later tombs. The outer one...Luminox!...has the hieroglyphics that helped us identify who Djen was. The second...watch your head, they weren't anywhere as tall as us...contains pottery filled with what we have assumed were ingredients of his profession. Regular stuff. Nothing dangerous...well, nothing that we've come across so far. We stopped examining all contents in the tomb after Muthanna was fatally transformed."

Snape stopped a moment to look at the containers but moved on when Weasley began speaking again.

"The third as you can see is much larger. The actual burial chamber. And it's a stone coffin, not yet quite the sarcophagus of later dynasties. But the markings denote wards and curses against anyone interfering with it. We're taking those very, very seriously. Normally we would just decurse so that Muggles aren't injured, but in this case...

"And as you can see, in here the pottery is very different. To begin with, some have no markings at all on them."

Snape spent several minutes examining these containers, hands behind his back as though to prevent himself from reaching for them. Weasley moved his wand as light was needed. He could only hope that the interest he saw on Snape's face would be enough bait to involve the Wizard. "We think that it was decided to bury these along with him because of the potential danger."

Snape finally straightened, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Or because there was no one else as able as he in this speciality."

Weasley nodded. "Some of the smaller pots are waxed. Muthanna opened one of those."

Snape waved Weasley over with his light and crouched, examining one of the small pots that stood on the leveled ground. "Not wax," he scoffed, not seeing Weasley's grin at the correction. "Tree gum of some kind. Wax would have disintegrated long before now, even in these conditions. The gum has solidified."

Weasley was going to enjoy reporting to Ashkentag that, even shadowed as the chamber was, Snape had immediately identified the material correctly. And he liked the fact that Snape's voice had an intensity to it that he remembered from his classroom days. A tone that had been sadly lacking in the conversations they'd had of late.

"We're trying to decipher the meaning of the marks on those that have them. But so far, nothing's familiar. Not even to Ashkentag. And he's been doing this for over a hundred years.'

"Private coding," murmured Snape, gesturing for Weasley to place his wand even nearer one of the pots. "I would think these may have been potions of particular interest to him. Might have been creating for his own purpose. Probably why they buried these in here with him. He might even have left instructions about that. He mightn't have wanted anyone else mucking about with his work."

Weasley nodded even though Snape wasn't looking at him. He'd been right: it took one secretive Potions Master to understand another. He allowed Snape all the time he wanted to examine and sniff and touch, which he did just with the tip of a finger.

Luncheon was served under an awning set up near the main quarters. Gorkopol joined the two Wizards as they sat down, dressed in a short version of the tunic Snape and Weasley were wearing. He was barefoot. Unlike them he wore no hat on his head, preferring a white bandana that he now removed to wipe the dust off his face.

"Ashkentag was right," he growled as he sat down. "There's another tomb in the hollow."

"Of course there is," said Ashkentag. "When have I ever been wrong?"

The Egyptologist's tunic was ankle-length and he too wore a hat. He also carried a short staff with the head of Thoth carved at the top.

"I remember a time back in Thebes..."

"Professor Snape may be interested in helping us," broke in Weasley . He'd heard this argument too often to want to hear it again.

Snape set down the glass of water he'd just drained. "Interested, yes, but able, I think not."

The Goblins frowned at him.

Snape closed his eyes, enjoying the slight breeze that dried the sweat off his face. He wasn't used to this kind of heat but it made a nice change from the dark dankness of Priceless Alley.

"Let me be very honest, gentlemen. Even if I wanted to help, there are things that I need that are far beyond my reach."

"Such as?" Weasley ignored the small growls coming from the Site Manager.

"My wand for one thing."

Weasley shrugged. "Not a problem. There's a really good wand maker in Giza. Ollivander's may have a monopoly in Britain, but he's not the only expert in the world. What else?"

"My books for another. The potions from this time period are not something that I have had much occasion to work with. I couldn't work without references to check."

Weasley grinned. "We thought of that."

Ashkentag also grinned. "Indeed we did. After some discussion with the Director General of Gringotts, the Minister was persuaded to request the ‘loan' of your personal library from Hogwarts to help us in this endeavor."

Weasley took up, "Since we had no idea what books would or would not be helpful, we requested the entire contents of both your office and your private rooms."

Snape was stunned. "The Headmistress allowed this?" He sounded totally incredulous, which set off a small alarm in Weasley 's mind.

Gorkopol scoffed. "The Minister was very pleased to help us with our request."

Snape didn't look as though he believed that either.

"I believe the D.G. donated a certain number of Galleons to the rebuilding fund, earmarked in particular for the Ministry itself," Weasley explained.

"But the Ministry took no direct hit during... Oh." Snape shook his head. "Yes, of course. The Minister's ‘rebuilding fund'."

Gorkopol's chuckle sounded like someone hacking.

Snape clasped his hands together. Weasley wondered if that was to stop himself from rushing off to see the books. "Madam Pince," he offered, "insisted on packing them herself. It's just a matter now of enlarging the crates, and unpacking them straight onto the shelves in your office."

Snape looked up and Weasley saw the hunger the man felt. But also the self-restraint. "There is," said Snape slowly, "the problem of my mental abilities."

"You mean your inability to concentrate."

Snape found a hint of a smile. "I mean my insanity and the necessity to deal with it.'

Ashkentag scoffed loudly. "You are not insane. Mad, maybe, but not insane, Professor."

"I doubt that anyone who has had to deal with me at the worst of the illness would make such a distinction."

"Actually," said Weasley , "that's not the big problem. The big problem is the medication."

"No," said a new voice, "the problem is how Sfankt Professor intends to deal with that addiction."

Weasley smiled. "May I introduce Sfankt Fet. He's our head physician."

This Goblin wore clothing more suited to Muggles. He was dressed in a shapeless linen suit with a t-shirt, all in white. No self-respecting Goblin would have been caught dead in such garb, thought Snape. He was tall for a Goblin, thin, with dark eyes that glittered in the light.

The physician's arrival was the signal for the meal to be served. Snape found himself staring at more food on his plate than he was used to eating in a day.

"Slowly and take time to let it settle," growled Sfankt Fet, watching Snape through squinted eyes. "You don't need to eat it all.

Which was a good thing as it was more than Snape could deal with having already had breakfast, a meal he had long forgone. The others talked about their morning's work, allowing Snape a sense of privacy that he truly appreciated.

Instead of the pudding with which the others finished their meal, he did indulge in cup of heavily sweetened, milky tea

Fet had kept an eye on Snape all through the meal. It would soon be time for the Wizard's ‘medication' and he wanted to see how the man would handle the need for it.

Ashkentag took over the table. "Now then, the facts are these. We need someone who is wise in the way of not only potions, but potions experts. A man who can think along the same or similar paths as Djen. A man who can understand Djen's fascination with potions and the powers they possess. Yet who will also respect such knowledge.

"Your name was submitted and we thought long before we even decided to approach you, Professor Snape. Once we did, the situation was not as we expected it to be. We expected insanity as our sources had informed us, but what we found, well, Sfankt Fet does not believe that it is true insanity. We managed to extract a small sample of the contents of the bottle while you were out one day and had it tested. All it proved to us is that someone is your enemy, Professor. Not that you are less or more insane than any other Wizard."

Weasley grinned conspiratorially at Snape. "They think we're all mad at the best of times."

"You are," muttered Gorkopol.

Ashkentag continued. "We offer you a place to work in your specialty, Professor. Your books for reference. The time you need to find the answers we seek. We have a physician who is willing to deal with whatever your illness may prove to be."

"You are offering me the sun and the moon if I accept," said Snape, "and...hell if I refuse? Tell me, Weasley, what is my punishment to be if I refuse to submit to this blackmail?"

The Goblins went very still. After a breath, Weasley met Snape's accusation right on. "You will be not be returned to Britain. You will be allowed to remain here as a member of my household. We will furnish your ‘medication', should you wish to continue taking it. You will not be denied access to your books, but you must understand that now they do belong to Gringotts. You may help with other chores on the sites, if that interests you. Not, if it doesn't."

Snape closed his eyes. No one spoke for long minutes then Gorkopol stood up. "Well, the other tomb won't open itself. Bill, there's a curse on it that you should deal with before we have another incident."

Weasley stood up and, as he passed Snape, he placed a hand on his shoulder. "Whatever you decide, Professor."

Ashkentag also slipped away from the table, leaving the Wizard and the physician. Snape finally opened his eyes and looked around the site as though seeing it for the first time.

Fet sat quietly as he waited for Snape's eyes to come to his. "Personally, I think that you've had enough of sleeping, Snape. The narcotic in that medication is strong. You can break yourself of its grip this time because you have a reason to do so. You have some time, I believe, in which to think about it before withdrawal makes itself felt."

Snape sat back, both hands on his mug of tea, and accepted the physician's visual examination of him. "It took about nine hours before the shakes got bad last time," he informed the Goblin.

Fet nodded. "The vomiting?"

"Began about an hour later."

The physician nodded again. "The next decision as I see it is as follows: do you withdraw from the drug gradually, which might take some weeks? Or do you do so immediately, which will make you quite ill, as you no doubt know? In the latter case, however, your dependency should be over within some three, maybe four days at worse."

Fet leaned forward. "Think about it. Three days, Snape, and an end to the dependency, and most probably to the depression. Clarity of mind. Ability to concentrate. Your mind once more under your control, not under something else's."

"The nightmares?"

He shrugged. "There is a price to all freedom. But there is also a way of dealing with those that will not fog your mind." Fet stood up. "When my opinion on this was asked, I had Gringotts send me some of the work that you published. Do you really think that nightmares are too high a price to pay to have that mind back?"

Snape looked at the small bottle on the night table by his bed. He picked it up and examined it as though he had never before seen it. Holding it, he went out of the bedroom and down to the bathroom. There, he uncapped the bottle and poured its contents down the sink's drain. Once it was empty, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

"Well," he said to it, "it will be interesting to see just how much mind I will have left after I pay the price. Won't it?"

The reflection shrugged.

Weasley found him sitting in the chair in his room, arms wrapped around himself, staring at the wall.

Snape glanced at him before returning to the wall. "I didn't take it."

Weasley nodded. "Would you like to see your office? Barir and some of the House Elves have been unpacking your books."

Snape closed his eyes and shook his head slightly. "You're going about this the wrong way, Weasley. The carrot is offered as incentive only when the ass can't move another hoof."

Weasley leaned against the doorframe. "Barir wants to organize them all by alphabetical order," he said, casually, hoping the elf would forgive his calumny, "of the author's first name."

Snape's office had been added to the site's main building when the decision to kidnap the Wizard had been taken. One large room, it was completely walled with shelves, except for the doorway and the window. Barir and two other house elves were in the process of unpacking the boxes that Madam Pince had carefully labeled and numbered.

The expression on Snape's face when he entered the room made Weasley look away: he felt he was intruding on a very private moment.

Snape wandered around the room, his hands touching the books as though reacquainting himself with an old lover. Barir and the others watched, eyes bright, not moving. Finally Snape stopped, resting his forehead against the spins, hands braced to either side. "Thank you. All of you."

Barir grinned to his colleagues, as if to say, "See, I told you so."

"How long has it been, Snape?"

The Wizard turned his head slightly, never losing contact with his books. "Since I last saw them? Twenty-one months, three weeks and, if this is Thursday?"

Weasley nodded.

"Three days."

"Would you like to check out your lab while Barir supervises the rest of their unpacking?"

Snape made a sound that may have been laughter. "A lab and all this. Were you that sure of me, Weasley?"

"No. But I knew that once we got you out of Britain, you wouldn't be able to go back. So even if you didn't help us, we thought you might like to keep us stocked in the kind of potions a site like this needs. You know, some of the basic medical stuff. First year stuff."

"Potions are not ‘stuff', Weasley. Surely you remember that from class."

Weasley grinned at hearing the instructor once more.

Snape reluctantly pushed himself away from his treasures. His smile at Barir and the elves was awkward but sincere. "I shall leave you all to your work. You are doing it wonderfully without my involvement."

He spared a small glare for Weasley: the books were being shelved exactly as they had been in his old quarters.

The House Elves appeared stunned, not only at being addressed directly but for the compliment. Barir bowed respectfully. "It is as Master likes?"

"It is," said Snape, "perfect."

The compliment was too much for one of the House Elves: he suddenly sat on the floor as though his legs were not able to hold him.

"If I might ask, can you read English, Barir?"

The elf nodded very seriously. "Yes, Master. Master Weasley insisted on it. He leaves messages for Barir all the time."

"Then could you find Potions of the Arab World, Elixirs of Dynastic Times, and anything else you think might be worth my rereading for the challenge ahead, and bring them to my room?"

The second elf sat abruptly next to the first.

"You may trust me, Master." Barir's voice was rough and his eyes overly bright, but his demeanour showed his honour at being assigned such an important task.

Weasley wouldn't be surprised if, from now on, anything Snape ever wanted came before anyone else's requests.

The lab had been added to the larger building that housed Ashkentag's work space and the site's storage facilities.

"We did it this way since it also houses all the ingredients we use." Weasley coughed slightly. "This is a Goblin operation, Professor, which means tight control of all materials."

Snape stopped in front of the large doorway. "You mean that I shall have to ask for all and anything I need."

Weasley nodded. "They won't refuse any request. They'll even go out of their way to find anything you need. But they like to keep track of it. They're very organized that way."

Snape continued walking. "Well, Weasley," he allowed himself the pleasure of stating the obvious, "they are Goblins."

Weasley indicated the hallway which led to the newest addition. The room was longer than wide, with a wall filled with the usual lab equipment, all of it sparkling new. The counters were the right height for Snape, the cauldrons and implements duplicates of the ones he had used at Hogwarts. There was a decent-sized cabinet with windowed doors that was waiting to be filled with ingredients or finished potions.

Over the fire there was a shield of some kind. "It's a Goblin invention: draws fumes away from the room and through a special filter which neutralizes them, just in case." Weasley indicated another in the far corner that had been installed over a small work table. "For opening anything from the tomb. The area under the shield is protected with special spells. We learn from our mistakes."

"Ahem."

Snape turned and was not surprised to find himself glared at by a short, stocky Goblin, who could have stepped out of any office at Gringotts, bearing a clipboard thick with papers. "Does he know he has to sign?" growled the Goblin, ignoring Snape for Weasley .

"Nafkt Klopstok, may I introduce Professor Severus Snape. The Nafkt is our Purveyor, Professor."

Snape bowed formally. Though a nafkt was not as high up as a sfankt, more a Head of House than a Headmaster, Klopstok was someone he wanted on his side as quickly as possible. "Nafkt, you have papers for me to sign? I regret to say I have no quill with me. If I may borrow yours, Weasley, so that the Nafkt may get on with his own work? "

Klopstok growled, not indicating that he'd liked the formal recognition and the considerate tone. Wizards on the whole thought themselves superior to Goblins. Weasley and a few other of the Wizards the curse breaker worked with had proven the exception to that rule, but they'd usually trained with Goblins. This one was a newcomer and Klopstok appreciated the hint that he respected the need to keep track of all things.

Klopstok handed him the clipboard and began flipping papers. "Sign here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here, here, here, here. Those were for the contents of the laboratory. Now then, this is for the office. Sign here, here, here, here, initial here and sign here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here for the books."

Weasley noticed that Snape hesitated a moment at that last. He understood the man's feelings. Signing for the use of books that belonged to him and had basically been sold without his permission must have felt like a betrayal of the worse kind. Still Snape said nothing, merely signed.

Klopstok nodded, happily for him, and handed Snape a pile of forms in a rainbow of colours which he pulled out of one pocket. "If you find anything missing that you need, or something to reorder, fill in these forms in septicate and leave them in the ‘Orders' box to the left of the stockroom doorway. Try not to wait until the last minute." He removed a scroll from the other. "This is a list of all the ingredients we have in stock, those we can get at a moment's notice and those which may take longer. You'll find the usual among them. If there is anything you need that is not on the list..."

"The forms in septicate," said Snape, at his most serious.

Klopstok nodded.

"And do I use the same forms for requisitioning material from your supplies?"

"No, you use these." And Klopstok pulled out another sheaf of papers, these coloured varying tones of brown. "Only quadruplicates needed for internal requests." And since Snape had not protested, as was Klopstok's usual experience with Wizards, he added, generously for a Goblin, "For the initial supplying of your lab, just list as many as you can on each form, don't bother using one for each ingredient." Then he snapped, glaring, not waiting to appear a soft touch, "But only for this occasion, is that understood?"

"Clearly and completely," agreed Snape, at his most reasonable. "And I am fully appreciative of this exception."

Klopstok nodded to the Wizard. Well, this was beginning well. He only hoped it would continue that way. So few Wizards understood the need for proper documentation. Ignoring Weasley's grin, he stomped out and back to his office that guarded the supply room.

"Do you want to start on the paperwork?" Weasley indicate the small desk in a corner of the lab.

Snape licked his lips, uneasy, staring at the piles of forms he carried in his arms. "Weasley, you do know that all this might be for naught. That I might not be able to shake off the addiction. That if I do, I might still not be worth any of this effort on your part."

"The carrot, I believe you called it, Professor. Start by filling out the forms. It will give you something to think about other than waiting for withdrawal to begin. And the thought of these ingredients waiting in this lab to be used will probably be all the impetus you need to win this little battle." He came up close to Snape and cocked his head. "Hell, Professor, you've suffered through Voldemort's displeasure and not only lived, but lived to play a major role in his downfall. Without your potions, Potter couldn't have eliminate the bastard for good."

"So when the pains begin, I should consider this to be nothing more than a session of Cruciatus lasting over several days?"

Weasley grinned at the sarcasm. Now this sounded more like the man he remembered. "Why not?" Then more serious, he added, "You survived those without help. Here, you have us. Fet is going to keep a close watch on you. Any way he can help that won't make matters worse, he will."

Snape closed his eyes and shivered through the first of many tremors. "Well, let us hope that Klopstok can read my handwriting. I would hate to have to redo all these forms a second time."

Withdrawal wasn't pleasant. Weasley knew that, rationally. Now he knew it viscerally as well.

He hadn't known that a body could vomit so many times. That dry heaves were worse. That the skeletal structure could take such shudders and tremors without breaking. That, in the desert heat, a body could be that chilled and that cold. And then, in the next minute, radiate a heat that made him think of one of his mother's Solstice turkeys fresh out of the oven.

They kept the room in darkness when any light made Snape whimper. They spoke in whispers when sound made him flinch.

Even Fet, not the most sympathetic of physicians, had to leave the bedroom at one point: Snape's withdrawal was too much for him to bear. As a physician, he was used to doing something to alleviate a patient's suffering, not just standing by, mopping up.

Snape had refused to lie in bed, saying that he, of all of them, had a better idea of what was coming. Barir had brought in a pallet and Snape had lain there, often in his own vomit, in his own piss, in his own shit, as his body fought to rid itself of its dependency on the narcotic. After two harrowing days, they stopped changing him into clean nightshirts, wrapping him instead in sheets spell-warmed for the chills, cooled for the heat. He was delirious by then, his voice rough and then raw from the vomiting. Fet insisted that he had to ingest a fruit juice mixture he'd concocted, as dehydration would only make matters worse. But getting Snape to swallow some was no picnic.

By the third day, Weasley wondered aloud to Fet if it was worth all this pain and dehumanization.

"He could have asked for the narcotic at any time, Bill," growled the physician, fingers on Snape's pulse. "Don't take this victory away from him. He's sleeping for longer and longer periods between attacks."

"But should it take this long? I mean, I read up on this in Muggle sources. They say by the third day, it should be ending. He's not following that pattern, is he?"

"No. And every time I repair some of the damage the narcotic has caused, it comes straight back. We've missed something. I don't know what, but I'll have my technician get onto it. We have some of the sample left. Not much. Pity Snape poured what we brought down the drain."

They'd used spells to clean Snape but the air was permeated with the stink of illness. Weasley had just finished casting a spell to deal with that, again, when Snape made a strangled sound as his body arched in yet another spasm.

"Fuck! Thought those were over," muttered Weasley as he knelt by Snape, counting the seconds before the spasm ended. But it didn't; it went far beyond anything he'd seen before. Snape's body was absolutely rigid, his eyes open and almost bulging out of his head, clenched teeth bared in a feral grimace. And suddenly Weasley was terrified.

"BARIR!"

"Master?"

"Get Fet. Now!"

Snape's face was darkening, turning bluish from his inability to breathe properly.

"Merlin! Fet, where the fuck are you?"

"Here," gasped the physician. "Move over! I know what this is!" Fet flicked the end of a large Muggle-type syringe then jabbed the needle into the fleshy part of Snape's thigh, pushing down the plunger. "Come on, Snape. Relax!"

Weasley had never before seen Fet lose his Goblin cool. Nor seen him this angry.

Fet tossed the now empty syringe aside, his hands rubbing the skin, encouraging the antitoxin on its way through the body of his patient. "Come on, Wizard. Don't let them win. Don't fight it. Relax, damn you!"

And, miracles of miracles, Snape's eyes closed and the arch of his spine gradually lessened, though his arms and legs were still too rigid for Weasley's peace of mind.

"Easy, lad, easy," the Goblin murmured. "Let it work. Don't fight it."

Snape tried to breathe through the tightness of his throat. But he managed a second and then an easier third. His muscles relaxed and his body dropped down onto the pallet. But the blue of his face didn't fade. In fact, it grew darker...and more liquid.

"Get that sheet off him. Quick. Use it to wipe him."

Weasley hurried to follow Fet's orders, not truly understanding. The sheet was quickly turning blue. As he reached for one of the towels Barir kept replacing, he realized that Snape was sweating a thick blue liquid from his pores.

"It's Indiginsanus Virus. In such a small quantity that we missed it the first time through. It accumulates in the muscles. It cannot be expelled easily from the body, not without a cleansing agent, which is one of the things I've given him. Keep wiping it off him. Make certain none gets into his eyes or mouth." Snape's nose was bleeding blue.

Barir appeared with more cloths and remained to help in the cleaning of Snape's body. One of the other house elves stuck his head in, gasped and disappeared, to return with Gorkopol and one of Fet's assistants.

For almost an hour the blue oozed of Snape's body and everyone worked diligently at cleaning the poison off him, until, finally, more white than blue showed.

"I think that may be it," announced Fet. He sat back on his heels. Only now did he notice the House Elf who had been working on one of Snape's legs. He frowned, "Bill's Barir, are you?"

The elf looked up, stunned to be addressed not just directly but by name by a Goblin.

"Burn all the rags. Make certain to cover your face when you do so. I'm rather certain that the Indiginsanus has been neutralized, but take no chances. And make certain to wash yourself thoroughly afterwards. As will all of us. Bill, do you think you can support Snape in the shower? He needs to be cleaned as well. And the sooner the better."

It was like trying to hold up an overcooked pasta noodle but, with some effort, Weasley managed to clean Snape to Fet's approval. They put him into the bed he'd not used since that first day and tiredly tucked the covers around him.

"Well," groaned Fet, arching his back to unknot some lower muscles, "now we wait and see if your professor is strong enough to survive all this."

Weasley had to think a moment. "You mean, he might die?"

Fet shrugged, yawning. "The Indiginsanus Virus would have killed him eventually. If he dies now, at least it will be a quicker, cleaner death."

Weasley dropped into the armchair that had been pushed aside through the last days. They'd been working and living on the floor. "Fet? Would his bouts of what were diagnosed as insanity be his body's response to the Indiginsanus?"

Fet leaned against the wall. "Possibly. That and the depressants and the narcotics. Somewhere and at some time, your professor has made himself some vindictive enemies."

Weasley said nothing, just rubbed his eyes.

"I'll send someone to watch over him, then find your own bed." Fet moaned as he pushed himself from the wall. "We've done all we can. The rest is up to him."

Snape raised his eyes from the book he was reading and stared at the hillside. Two weeks after surviving withdrawal and he still wasn't able to read much more than an hour at a time. Nevertheless, he was feeling better than he had in months, even though his energy levels still fluctuated and he suffered through periodic headaches.

He didn't remember much of the first few days. He had flashes of Fet, hovering over him, chanting Goblin spells and forcing Goblin potions down his throat. He intended to speak to the physician about those once his attention span would allow him to concentrate.

And, for a people renowned for their efficiency, the Goblins didn't seem in a hurry to make him carry out his part of the deal. That might have had something to do with the discovery of a third burial site, one that seemed to belong to yet another Court Wizard, one of lesser rank and therefore lesser powers than Djen. Or maybe not. In spite of Klopstok, these Goblins behaved, at least in his opinion from the little that he'd seen, in a most un- Goblin-like manner. Oh, they were dedicated to their work, but they also enjoyed sitting back and relaxing. They seemed to have understood that trying to work in the mid-day heat was a lost cause as the local workers, Goblins among them, refused to do so. Instead of harping and grumbling about the fact, they made up for it by working longer hours in the cooler evening. Mid-day, they congregated around tables, discussing work, catching up with paperwork, or reading. Some took the time to nap. They even socialized, usually at Weasley's, sitting around drinking coffee or tea, sharing news from the outer world.

When Snape had been strong enough to move from bed to couch, they'd included him, even if all he'd done was listen. Not once did a Goblin comment, at least in his hearing, that he should get off his arse and tackle the problem of the potions. Fet had come closest to it, but only to mention during one of his daily examinations that he was not to overexert himself under any condition until he'd given Snape clearance to do so.

But there were the books and he was doing some research on the little that was known of potions from that long ago period of time. Barir had found the books he'd asked for as well as a half dozen others and they'd been waiting for him on the bedside table when he'd been able to sit himself up.

And opening the first, he'd gotten a surprise that had brought unexpected tears to his eyes. And a more characteristic snarl to his lips when Weasley had handed him a handkerchief.

In each and every one of his books, Irma Pince had stamped on the flyleaf:

So he had the consolation that at least one person had not been pleased his books were being ‘loaned out'.

"Feel up to a walk?"

Snape blinked back the past and came back to this new present of his. With a nod, he placed the book down and got to his feet. Weasley wisely didn't offer to help. This walk was a way of judging just how much better he was getting. Now he could manage a turn around the entire site but the first time, only a week ago, he'd barely made it around the small house, which had irritated Snape to no end. Hell, drugged, he'd managed a daily trek from Priceless Alley, along Diagon and back again. In the early morning, when no one was around to point at him, to pull back the skirts of their robes as though afraid of contamination. He'd learnt to wait till mid-morning to visit Gringotts to get access to his monthly pittance. There'd been fewer glares if he'd gone during the scant dead period that occurred after the morning rush and before the noontime one.

Weasley let Snape set the pace. He watched him warily out of the side of his eye, still expecting the man to drop into spasm even though Fet had told him that there was little possibility of that. "Your Wizard wouldn't allow it, you know. He's far stronger than he looks. The drugs made him malleable, but I foresee that time will soon be over. Don't let him start on those potions until I clear him. He needs at least another week and then you'll have the unenviable task of keeping him on a schedule until he's back to full strength."

The biggest change Weasley found in Snape was the way he took interest in everything. His eyes shone with the intelligence and interest Weasley remembered from the classroom.

The D.G. had not been certain that Snape had been the right choice but Ashkentag and Gorkopol had backed him, based on their own research into Snape's background and the fact that he was Weasley's choice. Maybe the Wizarding world hadn't wanted Snape – someone certainly had gone out of their way to arrange that – but their loss was the Goblins' gain.

"I thought we might apparate to Giza in the morning so that you can pick out a wand. Imtiyaz Ubayy runs his shop a little differently than Ollivander, but he's got a top notch reputation."

Snape hesitated a moment. "So it's been decided that I am well enough to begin work."

Weasley laughed. "Fet says that you're chafing at the bit. He'd like you to take another week off before delving into the mysteries of Court Wizard Djen, but he knows that's not going to happen. I'm under orders to ease you into a workday, a couple of hours at a time. He's threatened to bronze my balls if you get ill."

At Snape's raised eyebrow, Weasley explained. "It's an old Goblin threat, like when Mum threatened to wring our necks."

Snape hmphed then muttered, "I'm surprised she never did so with the Twins."

Weasley laughed out loud. "She came close far too many times for comfort. I used to wish they'd been the eldest. Coming after them, my worst would have barely raised Mum's attention."

Imtiyaz Ubayy was a surprise. To begin with, he was probably older, but he looked to be in his early twenties. Unlike Ollivander with his long, narrow, dusty boxes, his little lecture on how the wand chose the Wizard, Ubayy was the one who decided on the wand.

"Well, of what use is centuries of dealing with customers if you have no idea what the customer requires? Have another of the biscuits. My wife is renown for her almond pastries."

And, unlike Ollivander's, the purchase of a wand at Imtiyaz Ubayy's was a social event, requiring thick, black coffee served in tiny cups accompanied with a variety of biscuits and conversation.

They sat on lush, comfortable cushions in the shade of an awning. The shop faced the market area of Magical Giza, a market probably older than Britain itself. Snape found himself wondering if some ancestor of Imtiyaz Ubayy might have provided Djen with his wand.

Snape sipped the coffee and nibbled on the biscuits while Weasley and the wand maker caught up on local gossip. He listened as they made disparaging remarks on the political scene, discussed the chances of the Alexandria Librarians making it into the Quidditch World Cup Playoffs – rather excellent it seemed. One of the things Snape had learned over the past months was that life could not to be hurried if it didn't want to be. And that yelling and fuming would not make it go any faster.

So he smiled at the young girl, an obvious Ubayy progeny who refilled his cup, and watched the local Wizard population shop and haggle in the market. Unlike Diagon Alley, where Wizard predominated, here there were all sorts of magical folk. Giza, Weasley had explained, was the hub of activity for the North African magical community. While Snape watched, House Elves of varying shapes, colours and clothing arrived to purchase foodstuffs or items for their households. Wizards and Witches, themselves in a range of colours from ebony to alabaster, wearing the most brilliant of patterned robes, embraced one another in greeting. Goblins of varying cultures bartered loudly. The noise levels were incredible yet everyone seemed to hear and understand whatever was being said to them, no matter the language. Snape recognized snatches of English, French, Arabic, Goblin, Elven, often within the same conversation.

"Different from Britain, is it not, Sfankt Professor?"

Snape reluctantly pulled his attention away from the market and to the young man addressing him. "Just Snape. I am no longer a professor and I doubt that I have yet earned the Sfankt."

Ubayy grinned at Weasley . "I detect a hint of stubbornness."

Weasley glanced at Snape before correcting the wand maker. "Only a hint? I believe single-minded might be a better way of expressing that."

"Tolerant?"

"In the classroom? Merlin forbid! The professor is not only remembered as a taskmaster, but as a Wizard who could strip the skin off you without shedding a drop of your blood. All done with words and intonations."

Ubayy laughed. "Well, if his students were anything like you, Curse Breaker, I marvel at his forbearance."

Snape gave a half-bow from his cushion. "I thank you, Sheikh Ubayy. And in answer to your question, yes, it is indeed different from Britain. Not just the sounds and the colours, but the aromas."

Ubayy nodded. "You will have time to explore the market before your wand is ready for you. Shall we say later this afternoon? That way I will have time to make any necessary adjustments if any are needed."

"And that's it?" Snape looked a little doubtful as he and Weasley were slowly making their way to the other side of the common, carefully avoiding the calling cards of the various goats, sheep, camels and what had to be a hybrid of some kind as it had the hump but also a set of wings. Snape was reminded of a smaller Hippogriff.

"It's a cross between a camel and an ancient breed of storks. They don't grow all that large, but they can carry great loads. They're used mainly on caravan or supply routes. Watch out for them: they have the personality of both beasts and have been known to spit a distance of 20 metres when irritated."

Snape glared back at one of the creatures that was eyeing them with a certain disdain. He just managed to step aside when a stinking glob of thick, mucal saliva came his way. "So I see."

He followed Weasley up some steps of a tall – for the area – building and found himself in a coolness and shadow that somehow felt familiar.

"Gringotts. The local branch," explained Weasley .

Snape shrugged and continued following him up to a counter where a teller, looking for all the world as a duplicate of any colleague in Diagon Alley, glared at their interrupting his checking accounts. "Yes," he grumbled, "what is it?"

"We've come for the key to Professor Snape's vault."

Snape's head snapped to attention: the only monies he'd been allowed were the small pension the Board of Governors had allotted to him. The authorities at St. Mungo's had thought it best that access to his vault be prohibited as a means of controlling his whereabouts. It wouldn't do, they had informed him, for him to use his resources in a manner harmful to himself or Society.

"Yes," snarled the Goblin. "Transfer was completed over two weeks ago. One would have thought that the Professor might have liked to verify that, at the very least."

"Oh, but he was rather busy at the time, working on a Gringotts project. This is the first occasion we've had to get to Giza."

That placated the teller a little, though it was obvious that he still thought it was slapdash of the professor not to be more concerned with something as important as money. "If you will sign here, Professor, and here. Vault number 1735, in the Goblin Wing." He glared at Snape from under his long, bushy eyebrows. "A rare privilege that. The D.G. must think highly of your skills."

Snape shrugged. "Let us hope that the D.G. is not disappointed."

Hiding his grin, Weasley accompanied Snape to the Goblin Wing. Like in Britain, the vaults were underground, but not as deeply. They walked along passage-ways that were doored until they came to the one with the marker 1700 - 1799. Beyond that was another hallway with what Snape recognized as the usual Gringotts vaults though these were narrower and smaller than the ones in Diagon Alley.

"Perhaps you would like to explain how this was accomplished," said Snape as he barely managed to control his relief at seeing the monies he'd saved from his teaching salary sitting there, waiting for him in Vault 1735.

Weasley shrugged. "Internal Gringotts decision. Oh, you'll note that it's been converted into Goblin gold, silver, bronze and copper. Goblin currency is accepted all over this part of the world. No need to deal with local exchanges."

They were sitting at a table under the shade of tall date palms, at an outdoor café. Snape had several small packages on the ground by his side, gifts of appreciation for those who had worked over him during his recent ‘illness'. He'd found Swiss chocolate – spelled to remain firm in spite of the heat – for the elves and the assistant who had arrived to help detoxify him and a box of sugared almonds for Ashkentag. There was a keffiyeh for Gorkopol, and a fine cognac for Fet. Weasley had refused to allow him to purchase anything by way of thanks.

"There is something you can do to thank me if you really feel it's necessary."

Snape looked up from the sweetened tea that had become his usual end of meal. "And what would that be?"

Weasley sat back in his chair and cocked his head. "You could explain to me why Minerva McGonagall is trying to kill you."

Snape went very still. After a moment, he carefully set the cup back onto the table and stared at his folded hands. "How..."

"When you were delirious, you spoke to her. You begged her to allow you your freedom. Or, at least, to die cleanly."

Snape looked ill again. Weasley cursed himself. "Never mind. None of my business."

Snape shook his head. With a flare of the old Snape Weasley knew from school, he straightened his head. "No. No, it is your business. Actually, this is as good a time and place as any other to discuss this part of the situation. Before any work on the Djen project has truly begun. In case you decide to withdraw your offer, it will give you time to locate another Potions Master to take over the project."

Weasley swallowed hard. All along he'd been hoping that it had been a misunderstanding on his part or a product of Snape's hallucinations.

Snape slipped his hands into his sleeves and held himself stiffly. He forced his eyes to remain on Weasley, even when it was hard for him to do so. Weasley had the courtesy to let him speak without interruptions. Or he may have been too shocked to say anything.

"To begin with, we have to go back to the days when Minerva was quite young. She left Hogwarts in June, 1938. That September, Tom Riddle began his first year, along with Minerva's much loved half-sister, Athena Angus. Riddle, as we all know, was sorted into Slytherin. Athena went into Hufflepuff. It seems that she was a sweet and loving child, very beautiful in a fragile, flowery way. That, of course, is from Minerva's perspective...she kept referring to her sister as a rose... Though I think it safe to assume that she was right as regards the fragility.

In her sixth year, Athena suddenly fell ill and had to be sent home. It turned out that she's become pregnant...by Riddle, who had provided her with a potion to deal with the matter. A abortifacient that proved to be far too strong for its purpose. Assuming, of course, that its purpose was only ridding Athena of her very inconvenient pregnancy. She died in spite of all that Minerva and others tried to do for her. Minerva, as you can well image, has little love for anything Slytherin.

However, she was professional enough to be able to deal fairly with those from Slytherin House in her classes. I doubt that Dumbledore would have tolerated anything less from her. He certainly did not from me, until matters arose and certain Slytherin factions needed special concessions.

Minerva did not like me as a student. I found Transfiguration useful but not fascinating. Rather, I suppose, as most of the student population find Potions to be. As a colleague she liked me even less though she fought hard to maintain her professionalism. In her opinion, I was far too young to be given the responsibility of not only a full course of studies but, within a year, of a House. She was more than livid when she found out about my being a Death Eater. Albus once confided to me that Minerva in a rage was one of the few things that had ever scared him. In spite of the fact that Albus had supported me at my trail and revealed, in confidence to the then Wizengamot, that I had spied for our side, Minerva always believed that I had somehow pulled the wool over Albus's eyes. In her eyes, I was forever...stained... for having given my loyalty first to the person responsible for her sister's death.

We finally achieved a sort of professional truce for several years and then Harry Potter popped up in our lives. And, with that, all semblances of neutrality went out the window. We maintained the facade of professionalism, but Minerva would have loved nothing better than to be proven right or to be given the opportunity to get rid of me. Preferably both.

She got her chance for one when Albus died and she was made Headmistress. I was informed that no matter what the outcome of the War would be, I was out of Hogwarts by the start of the next academic year. Then, in a last bid to divert our attention, Voldemort..."

Snape closed his eyes, but not before Weasley had seen the flash of torment that Snape was dealing with.

It took a few moments during which Weasley found himself thinking, hoping, this story wasn't headed where he thought it might be.

Once Snape had himself in hand again, he continued, speaking as calmly as he had been.

"When I had been with Voldemort right after leaving Hogwarts, when I'd still believed him right, I created a potion for him. A very powerful one. One that killed swiftly and without mercy. Before I left, I set fire to my lab, making it look like an Aurors' attack. I had thought that all my potions had perished in it. It seems I was wrong. Peter Pettigrew found an undamaged vial when he cleared what was left of the lab on Voldemort's orders. And he put it securely away until the time came and Voldemort needed to use it. Pettigrew was always looking out for himself . Even back then.

"Hogsmeade," said Weasley, softly, trying hard not to show his horror.

Snape nodded, once only. "The potency of the potion is not long lasting when exposed to heat. Which was why I thought it had been destroyed in the fire. Pettigrew emptied it in the town's water source and some 50% of the townspeople died. Not easy deaths though they were relatively quick. Fortunately, it was a hot day and the potion's efficacy...was not as strong as it could have been."

"Fuck, Snape." Weasley couldn't hide the horror anymore.

"Yes." After a moment, Snape continued. "Pettigrew threw it up in my face before I killed him. I think he did it so that I wouldn kill him, not turn him over to the Aurors. Minerva had many friends in Hogsmeade."

"But how did she find out that it was your potion?"

Snape shrugged. "She put two and two together." Then he continued, ignoring Weasley's questioning look. "The Board of Governors wouldn't allow her to fire me. They said that there were no grounds, that I had proven myself to be on the side of the Light, not that of the Dark. Besides, there had been a decimation of the staff and she needed to replace those before she began retiring others. But then, that first day, I...I freaked out."

"I had wondered about that, Snape." Weasley's voice was rough, thick with a beginning coldness that Snape was not truly surprised to hear. "If the War proved anything, it proved that you're not the ‘freaking out' type."

"My first class of the day was the first years. I entered, reciting my usual opening speech. I'm certain that you've heard of it. The one about their learning the subtle science and exact art of potion making. Then I got to, ‘I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death...' And I saw not their faces, but the faces of the people who had died because I had stoppered death. That's when I began destroying all the potions, all the ingredients that I could lay my hands on. And it seems that when Minerva showed up in my own lab, I screamed at her that I would never more stopper death, that enough had died because I had and that I would never again take the chance that someone would use my potions on the innocent."

Weasley waited, not doing anything that Snape might construe as encouragement. Or understanding. Snape forged on, knowing that, once more, he was paying for a decision made over twenty-five years previously. And that he would go on paying for it, probably even after death.

"As I said, Minerva put two and two together and came to the correct conclusion. When she revealed my role in the deaths at Hogsmeade, she didn't get the response she would have liked. I think she thought they would find a dementor somewhere to deal with me, assuming they could find one still alive. She came to see me in St. Mungo's, on a day which someone saw to it that I was not drugged. It seems that she had found a few among the staff who thought as she did and so I was going to be diagnosed as insane but not dangerous if I remained medicated. She laughed like a girl when she told me that I was to be released. Sans wand, sans money except for the pittance she had graciously arranged for me, with limited freedom. Actually, she told me that since the Ministry would not send me to Azkaban, she was going to provide another living death for me. And she did."

Weasley said nothing for several minutes then, "What about the Indiginsanus Virus? Did she arrange for that as well?"

Snape shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is that the one time I did refuse to take the medications, I was hauled back into St. Mungo's. Do you have any idea of what the ward for lunatics is like? No? Well, let me just say that it made life in Priceless Alley seem like paradise. They kept me in for a week, in a straight jacket for several of those days, supposedly making certain that I wasn't going to kill myself or, more importantly, someone else. Then I was told I had a choice: either the ward or Priceless Alley and the meds. And if I took the Alley, I would be my last chance. Failure to comply with the conditions of my release would mean a return to the ward and the jacket. I agreed to be ‘good'. The medication arrived the first of each week at my door and, other than the one attempt that you already know of, I took it."

"Even knowing what it was doing to you?" The coldness had definitely settled into Weasley's voice. "The addiction, the hours of drugged sleep, even if you had no idea about the poison. Why?"

"Why?" Snape shrugged, his eyes looking over the market that was slowly coming to life once more in the late afternoon. "Maybe because I thought Minerva was right. That I should have been arrested and sent to Azkaban with the rest of those who had killed and murdered indiscriminately. I was responsible for the death of so many."

"How were you to know that the potion had survived?"

Snape shook his head. "Why did I make it in the first place? I may not have poured the contents into the water source, but I am as guilty as Peter Pettigrew. If only for this reason: we both wanted to impress our importance upon our Master."

"The difference is that I doubt that Pettigrew felt remorse for what he did, other than how it affected him."

Leave it to a Weasley, Snape thought, to try and find balance where there was none. He looked up to face the man once more. "I doubt that any remorse would be considered much of a repayment. Do you want me to leave now? You can return to the site and complain to the others that I have repaid all their kindnesses by disappearing on you once I had a source of funds."

Weasley rubbed his hands over his face, as though scrubbing the thoughts of what Snape had told him away. He suddenly stood up. "Ubayy is expecting you. Why don't you go over there and wait for me. I need a few minutes to deal with what you've told me."

And to consider your offer, was left unsaid.

Snape only nodded as he watched the curse breaker stride away.

Each step towards the small shop grew harder to take. It was as though a heavy weight had fallen on his shoulders, making it difficult to lift a foot for the next step. Though the sun was shining brightly, the world about him was slowly darkening until it seemed that he was in total darkness.

"Papa is expecting you," said a child's voice and Snape forced himself to see the girl from the morning standing in front of him, looking more and more worried. He tried to smile but gave up the attempt when that seemed to frighten her instead.

"Here, Professor, drink this."

Something cool was being held to his lips and it was less effort to open his mouth than to indicate he wasn't thirsty. But he must have been because he emptied the glass of what he recognized as juice and slowly his world grew lighter though not less heavy.

"You are still not used to our temperatures, Professor. You must remember to drink liquids often. Not necessary to drink a lot, but it is to drink often."

Snape blinked and saw that he was sitting on a cushion in the cool interior of Ubayy's wand shop. The wand maker was crouched in front of him, nodding as Snape took a deep breath and felt his world settle with a thud only he could feel.

"Sheikh Ubayy. My apologies. I think I may have frightened your daughter."

Ubayy smiled at him. "Not to worry, Professor. She was just worried that you might faint in the market. Are you feeling better now?"

Snape swallowed and wondered what Ubayy would say if he doubted that he would ever feel better. But he nodded. "Thank you and, please, thank your daughter for me. I will remember about the drinking."

Ubayy stood up and went to a counter that Snape had not noticed in the shadows of the room. "Well, now I think you will want to see what kind of wand I have made for you."

Another child, a male this time, suddenly appeared at his father's side. Snape judged this one to be about ten years of age, a few years older than the girl who had found him. Face serious, trying hard to look and act very adult, the boy carefully carried a small gold-coloured cushion over to Snape and, bowing, offered it to him. "Professor," he said.

On the cushion lay a wand. About eleven inches long. A dark brown that seemed to pulse with warmth.

Snape's hand rose of its own volition and hovered over the cushion as though waiting for his permission to pick it up. A part of him nodded while another part just watched, as if from a distance, as the hand closed about the thicker end.

Snape had owned several wands in his life. He'd had the one he'd gotten at eleven when he'd begun at Hogwarts. That one he had destroyed in Albus's office when he'd turned himself in after setting fire to Voldemort's lab. He'd gotten a new one when Albus had persuaded him to return to Voldemort, to spy for the Order of the Phoenix. That one had been destroyed in the War. Its replacement had been taken away from him at St. Mungo's.

This one felt totally different from the moment his hand touched it. It was lighter for one thing. The balance of it was incredible. Not that Ollivander's were not: they had been excellent wands, second to none. But this one immediately felt part of him. As though it were an extension of his hand and nothing more.

He brought it closer to him to examine it. There was nothing spectacular about the look. It was smoothly carved, thicker at the grip, narrowing down to a blunted point. It only felt...right.

So very right.

"What is it?" Snape asked, eyes not leaving the wand that he was touching, stroking as though it were a living thing.

Ubayy sounded startled. "It is a wand, Professor."

Snape found himself smiling. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry. I should have made the question clearer. What is it made of?"

"Ah. It is wood of the Doom Palm. Mama en Khenet. Very, very old tree, even for Egypt. Very strong. Very dependable. Able to bear the effect of water. A good wand for a Potions Wizard."

"And at its core?"

It took Ubayy a moment to understand Snape's question. He shook his head. "No core. My wands are made in a tradition older than that of your world. There are spells and charms said as the wand is made that allow it to detect the abilities of the person it was made for. It is a reflection of the best of you."

"Poor wand," whispered Snape to the wand.

"You must try it," said Ubayy, pulling his attention from the wand and the Wizard who was only staring at it. "I need to see if it requires any refinements. See that dying plant. Make it green again. That is always a good test."

Snape gripped the wand in his hand and pointed it at the sad plant, brown and drooping, in another shadowed corner. From around a doorway he could see several heads of varying shortness watching him, the girl's among them. The boy stood by his father, eyes waiting with anticipation. And Ubayy himself, arms folded over his chest, trying hard to look non-chalant about the whole thing, the brilliance of his eyes giving him away.

And they all waited.

"I'm sorry. But how do I do this?"

Ubayy looked confused for a moment then he nodded. "Ah, does it feel that different from one of your European wands? You just do as you have always done, Professor. Direct your magic through the wand to the object of your attention. Even your wands, different though they are made, by themselves have no real magic. They are merely a conduit of your own."

Snape nodded and once more pointed the wand at the plant.

Again his audience found themselves waiting.

Snape lowered the wand and gestured to the boy. When he stepped up to him, Snape carefully placed the wand back onto the cushion.

"Professor?" Ubayy was not the only confused one. There were sounds of questions from the doorway and the boy looked absolutely astounded.

Snape slowly got to his feet. "It is a good wand, Sheikh Ubayy. Truly, I think that I have never held a better one in my life. But it is a wand that was created to be used and I think that in my future it would get very little of that. In fact, I know it. Better it be given to someone who can fulfill the reason for its existence. I will, of course, pay you..."

As Snape reached for his money bag, a voice cut through the mumbled confusion. "It's only a plant, Severus. I know that it's been some time since you've cast any spell, but even a first year can rejuvenate a plant."

Snape went very still as Ubayy turned to Weasley as to someone who could clear up all this confusion.

Weasley smiled at the Wand Maker and his family. "Professor Snape has been quite ill recently. He may feel his powers are not up to his usual standards and he is a Wizard of exacting standards. I think it might be safe to call this a case of..." Weasley glanced over at Snape who was watching him with an expression that made the curse breaker catch his breath for a moment. It crossed his mind that the man had truly expected never to see him again. Weasley met his eyes and offered him a grin that his family would have warned Snape to brace himself.

His grin grew wider. "A case of stage fright."

It had been the right thing to say. The children covered their hands to stifle their giggles. The boy bit his lip, trying hard to maintain his adult mien. Ubayy suddenly found he had to clear his throat and turned away, eyes laughing. And Snape looked dumbfounded.

"Stage fright?!"

Weasley pulled out his very practiced innocent look. "It does happen, Severus. Even to the best of Wizards. Or would you prefer to call it performance anxiety?"

Snape's mouth literally dropped open. He snapped it shut as he reached for the wand. Pointing it at the plant, he snarled, "Refoves!"

And the plant responded immediately. It snapped to attention, leaves greening as it did, as if it were a soldier responding to an officer's order.

"Performance anxiety," muttered Snape. "My foot!" And only then became aware of the applause from his audience. He turned to the children peering in and surprised them all, especially Weasley, by acknowledging their applause with a small bow.

Ubayy smiled then signalled them to scatter. The boy with them watched attentively as Ubayy verified that Snape was indeed comfortable with the wand and it with him.

Snape paid, far less than he thought he should for such a wand, and they left, to the bows of father and son, to the surreptitious wave of the little girl.

They were out in the market place, when Snape stopped and made Weasley look at him. "What have you decided?"

Weasley shifted the packages he was carrying: having been told of Snape's near collapse in the heat, he wouldn't let Snape carry anything. He sighed as he leaned his weight onto a hip and stared at the Wizard. "You're not much for subtlety, are you?"

Snape didn't even smile. "I have found it better in my life to have matters made as clear as possible."

Weasley nodded. "All right. As clear as I can make it. What happened will be of no matter to the Goblins. They don't understand us at the best of times and they think our harping on things past is of very little use. They accept and they move on. Maybe I've been around them too long to think differently."

He met Snape's eyes. "Look, you made a decision a long time ago – for whatever reason, I don't care – that has followed you all through your life. When you realized it hadn't been a good one, you tried to rectify the consequences of that decision. You put your life on the line to work for the Order, not once but twice. The fact that Pettigrew found a potion and used it was not your decision. It was his. Yes, Minerva and others feel that you should bear responsibility for that, but those who could have sent you to Azkaban didn't agree. And to be honest, neither do I. And I'm not just saying that because we need a Potions Master and you're one of the best. We have to work and live together and, unlike Minerva, I'm not good at forcing myself into professional behaviour."

He looked down at his feet. "Once, when I was a child, I borrowed some of Dad's Muggle tools and built a tree house. It wasn't all that well built as I was only six or seven. But Charlie was up on it when it collapsed and he broke his arm. Mum did her mother routine and yelled at both of us, but that was it. She fixed Charlie's arm and told Dad to teach me to use a hammer and nails properly. It wasn't as though I had done it on purpose. But I did feel guilty...for maybe a couple of days until Charlie drove me crazy again and that was it. I hadn't built the tree house for the purpose of injuring my brother, much as he annoyed me. His climbing up then jumping up and down on it was his decision alone. Not mine."

Weasley looked up. "Let's go home, Severus. There's a tomb needing to be cleared and you need to be the one to do that."

And Snape, too moved to speak by this implicit forgiveness, could only nod.

Ashkentag settled in his chair at the luncheon area and shook his head. "Does the man never remember to eat?"

Gorkopol, using the dangling end of his new keffiyeh to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck, grunted.

"He's having far too much fun to think about joining us," explained Bill as he slouched back in his chair. "Like we do whenever we discover some new site."

"Yes, that's all fine and good," agreed Ashkentag, "but less than a month ago, he nearly died."

The three turned suddenly to the sound of an argument. Severus was following Fet, who was obviously using some Goblin magic to drag a reluctant and rather irritated Wizard behind him. "I've just had breakfast. As per your orders, Barir won't let me leave in the morning until I've eaten whatever it is that you've told him I need to eat. Merlin's breath, Fet! There's a limit to the amount of food a body can ingest..."

Severus's diatribe faded as he noticed that all the others were watching, none bothering to hide his grin. "It can't be lunch time already?"

Bill squinted up at the sky. "Well, unless Fet has somehow miraculously learnt how to move the sun, it is definitely noon. And you disappeared into the tomb around seven this morning, after you did indeed eat a well- balanced breakfast."

Fet snapped his fingers and released whatever hold he'd had on Severus. Severus hmphed as he took his place. "I was in the middle of identifying the contents of one of the small pots," he mumbled, rather like Ron, thought Bill, when their mother had chastised him for not cleaning up his room. Severus was slowly working his way through the contents of the second chamber of the main tomb, wanting to be very certain of what he was dealing with before beginning on the third.

"The pot will still be there, Severus," Fet growled back. "This is the third time this week..." The physician shook his head.

The Potions Master shook out the linen napkin and growled right back, "I am keeping up with my fluids, I don't read until my eyes run, I did take a nap yesterday afternoon, and I do eat properly. The fact that I might have been five minutes late..."

"Five minutes! Five minutes! If you are longer than five minutes late, we don't see you until I go and get you. The moment you step into that hillside, time stops for you. Maybe besides being a potions Wizard you are also a time Wizard? What a marvel you are, Severus Snape: you can make time stop still! Now shut up and eat! Before I find myself tempted to deny you any time in that tomb."

Bill had seen enough major blow-ups in the Weasley household to know that one was on its way. "Severus, what did you find in that pot? Was it something that you expected?"

He was happy as were the other two Goblins to see Severus take a deep breath, exhale slowly then calmly pick up his fork. "Actually, no, it wasn't. I have a feeling that our Court Wizard was far more adventuresome than any of those in your records, Ashkentag."

Between bites and the occasional pointed expression exchanged with Fet, Severus explained. "So far the pots have revealed themselves to contain ingredients rather than potions. Many of them are dust, but I've been able to identify caraway, pepper – probably cubeb, frankincense, the usual garlic, thyme, poppy, onion, dill. I'm assuming that the fact that there are several pots of each, with slightly different markings under the identifier might indicate that they come from different locations."

Ashkentag nodded. "Yes, it was believed that the same ingredient might be stronger or weaker depending on its site of growth."

Fet added. "Closer to the Nile meant better irrigation and therefore a stronger plant."

"Yes, well, now we can add ginseng."

Ashkentag sat straight. "What?"

Severus glared at the physician. "That was what I was in the process of identifying when I was interrupted."

"It'll still be there when you go back." Fet was unrepentant.

Severus hmphed.

Bill shook his head. "But ginseng. That's Chinese. How would a plant from China have found its way to Egypt back in that time?"

The discussion got them through the meal without any more sniping and snarling between Severus and Fet.

That evening, Bill looked up from his reading the letters from his scattered family that had arrived in the day's mail at Severus, who had brought his work home with him. "If Fet knew you were doing that..."

Severus was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the carpet, surrounded by open books, a scroll hovering near-by with a quill writing down Severus's soft-spoken dictation. He looked up and frowned slightly. "I thought Goblins were supposed to be cold and disdainful of us Wizards. I wish Fet would act according to type," he complained.

Bill grinned. "They are, on the whole. But proximity with Wizards seems to affect them as well." Then he lost the grin. "Fet was bothered by the severity of your withdrawal. Until then, I think that such medical procedures were something he'd read about, not witnessed. He was already angry and upset by the time he discovered you were being poisoned. That was a little too underhanded for him. Give him some slack, will you, Severus? I think it may have been the first time in his life that Fet found himself emotionally involved and that was un-Goblin enough to throw him."

Severus sighed. "All right, Weas...Bill." He still found it difficult to use Weasley's first name. It was part and parcel of the olive branch that had been offered to him, but he still didn't quite understand why Weasley...damn it, Bill, had insisted on their calling each other by their first names. "I shall attempt to be more polite of his interference."

Bill laughed. "I didn't say you shouldn't growl at each other. You two have too much fun with that. Just try to worry him less. You may have endured the actual withdrawal, Severus, but we had to watch you go through it. I know that I've never felt so helpless in my life. It's not a feeling that I would rush out to experience again. And, be honest, you're still not up to full strength. Give yourself time. It's not as though you're on a schedule."

Severus shook his head slightly. "That's another thing. I was under the impression that Goblins were work-obsessed. I would have thought that I would be pressed for results, not scolded for trying to furnish them."

"Ah, yes. Well, Goblin single-mindedness is slightly exaggerated. Rather like the madness of Wizards. Most of us only have Gringotts as our exposure to Goblins. The ones there are pretty much focused on money, but that's why they're there. Wait until you experience a Gobbledygook."

Severus, who had already gone back to his books, looked up, frowning. "A Gobbledygook? Those things are real?"

Bill laughed. "Oh yes, they're real. You ain't seen nothin' until you've seen Gorkopol under the influence of a snootful of Goblin brew!"

Severus was incredulous. "They allow Wizards to attend?"

"Well, not many. They have to feel that you'll be able to watch, maybe even participate to a certain extent, without judging or reminding them of what they did. They usually give Wizards the time off, to go visit family or to take a holiday. It only lasts twenty-four hours, but it can take up to five days for the damage to be repaired and for heads to stop pounding. I hang around because, well, frankly, to go home and then have to be back in a week isn't enough time for what Mum calls a ‘decent family visit'. I usually attend as Ashkentag's guest. At one point, someone needs to take him away from the festivities before he gets hurt. He has less staying power at his age than many of the others. And he's too important to lose."

Severus nodded. He'd already had to rely on the Goblin's superior knowledge: there was only so much his books could tell him of that time and place. At first, Severus had worried that this need of his for consultation might be held against him. They had, after all, brought him here as an expert in potions. But he'd soon discovered that Ashkentag delighted in discussing a subject he passionately loved with anyone, especially someone who was as interested as Severus. It was becoming commonplace for them to meet after Ashkentag's noontime nap and discuss whatever ingredients Severus had identified that day.

"Well, besides the ginsing, there seems to be ginkgo as well." Severus smiled slightly. "Ashkentag had his assistant pull out all the maps he could. He's trying to determine the most plausible route of travel from China."

"Do you think it might be possible that Djen was not local?"

Severus thought a moment. "Chinese rather than Egyptian? I'll keep that in mind but considering the length of time travel took back then... We've always thought that apparation was developed only about the time of Julius Caesar. Still it is something to consider."

"When do you foresee entering the last chamber?"

Severus shrugged. "I've gone through about a third of the pots in the second. I'd say two more weeks, assuming no further surprises. Some of the pots seem to be empty, but I doubt that they would have bothered burying empty pots. Does anyone mind if I work on those before I begin on the ones in the third?"

Bill laughed. "Severus, you're the expert. Those decisions are yours. The only person you have to satisfy with your schedule is Fet."

Severus went back to his research, muttering under his breath.

The cat woke slowly. He had been aware of the noise in the background for some time but, since it hadn't really disturbed his sleep, he'd done his best to ignore it. He had been awakened once, startled out of his rest when someone had entered his sleeping chamber. There'd been shouts and screams, footsteps rushing back and forth, more noise. He'd been irritated, annoyed. But then the noise had stopped and, apart from the sound of occasional footsteps, he'd been left in peace.

But now that had changed again.

The noise had come back. Neither as sharp nor as irritating as the first time, but there had been one very loud shout. Only one, but that had been enough to jar him awake. He tried to return to sleep, but the quiet had been replaced by a voice that seemed to be speaking to him.

And there was light. Bright light. Which made it hard to sleep after so much darkness.

Eyes open only to a slit, the cat uncurled himself and slowly stretched muscles that hadn't been used in a long time.

"SEVERUS! DON'T TOUCH THE JARS!"

Bill rushed into the well-lit third chamber to find Severus sitting cross-legged on the ground, pad and quill in hand, sketching the lay-out and the markings on the jars.

"Bill?"

The curse breaker leaned against the opening to the chamber, panting. "It's not the contents that are cursed. Well, maybe, but that's not what did it."

"Did what? Bill, take the time to catch your breath and to think before speaking."

Bill slipped down the rock to sit spread-legged on the ground. He took a couple of deep breaths.

"Is he all right?"

Severus shook his head slightly at all the commotion. Gorkopol appeared in the doorway as well, looking quite ill in the light.

"Severus! Thank Ptah, you're all right!"

Severus was taken aback by the Goblin's reference to the ancient god of creation. How Egyptianized these Goblins had become over time!

"Yes, I'm fine, as you can see. Could either of you explain this new concern for my well-being?"

Bill rubbed his face and, finally calm, did. "We've had another transmogrification. In the newest tomb. Only this time, nothing was opened, only picked up. It seems the curse is on the moving of the jar, not its opening."

"Well, we don't know about that," growled Gorkopol, angry with himself for having been so frightened for another Wizard. Bad enough Bill scared the daylights out of him with the way he dealt with some of the curses. But to be concerned on behalf of a Wizard who had just joined them...well, maybe he'd been hanging around Wizards for too many years!

Severus looked at the jars. "I see. I thought to keep track of all details in case the placement of the jars had significance. I haven't begun doing anything else. Can the curses be removed so that the jars can be manipulated?"

Bill nodded. "Yes. Seems there's only the one curse, the snake thing. Damn! I should have thought about that before allowing anyone into the last chambers. It's just that we all assumed that Muthanna's change had been brought about by the contents."

"Can't remember a site where the curse is on the movement of jars," muttered Gorkopol. "Never even read of one. It's a first," he looked at Bill, "for all of us."

Severus returned to his sketching. "Well, go polish your uncursing on those other tombs and allow me to get back to my work. I promise you I shall not touch or try to move anything until you give me the all-clear. But do have someone take down the layouts before anything is touched. They may tell us something."

Gorkopol and Bill exchanged looks: Severus was handling the situation far better than they had. With a shrug, Gorkopol offered Bill a hand up and they left to deal with the situation in the other tomb.

Severus waited until he couldn't hear their voices to release the tension he'd been holding in as best he could. "Well, Court Wizard Djen," he spoke aloud to the stone coffin, "I wonder what other surprises you have in store for us. And why."

The cat licked a paw and leisurely groomed himself.

The cat began exploring the area at night when no one was about. He prudently entered whatever buildings were accessible with the caution born of a hunter on the prowl for some unknown prey. Typical for his kind, he stuck to the shadows and stilled, becoming one with his environment, should any of the inhabitants of the area suddenly appear.

After some time, he assessed that there were at least three different kinds: humans, which he had immediately identified, then those he labelled as the servant class and the bosses. He wasn't quite certain as of yet what exactly the humans were doing, but by finding a dark and safe place from which to watch the camp in the daytime, he finally concluded that the bosses, much to his surprise, were equal to the humans.

One of the humans spent a lot of time in the chamber in which he'd been sleeping. In which he still slept. A cat could never get enough sleep.

At first, he thought the human talked to himself, but then finally realized that he was addressing his comments to someone named Djen, the only word he recognized in all those sounds. In a rather familiar tone, the cat thought, and not all that politely at times.

So, though he continued exploring his whereabouts at night, the cat settled by day in his safe place inside the hill and diverted some of his attention to the human as he dozed or groomed himself. Until there came the day when he realized he actually understood the words the human was saying. And then the cat began listening.

The House Elves were the first to notice the cat. It wasn't a creature they felt particularly safe around; however, those who had been brought over from Gringotts settlements knew that the creatures were often the familiars of Wizards and Witches and so pretended to ignore the beast. Nevertheless, preferring to hedge their bets, they left saucers of milk out for the cat, a service it seemed to appreciate, and a sort of mutual respect developed between them.

A few of the Goblins were the next to become aware of the animal. It had quite startled them when they had looked up from their work to find it on some small ledge of rock in the outer chamber. It was watching them with interest. Bigger and much tougher than House Elves, the Goblins didn't fear the cat, but they did find it nerve-racking at times to be inspected with such interest by those green eyes.

They reported the animal and its habits to their superiors but because the cat only watched them – never interfering in what they were doing – they soon became accustomed to its presence. Mind, they too preferred to err on the side of caution, and so began leaving out some food for the beast. Not that anyone ever saw it eating, but the fact that the plates left out had been licked clean indicated that the cat was pleased with their offerings.

Gorkopol finally came face to face with the cat one day when he was carefully removing a once-spelled jar from one of the secondary tombs. The cat jumped off its customary ledge and followed him to the tent where all such items were being double and even triple checked for any additional spells before being sent off to Severus's lab. He'd no sooner placed the jar on the table when the cat jumped up on it, landing on silent feet so that Gorkopol gasped when he looked up to find the animal staring him in the face.

Startled, Gorkopol growled at the cat. The cat, in turn, ignored him choosing instead to wash its face with studied indifference.

"So, you're the beast that's become the good luck charm for the workers, eh?"

Fists on hips, Gorkopol watched the animal as it continued to ignore him. Once the whiskers had attained a level of neatness that satisfied the cat, it moved its attention to the jar, delicately sniffing the air around it.

"Be careful," grouched Gorkopol. "We don't know if that thing's totally decursed yet."

The cat turned its head towards the Goblin, gave a little sneeze of disdain and calmly lay on the table, head on paws, then proceeded to go to sleep.

"Well, be it on your own head if you get turned into a snake," muttered Gorkopol, turning to leave. "And don't knock it off the table. We don't want it broken."

The cat slitted open an eye as the Boss of bosses left the tent. As if anything could turn him into a snake! He'd taken care of that long ago.

Still, he cautiously sniffed the jar yet again. It was faint, oh so faint, but his sensitive nose picked up the scent of the Wizard who had set that particular spell.

It must have been, disparaged the cat closing his eye, the only time that idiot numskull managed it properly!

Bill was the first one to approach the animal, allowing it to smell his hand before he tried to touch it. He liked animals and they liked him.

The cat didn't mind his approach but it did mind the attempt to stroke it.

Bill found his hand suddenly developed four long lines of red that burnt once he became aware of them.

"Bloody pest," muttered Bill as he pulled out his wand and cast a disinfecting and healing spell on his wounded hand.

The cat, which had begun walking away, tail held high, suddenly stopped and looked over his shoulder, listening. He watched with curiosity as the scratches healed themselves. When Bill strode away, still muttering under his breath, the cat took a few steps after him then changed his mind and instead strolled over to his main lair, the third chamber in the tomb of Court Wizard Djen.

Though Bill had thoroughly decursed the contents of the third chamber, Severus still hadn't bothered touching any of the jars. He was sitting on the dirt floor, cross-legged with elbows propped on knees, examining the jars as though waiting for them to speak to him.

Over the last couple of days, he'd gotten into the habit of discussing the matter with the occupant of the stone coffin. Not usual behaviour for him, this communing aloud. In previous times, when he'd worked by himself, he'd spoken aloud to voice the spells and the charms required by whatever potion was the focus of his attention. He wondered if this was some consequence of his addiction. Still, curiously, he didn't do it at all when he was in one of the other burial chambers.

He looked over his shoulder at the cat who lay stretched out on a flank atop the coffin, pointedly ignoring him for yet another session of grooming. Even to his unknowing eyes, the cat was a rather magnificent specimen. Tawny, almost bronze, with leopard-like spots on its body. It was slim yet muscular, with a head that sat proudly on a long neck. The eyes were green. Not the dark Potter green, but lighter. And they watched him constantly, even when the cat pretended to be occupied with some other matter.

"I still think you're asking for trouble," he told the animal. "I doubt very much that Court Wizard Djen would appreciate the fact that you're using his last resting place for such purposes."

The cat continued to ignore him.

Severus shrugged and returned his attention to the jars. The cat had strolled into the chamber some days ago, sat at its entrance until Severus had noticed he was there, then had jumped onto the top of the coffin and casually made himself at home. He'd heard about the animal, of course. It had been the topic of some discussion at the communal meals, especially after it had scratched Bill.

Severus smiled to himself. To hear Bill speak, it had been a grievous attack and the beast should be cast off the site. Gorkopol had scoffed, delighting in pointing out that Bill had been the only one to suffer from the cat's attention and, besides, the workers and elves had adopted the cat as a form of site protector. "No more snakes since it showed up," he'd teased.

Bill had hmphed. "I'm the reason for that," he'd muttered, still examining the faint lines on his now healed hand.

"No rats either," Ashkentag had added. "At least Klopstok has stopped complaining about them. And I don't think you've had anything to do with that, Curse Breaker."

"I thought that the Mau was considered to be a fairly easy animal to get along with," Fet had added. "Considering they've been around this part of the world as far back as anyone can determine, they've had more than enough time to get use to non-feline company. I wonder," he'd smiled, "why it felt differently towards you?"

Bill had snorted and muttered something about how animals had always liked him and there being exceptions to the rule.

"Well, Cat," Severus spoke over his shoulder, "I think I've put it off long enough. I've verified as well as I can the contents of the second chamber. Apart from three or four jars from the third tomb, I've identified the contents of those two tombs as well. Somehow, I have the feeling that matters won't be that easy from now on. Time to see what surprises Djen has in store for me."

The cat stopped what he was doing and rose to his feet. He stretched leisurely, ending with a loud yawn, then surprised Severus once more by jumping to the ground and coming up next to him. Green eyes stared as though waiting for him to move.

Severus had been different from others of his kind in many ways but one of them was the fact that he'd never had a familiar. His family had not been rich and money had been earmarked for necessities only. Besides, Severus had never felt all that comfortable sharing himself with anyone or anything.

For some unknown reason, this cat had decided to adopt him. Since the Bill Incident, he had begun following Severus around. Though Severus didn't know why or how, the cat was showing up in his office whenever he was there, taking over one of the armchairs that Barir had set up for any visitors, sleeping or grooming himself while Severus did research or worked on a report. Or he joined him at his desk and sat, listening patiently as Severus suddenly found himself reading his results aloud to the animal before passing them on to Gorkopol, who then sent them on to the proper office at Gringotts. The first time the cat had nodded his head as if in approval of his findings, Severus had felt an odd feeling of...unity, for want of a better word...with the cat.

The cat didn't come that near him in his lab. In fact, the cat still hadn't encroached further in than the doorway. Since he wouldn't move from there, Severus wasn't able to shut the door completely. He remained lying, front feet tucked under his chest, eyes slitted, watching as Severus worked at identifying the contents of the other tombs. Once more, Severus found himself discussing his analysis with the cat, explaining exactly what he was doing and how he was coming to certain conclusions.

Now Cat looked at him as though waiting for him to get a move on and pick a jar. Severus cocked his head and gestured with his hand. "Well, since you seem to be so eager, why don't you pick the first?"

Cat gave a soft, "Murr," and calmly walked over to the first line of jars, delicately stepping around a few to one which was in the furthest row, in the darkest corner. There he waited until Severus, resigned to be following the dictates of the animal, stood and, placing one hand on the wall of the chamber for support, reached over and picked up the jar. At the entrance to the chamber, he tossed over his shoulder, "Well, come on. This is your idea. You might as well be around to see the outcome."

With a blur of action, the cat silently streaked past him on his way to the lab. Once there, he further surprised Severus by entering the lab, making his way over to the work counter and gracefully leaping up onto it.

"Decided to participate in this evaluation, have you?" offered Severus, shaking his head at his own acceptance of the animal in his lab. At the special table set up for opening jars with unknown contents, Severus used a knife whose sharpness was augmented by a spell and slit the hardened tree gum . Stepping back, he used his wand to uncap the jar and waited to see what happened.

Nothing.

Severus glanced over his shoulder at the cat who was sitting up, eyes watching him as though to judge his reaction. "Why do I have the suspicion that I'm about to be turned into one of those rats you're so fond of?"

The cat made a sound that reminded Severus of Dumbledore when he had swallowed one of his chuckles so that Severus would not take offense.

With respectful caution, Severus approached the jar.

"Dried sludge at the bottom," he reported to the others the next day at lunch. "I managed to chip some out. I think I've been able to identify something that may have been a Second Dynasty potion dealing with bone repair."

Bill looked up from his meal. "You mean like Skele-Gro?"

Fet sat back. "But those kinds of potions date from far later than the Second Dynasty. About a thousand years later."

Severus shrugged. "So far I've identified nine ingredients that are either the same or which have similar properties to those ingredients in Skele-Gro."

Ashkentag smiled happily. "Well, our Court Wizard does seem to have been far beyond his time."

Severus only shrugged once more and went back to eating. He made no mention of the cat's response when he'd shown surprise at what he'd been analyzing: the animal had settled down on its side, face almost smug.

With a paw, the cat carefully pushed open the door until there was enough space for him to slip into the room. This was his first exploration of the house his Wizard went into every evening. The presence of the second Wizard had made the cat more cautious about approaching. It surprised him that the man hadn't forgotten about that slight mishap: every time they ran into each other, the Wizard scowled at him and made a production of avoiding him. Petty grievance? Or did the Wizard sense more than he let on? The cat had watched him deal with some of the curses and knew the man was powerful, though he had different skills than his Wizard. The cat wondered it that mattered.

The cat shrugged and sat in the shadows of the door, looking around the room that bore only the scent of his Wizard. The shades were drawn, keeping the room dark and cool from the sun's heat. That hadn't changed. In a world in which so much had, it was somewhat reassuring that some things hadn't. Not that he wasn't fascinated by some of the many changes. It wasn't as though he had expected time to stand still. Mind, the amount of time that had passed since he'd fallen asleep had taken some getting used to.

His eyes quickly adjusted to the difference in light and he set off to examine the contents of the room. Not that there was much to it. Not like the office with its walls the latest version of a library. Or the work room with its implements, many of which he was relieved to discover had not changed much since his time. His Wizard's clothing was hanging in one small space. He had never seen him wear the black, which made him sneeze when he sniffed it. He didn't like the scent that permeated the material. It reeked of illness and despair. And, if his nose wasn't playing tricks on him, of something evil. Poison?

He sat back on his haunches and thought about that for a moment. Well, maybe his Wizard had more in common with him than just his intelligence and skills.

The rest of the room was quickly inspected. There was a chair by a lamp, with a small table stacked with books. Another table by the bed, also with a lamp and more books. The cat jumped onto the bed itself and went over it thoroughly, finding a couple of spots where he knew he would make himself very comfortable.

Sitting by the pillows at the head of the bed, he looked around the room and nodded. Yes, he would be very comfortable here indeed.

With a yawn, he stretched out and made himself at home. He thought about taking a nap when he noticed a speck of dust on a paw. Severus did not approve of dirt any more than he did. He would not appreciate coming into the room and finding a dirty cat on his bed. As he dealt with the offending particle, the cat thought about how pleasing it had been to find one who was most like him among the populace of the site. His Severus would have been good competition for his position in Pharaoh's court.

He'd watched with interest as the Wizard had worked his magic on the contents of his storage room, then on that of the other tombs. He'd been saddened to realize that one of them belonged to Nawfal. He'd recognized the cartouche of his name and wondered how long he'd been permitted to live after... After.

Truthfully, he'd been far less aggrieved to have identified Waqqas as the inhabitant of the third. Had he been interred so near both Nawfal and himself because the traitor had not attained the status he thought was his when he fell in with those bastards? As if any of them had been worthy of his position in Pharaoh's court! The snake curse was the only exotic Waqqas had ever been able to manipulate, and even then it was not one he could consistently cast well.

Nawfal, on the other hand, had been an excellent student, well deserving of his attention.

The paw and other parts of him now pleasing to his critical eye, the cat decided he had enough time for a short nap before getting back to the office. Severus was working on a report about his analysis of the jar he had selected for his Wizard. He'd chosen that particular one because it had been the one that had first brought him to the notice of the Head Priest. The one that had begun his troubles with those charlatans.

It pleased him when Severus had noted how revolutionary that potion had been. He couldn't understand why it had taken so very long – centuries according to Severus – for it to be rediscovered.

He sighed. Nothing he could do about that now. He dropped his head onto his paws and set his internal clock. Severus would need to read his report aloud to him before sending it on to the Boss of bosses.

Something woke him up.

Severus lay quietly, pretending he was still asleep. He listened, trying to determine what exactly had awakened him.

The room was quiet. The only sounds came from outside his window. The usual night sounds. The quiet murmur of the nightwatch as they passed each other. The night creatures out hunting. He wondered if Cat was among them, clearing the site of those rodents that Klopstok so complained about.

There it was again. The slight sound that had no place being here. He listened carefully. He knew it, recognized it. He usually heard it in his office or in his work room. Soft. Barely audible. But recognizable.

He opened his eyes and turned his head. There, on the pillow next to his, was Cat. Curled up and purring almost silently.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The cat deigned to open an eye and look at him. He yawned and stretched out a paw to tap Severus lightly on the nose, then pulled it back in again. The black-tipped tail flicked once and then settled. The eye closed and the cat was asleep.

Severus watched the animal for several minutes then rolled his eyes at his own inability to toss him off his bed. He turned his back to the cat and went back to sleep.

He looked around and wondered where he was.

Not the usual location for his dreams, nor his nightmares which were the far more frequent of the two.

He was in Egypt. Well, that was an easy guess: the sun was hot and of a colour that was particular to that area of the world. There was a grove of tall trees in the distance, yet close enough for him to identify them as date palms. If he turned to his left, he could see a pool of water. Not an oasis, but a fabricated pool. The water looked inviting, but he found he preferred to remain where he was, sitting comfortably in some shade.

He wasn't at all surprised when he reached out and found a goblet of some kind at hand. Nor that the liquid in it was refreshingly cool.

Severus sat back, sipped at the tangy liquid and enjoyed the scenery.

"You can't keep calling it Cat."

Severus looked up from the book he was reading to the animal lying next to him on the arm of the couch. Since the cat had moved in, Bill had become resigned to Severus's shadow. Where Severus was, so usually was the cat. The bloody animal accompanied Severus on his daily routine, to meals where he accepted tidbits only from Severus's hand, though if one of the others dropped an offering onto the ground, it quickly disappeared. Oh, he still did its own rounds: rodents were learning that it was foolhardy to think they were safe on the site just because the cat had moved in with the Wizards.

"What's wrong with Cat?"

Bill shook his head. "Not very particular. Any cat can be called Cat."

"Yes, I suppose that's true. But will it respond to that appellation?"

The cat knew they were talking about him. He sat up on his haunches and looked from one to the other.

"It's too intelligent just to be called Cat," said Bill. "Look at it. It understands what we're saying."

Severus cocked his head as he examined the animal now examining him in the same manner. Yes, like Bill, he was certain the animal did understand them. And did understand when he read his reports to the cat before signing off on them. And understood when he discussed what he was working on in the lab. And knew what he was doing when he asked the cat to select the next jar from the burial chamber.

"Djen," said Severus.

"Are you certain?" Bill found himself shaking his head. "That could be asking for a different kind of trouble."

Severus thought about that. "Well," he sighed, "if we're talking about possessive, I would think it's already too late. I may not have any experience with animals of the domestic variety, but I don't think this animal behaves in an everyday cat manner. And he seems quite at home whenever he supervises from the top of the coffin."

Bill thought about his brother Charlie and his relationship with his dragons. He too was certain his favourites were different from the others. More perceptive. More intelligent. Bill smiled as he watched Severus scratching the cat's head between his ears as he purred loudly.

"All right. Djen it is."

Djen smiled.

This time, the goblet held a sweet, almost syrupy drink. Golden in colour. Too sweet for his taste.

"Master? Shall I replace the mead?"

Severus nodded. "Bring me more of that fruit mixture. It's far more refreshing."

As he looked further to the west of the pool, he realized that he could make out the edge of a house. Built of what looked to be...adobe of some kind. The colour of the ground. Not that high. Maybe two stories. And with some markings on the outer walls. Decoration of some kind. Red. Blues. Greens.

A hand removing the goblet with the mead and replacing it with another distracted him. Severus reached for the cool goblet, never once realizing that he'd spoken in a language that had long since died out.

"And what new potion has our Court Wizard dreamed up?" Ashkentag smiled at Severus as he settled into his chair.

Fet grimaced when the cat jumped up onto Severus's lap and made himself comfortable. He wasn't particularly fond of the creatures, having had a confrontation with another of his species when a small child. He had come out of that with several scratches and a healthy respect for claws.

Severus sat back, a hand on the cat's back, lazily stroking from nape to tail. "Something that was used for burns. Not itself new, but with a combination of ingredients that will require some experimentation. Oh, and I've placed an order with Klopstok for some powdered jade. I need a sample against which to test some of gemstone ingredients I'm coming across."

"Jade?" Bill shook his head. "Where the hell would he get something like that from? Ginseng, geiko. And now powdered jade? There's got to be a link with China somehow."

Severus shrugged. "I'll leave that up to someone else to figure out. Right now, I need to know how much time I shall have to continue with this work. You've done with the other two burial sites."

Gorkopol arrived in time to hear Severus's question. "Take all the time you want. Seems there's another series of chambers about a kilometre away. We'll keep base here. They don't appear to be anything out of the ordinary and the D.G. is in agreement that your work takes precedence right now."

Severus looked down at the cat purring with pleasure from his attentions. "I must indicate," he began slowly, "that I don't quite see the importance of this work from the D.G.'s point of view."

Ashkentag grinned. "It's the link to China that fascinates him." The Egyptologist had just returned from the Gringotts headquarters for an in- person report. "He feels that if we can produce a convincing link from this region to that one, it will allow Gringotts a way of entering that market. As is, the magical Chinese financial establishments are run by a monopoly headed by a cartel of Chinese Trolls."

Bill chuckled. "So, let me guess. If we can determine the manner by which these ingredients arrived here, it will give the D.G. an excuse to send a delegation to investigate those findings."

Severus didn't look pleased. "And if we don't?"

Fet laughed. "All the D.G. needs is a reason. We... You've already given him that. The more of these ingredients that you can identify, the happier he'll be. He won't do anything to rush you. This has been a pet project of his for the last two hundred years. He'll be very willing to wait a few more months. And while you work away on that, Ashkentag here will be enjoying himself over his maps, won't you, Sfankt?"

The old Goblin nodded his head, laughing. "Perfectly. Besides, if we work this right, we could find ourselves part of that delegation to China. Would make for a nice holiday for us all."

There was more to the property than that one house.

As he turned his head, he followed the line of roofs to the longer, taller, almost white building that reflected the morning sun.

There was greenery all over the yard that fronted the...palace? Well, a palatial building when compared with the others.

"Master."

Severus turned his attention to the servant who, kneeling, was offering up a platter for his inspection. He easily identified the plate of fruit. Figs, already split and ready to tear apart. Dates. Pomegranates shining wetly ruby red. There was another plate with cut up flat bread and a small bowl with its own spoon for the thick, golden honey.

Severus gestured his acceptance with a hand and the platter was placed by the goblet on the small table by his side. But he no longer was interested in the fruit. His mind was rather focused on the legs that were stretched out on the lounge. Long. Boney. With a smattering of dark hair. On the dark, sun-bronzed skin.

His legs, yet not his legs. His legs were pale. White. They had never seen the sun since he'd been a child.

He looked at the hand that was reaching for some dates. He recognized it but, like the legs, it was far darker than he remembered.

He put the dates back onto the platter and pretended to wipe a speck of something off his chest. Off skin. He was shirtless. More than that, he was wearing nothing but, after a quick inspection, what seemed to be a white, pleated linen skirt.

What the hell was going on?

"Djen!"

The cat raised his head.

Bill rested his fisted hands on his hips and glared at the animal. "Would you like to explain to me why I found a dead rat on the chair in my office?"

Severus looked up from the book he was reading on the history of the Nile area of pre-dynasty Egypt. It was a Muggle tome, but so far it was the only thing he had managed to find on the topic that had any reliability. He glanced up at Djen then at Bill. "It was a gift. Wasn't it, Djen?"

The cat yawned then resettled his head on Severus's shoulder. He was stretched out on the top of the couch, with his head and forepaws on Severus's shoulder, as though reading along with him.

"Then why was it under the cushion?"

Severus thought a moment. "Because he wanted it to be a surprise?"

As Bill turned away, rolling his eyes, he swore – as he would tell the others the next day – that the cat snickered.

There had to be a reason for his being here.

Severus casually ate some of the fruit and sipped his drink, all the while examining the world around him.

He was in Egypt, but not with the others at the dig.

He sat back in the chair where he was lounging under the shade. From his vantage point, he could see servants going about their business. Men were tending animals in the fields which abutted the residential area. Women were doing laundry at what seemed to be another of the pools that dotted the grounds in his range of vision. There were birds chirping away in the palmers. There was a slight breeze, not at all cooling, but which carried the scent of baking bread.

Now and then the servant who seemed to have been assigned to him came to see if his goblet or the platter needed replenishing.

Apart from that, all that seemed to be expected of him was that he recline in the shade and wait.

This sitting back and doing nothing was not a habit of his. He knew that. Just as he knew that he was waiting for something... No, waiting for someone.

He looked back at the large entry of the main house and knew that whoever it was would come through those portals. So he sat back and waited, watching, until just after his goblet had been refilled for the third time, he looked back and found a person watching him from the portal.

He set the goblet down and slowly rose to his feet as the man began walking towards him.

He was not particularly tall, at least when compared to himself. Severus had already determined that he was much taller than the people about him.

Like Severus, he wore only a pleated kilt so that Severus could see the lines of his musculature with ease. He was slim, yet there was strength in that slimness. He held himself well, as though fully aware of his powers, of his ranking compared to those about him. Like most of the males, his head was shaved, and he held it proudly on a long neck. As he approached, Severus noted that there was a feline quality to the man's walk.

And when the man stopped in front of him, Severus could see that his eyes were green. Not Potter green.

"Djen," he said.

And Djen nodded his head, laughing softly. "My Severus. Welcome to my world."

Severus peered over his shoulder to the cat lazily grooming himself on the counter.

His dreams of late had been...different. Oh, he still had the usual nightmares and Fet had offered him some Dreamless Sleep, which he'd refused. He'd used the excuse that it left him groggy the next day, another aftereffect of his addiction. To be honest, if only with himself, he was terrified of becoming addicted to any substance, even if only accidentally. So he cast a silencing spell on his room and hoped that he would wake before being drawn too deeply into the darkness of his memories.

But lately — actually, when he thought about it, since Djen had moved in – it seemed that the nightmares had lessened in intensity. He still had them, but he was less of a participant and more of an observer.

And as the old nightmares grew less intrusive, the other, newer dreams grew stronger, more detailed. Until, last night, he had dreamt that he had come face to face with Court Wizard Djen.

He shrugged and went back to working on the last series of tests for the contents of the latest jar. The last ingredient which had given him some trouble finally allowed itself to be identified: marijuana. Which had a long history of use in China long before any trace of it had made its way to Egypt, some thousand or more years after Djen's time. He was no longer taken aback by these little discoveries.

Neither was Djen – Djen the Cat – who looked particularly smug when Severus told him of his finding.

"You're not at all surprised, are you?" Severus leaned back against the counter and glared at the cat who, though he would never admit it to Bill, did indeed snicker. "So, Djen the Cat, I'm certain that you wouldn't mind sharing with us just how these ingredients made their way to you from China five thousand years ago?"

Djen cocked his head and produced a deceptively innocent, soft "Murr."

Severus found himself smiling. "No, I didn't think so. That would make it far too easy for us. Still, the D.G. will be ecstatic about this report." He turned back to his work. "I wonder what the D.G. looks like when he's ecstatic. Somehow I can't imagine him jumping for joy. Not like Ashkentag when he finds something that challenges him."

"Merp," agreed Djen.

"So who do you think will be part of the delegation invited to China?" asked Fet when Severus revealed his latest findings.

Ashkentag grinned happily. "I have it from the D.G. himself that we, as the discovery team, would, of course, make up the first wave. After all, we would have to explain to their Minister for Magic just how we found and identified these ingredients."

Bill shook his head. "Other than Severus and Gorkopol..."

"No, no, dear boy. This is classified as a site discovery. The Site Board would all have to present themselves. Though, of course, the burden of presentation would fall on Severus as Site Potions Master."

Severus looked up, startled. "I would be expected to accompany you? But is this not a Goblin operation, this entry into China?"

"We're a team," Gorkopol explained. "Goblins and Wizards and Muggles. Of course, the Muggles won't be invited. Unfortunately, the Chinese Ministry for Magic doesn't recognize them."

"Not quite correct," interjected Fet. "They do recognize their existence: they just refuse to acknowledge that they are of any importance."

Severus shared a knowing look with Bill. Pureblood prejudices existed everywhere.

Djen raised his head from where he lay on Severus's lap and make a chirping interrogatory sound.

Severus looked down at the cat. "I don't know. I have no idea if cats are allowed into China. Or if the D.G. would consider you part of the Site Board."

Djen's snort of disgust made even Fet laugh.

They were sitting under the trees, Severus watching Djen, Court Wizard to Pharaoh, ease his hunger. He preferred mead to the fruit drink and his servants had rushed to satisfy his customs.

"What do you think of my home?" he asked when he finished wiping up the last of the honey with the final piece of bread.

Severus nodded. "Beautiful, as well you know. Djen, what am I doing here?"

Djen's smile lit up his face. "You've been showing me your world. I thought it only fair to show you mine. Would you like to visit my work room?"

Severus cocked his head. "Does it have a counter I can lie on?"

Djen's smile widened. "If that is what you want, then you shall have one. But I thought you might prefer a tour of the stock room and an exchange of ideas on some of my potions." He stood up. "There is one in particular..."

And they were no longer under the trees but in a room that was lit by the sunlight coming in through the slits that served as windows.

There were counters. Well, more table in form than counters. And there was one long enough for Severus should he truly wish to play supervising cat. But there were also cauldrons steaming over fires. And a youth who was stirring one all the while counting aloud to himself.

Djen gestured with a hand. "My apprentice, Nawfal." And though there was an element of pride in his voice, there was also affection.

The youth ignored the introduction to add a small bowl of a powdered substance to the contents of the cauldron. Quickly he muttered what even to Severus's ears sounded like a spell as he gestured with his hand over the cauldron then stepped back in time to avoid a small reaction that sent a puff of orangey-red smoke into the air.

With a grin, Nawfal turned and bowed respectfully to the two Wizards. "Masters."

"No wand?" asked Severus. He'd finally realized that he was here without his.

Djen shook his head. "Not needed. There is Magic in the very air around us. We have only to know how to gather it to ourselves. Oh, some of the Priests are beginning to use staffs..." it was obvious that both he and Nawfal found that humourous, "...but that's more for the drama of it than necessity."

Djen went up to the cauldron and, after a look followed by a sniff, he dipped his finger into the contents and allowed a drop to fall on his tongue. As Djen evaluated the taste, Nawfal watched with anticipation.

Severus suddenly remembered himself as a student, waiting for his Potions instructor's approval of a complicated formula. He was certain that he never smiled the way Nawfal did when Djen nodded with satisfaction.

"Yes, I do believe this will do."

So even Court Wizards of five thousand years ago did not overwhelm their apprentices with praise, thought Severus.

Djen must have read his mind. "Doesn't do to gush over a student. It might go to his head and then you'd have a Wizard with a larger ego than talent."

But Nawfal didn't seem at all taken aback. "It's perfect, Master, as you well know. How can it be less when I have been trained by the Master of Wizards, the best in the Two Kingdoms."

Djen laughed and patted the boy on the shoulder.

For a moment, Severus felt a wealth of envy watching the rapport between teacher and student. Professor Burgess had always provided the extra lessons with a certain reluctance: he'd known that his student would easily outshine the professor and had rarely bothered with a compliment.

At a gesture from Djen, Severus stepped up to the cauldron, copying the Court Wizard's movements. As he tasted the solution, his audience held their breaths, waiting for his assessment. He allowed a second drop to fall on his tongue. It wasn't that different from the potion he brewed. "A stomach remedy. For burning of the lining. A medical potion for stomach ulcers."

And basked in the warmth of their delight.

Bill dropped into the only chair in Fet's office that was not piled with medical journals. They were the physician's delight and his obsession. He subscribed to all the major ones, not just Goblin and Wizard, but Muggle as well.

"Well?"

"There's something going on and I don't know what it is."

Fet sat back in his chair, propped his feet up on the bottom drawer of his desk and folded his hands on his flat stomach. "Tell me about it."

Bill pulled the end of his long braid over his shoulder and leaned back. He thought a moment, fingers playing with the end of the braid. "I've been keeping a eye on him as you told me to. He's eating regularly and Barir no longer complains of his meals being ignored.. He's less...tense I guess you could say...since he's begun working on the Djen contents. Until then, there was this nervousness..."

Fet nodded. "He felt he owed us the work and disliked the fact that his body needed time to recover. He's not a man who likes ‘owing'."

Bill brushed the palm of one hand with the fringe of his braid. "He's sleeping better. I countered the silence ward on his room so that I could hear him if the nightmares got to be too much. In the last weeks, I can count on one hand the number of times I've been awakened. At the beginning, it was at least once a night."

Fet grunted. "The circles are gone from under his eyes. His face is less skeletal. He's put some weight on." With a small smile, he added, very innocently, "He looks a lot better."

Bill thought a moment. "Yes, he does. A lot better."

"So what's wrong, Bill?"

Bill shrugged. "I can't put my finger on it. He's always been quiet, at least since he's been here. But there's a new quality to that quietness. He's here but he isn't. In the last week, I've come into the sitting area to find him stretched out on the couch, with Djen on his chest, and murmuring to the cat. I don't recognize the words though I have the feeling that Ashkentag might. And though he's sleeping well, he seems to be napping constantly when he's not working."

Fet nodded. "He does appear...dreamier. At lunch today, I had to address him three times before I got his attention."

"I noticed. He...seems to be off in another world when he's stroking the cat."

"Well," Fet offered after some thought, "since Goblins don't have familiars, might this be nothing more than a bonding time between him and the animal?"

Bill shook his head. "There's something strange about that cat."

Fet raised an eyebrow. "Is this concern speaking, or the fact that the cat seems to be your competition for Severus's friendship?"

There was a long minute of silence while Bill ruminated. "No," he spoke slowly. "No. While at Hogwarts, a classmate of mine had to work with Severus for his N.E.W.T. project. His big complaint was that Severus never spoke to him other than to explain what he expected and how to satisfy those expectations. In the lab, Severus is silent if one of us enters, but I've heard him explaining in detail to the cat what he's doing. And he asks the cat questions and seems to be getting answers."

He stood up and went over to the window, looking out at the yard. "I teased him about the cat being possessed when he named it Djen."

Fet thought about that. "Well, stranger things have happened. Isn't Hogwarts filled with ghosts of Wizards and Witches long dead."

"Not five thousand years dead."

"Dead is dead, Bill. Doesn't matter how long. Look, I'll have him come in. I wouldn't mind checking him over. It's been six months since withdrawal and I want to see how well his internal organs are repairing themselves."

With Djen and Nawfal watching, Severus completed a potion of Dreamless Sleep. "There. That should help Pharaoh sleep like an innocent babe."

Nawfal applauded while Djen grinned. Severus felt himself fill with pride at the accomplishment. It hadn't been easy modifying a potion from the sixteenth century for a time some four thousand years earlier. But he'd done it. All under the enthusiastic and approving eyes of the Court Wizard and his apprentice.

He smiled at the two Wizards who had helped him gather ingredients which would cause the potion to work as it should. It was a novel experience for him, this comradery of work. Even when he'd created potions for Voldemort, he'd worked alone. He had thought he'd preferred it that way. But it seemed that was just because he'd never before found people who were as much in love with potions as he was.

"We must celebrate," announced Djen.

And then they were under the palmers, with cool drinks and food. Djen nodded and three young women suddenly sat in front of them, instruments on their laps, playing music that rivaled the breeze for gentleness. Nawfal had a sheet of papyrus on the table in front of him, producing a clean copy from the overwritten notes he'd taken while Severus had been working on the formula.

"Master Severus, do you think that if the spell that provides the potion with the profundity of sleep were changed, the period of dormancy could be deeper, maybe even longer?"

"Possibly. But there are other potions that can be used for such sleep. This potion is to provide the user with a refreshing sleep."

"Still, it would be interesting to see..."

Djen laughed. "Nawfal, eat. You can work on that later."

And Severus, sitting back goblet in hand, shook his head sadly. "I never thought I would ever hear myself saying this, Nawfal, but Djen is right: there is a time and place for everything. I promise that we'll work on that aspect of the potion if that interests you. But not now. Now is for replenishing the body."

And sound asleep in his bed, with Djen purring happily away on his chest, Severus smiled.

As he got up from the table, Fet gestured for Bill to follow him. In his office, he freed up a chair of the newest load of journals that had arrived in the morning mail and took up his own seat.

"Well, I have to agree with you. Physically, Severus is doing as well as can be expected considering the hardships his body has endured. The Indiginsanus Virus did have some effect on his liver and heart. The scarring has been kept to a minimum, but it is still there. Plus he suffered Cruciatus far too often for it not to have affected his nervous system. His immune system is that of a far older Wizard, though we can keep that in check with good habits. And yes, he is eating well, sleeping better and agrees that an evening walk before bed would help him sleep even better."

"Bill..." Fet sighed. He hated this part of his profession. "You know, Bill, he's never going to attain the age most of you Wizards reach. Even with care, he may have only another forty or fifty years."

Bill reluctantly nodded. "Yes, I had guessed that."

Fet waited but no more was said. He went on. "Away from the cat, he's alert and very aware of what's going on about him. We had a long discussion about neurological regeneration. He's very quick."

"He's brilliant."

Fet shrugged. "You won't get an argument there from me. According to Ashkentag, the D.G. thinks he can do no wrong right now."

Bill grinned suddenly. "Hell, even I got a letter of acknowledgement from the D.G."

Fet grinned back. "Yes, he is that pleased."

Bill lost his smile. "There's a ‘but' in all this as it regards Severus."

Fet also grew serious. "I'm been watching him with the cat. He's different around the animal. Less..."

"Less involved, more withdrawn."

Fet nodded. "Have you thought of seeing if he's been cursed somehow? He's been like this since he's begun working on the potions in Djen's tomb."

"Since the cat moved in."

"Bill, though I can believe that spirits can possess other entities, I see nothing dangerous about Severus's relationship with Djen the Cat. In fact, while you see mostly negatives, I have to tell you that being less intensely involved is not a bad thing for Severus. The less strain and stress he's under, the better it will be for his health. The Muggles have done some interesting analysis about the calming presence of animals."

Bill slouched in his chair. "I will admit that the cat and I aren't exactly bosom pals, but there's something about him that nags at me."

"Well, see if you can test Severus for a curse. But do try and put aside your suspicions about the cat when you do so." Fet leaned forward, face very serious. "Bill, as a curse breaker, you are almost without equal. That letter from the D.G. is not the first in your file. Don't allow your personal feelings about Djen get in the way of your analysis."

They were back in the work room, with Djen explaining to Nawfal the spells needed to augment the strength of the bone repairing potion. Severus was sitting on one of the counters, listening. Djen had already teased him about his preference to sit and not lie down. "I'll have them bring you a cushion," he'd offered and Nawfal had laughed.

"What?" Severus asked.

"There were times when I first began my apprenticeship with Master Djen that I doubted I would ever see my pallet, let alone be allowed to sleep on a counter."

"Apprentices need to learn and the best way of learning is by doing. Don't you agree, Severus?"

Severus, who had spent many a night stirring potions, nodded. He too had been an apprentice once and had done the boring work Professor Burgess couldn't be bothered with. And when he'd finally had his own lab, he was too involved with creating potions for Voldemort to have time to teach someone how to assist him. At Hogwarts, even if he had wanted one, no student was interested enough in Potions – or brave enough – to approach him for the position.

Not that in any of those situations, anyone would have joked with him as this Master and his apprentice did with each other. There was respect between them as well as affection. And slowly, with each potion they learnt from him or that they taught him, he was being incorporated into this private club where serious learning did not exclude laughter and teasing.

"Mind," he allowed himself to drawl, "many a potion has been ruined by having some face drop into it from lack of sleep. Two sets of hands are far better than one."

Nawfal grinned happily. "You see, Master, he agrees with me as well. What your apprentice needs is an apprentice of his own."

And they all laughed at his audacity.

But in the shadows of the room, Severus caught a glimpse of someone who was not laughing. Who was watching them with hard eyes. With an expression that Severus well recognized. He'd seen it on the faces of his fellow Death Eaters whenever he and his latest potion had had Voldemort's full attention.

And he shivered.

Bill waited until he was certain Severus was soundly sleeping before he silently entered the bedroom. He waited in the dark until he could make out the shape of the bed with its occupants. Then carefully placing one foot in front of the other, he made his way to the bed.

Severus was sleeping on his side, his back to the inner wall, Djen curled up in the cradle of his arm.

Fearing that the cat would wake from the sound of his heart beating, Bill focused his attention on the spell he cast, trying to determine whether Severus was indeed under a curse. He whispered the words as his wand slowly scanned the long body. There was a moment of heart-stopping tension when Severus sighed and Bill waited to continue until there was no more sign of life than the soft breathing of the man.

No curse.

Braving the moment, Bill cast another spell, an older one, one that would tell him if spell or charm had been cast on the Potions Master.

Nothing.

At least, he reminded himself, nothing his skills could uncover.

Bill allowed his wand hand to drop to his side. He stood there, watching Severus for several moments. He really had to leave before the man woke up and understood that his privacy had been invaded.

In the months he'd been here, Severus had changed physically. No more skin and bones, he would be still too thin by Molly Weasley's standards. He had seemed to be thriving on the challenge they had set before him. And he had indeed seemed to have settled in as part of the team. Bill had spirited him out of a country and a situation that had not been the best for the man. Was all this happening because Severus now regretted that decision had been made? Made without any input from him?

Not that his going back was much of an option. Molly had written in one of her detailed, newsy letters that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, in conjunction with St. Mungo's, had put out an Alert concerning Severus's disappearance. That, should he be seen, he was to be approached with extreme caution as he was to be considered quite insane.

Bill silently made his way out of the room.

As he closed the door behind him, Djen's head rose from its bed of Severus's shoulder and slitted green eyes gleamed thoughtfully.

The watcher was introduced as Waqqas, another of Djen's apprentices. He was nowhere as good as Nawfal, though he seemed to think that his bloodline made up for that.

With Waqqas's occasional presence, Severus noticed that Nawfal was no longer a boy but had somehow grown into a man without his being aware of it. No longer a mere apprentice but a Wizard. Djen was also older and the relationship between Nawfal and his former master had also changed. Severus didn't know when the two had become lovers, but he suddenly realized that they were and that he felt...happiness for them. Not the envy he usually felt when he'd realized that yet another couple had paired up, reminding him once more that no one cared for him in that way.

Maybe it was because they hadn't excluded him. That he still felt very much part of their small group.

Waqqas was not part of it and he knew it. Not part of the affection. Not part of the skills. He had become Djen's apprentice via his political connections and had not been selected by Djen himself. In fact, had it been solely up to Djen, Waqqas would never had been part of his household. Everyone, from Djen down to the lowest of the slaves, knew that Waqqas, whose father was of the ruling class, was probably reporting all that went on in the residence to the Priests of Pharaoh, who had never liked the fact that Pharaoh's favourite Wizard did not come from among them.

Djen didn't seem worried about that, but Severus sensed that Nawfal was. And so was he. And not just for Djen.

He'd come across a scene that reminded him class and bloodlines were far more important in these times than skill and ability.

He'd been entering the work room after a servant had informed him that Djen had been called to Court. Nawfal and Waqqas were in the room, working on some potions. Severus stopped to watch them. Waqqas was reaching for a jar and casually went out of his way to push Nawfal who was carefully adding some liquid to his potion. The motion caused the liquid to splash and there was a rumbling sound from Nawfal's cauldron.

"Watch what you're doing," snapped Nawfal.

Waqqas froze. His voice dripping disdain, he snarled, "Watch the tone of your voice, Peasant. Remember to whom you are talking."

Nawfal looked up from checking the potion. "Listen, Waqqas..."

"That's Lord Waqqas to you, Peasant. And you'd best remember that as well." Waqqas folded his arms over his chest and glared at the other Wizard. "You won't always have the protection of the Court Wizard. At some point, your ass will no longer appeal to him. And then I shall very much enjoy reminding you of your true position in the world."

Severus walked into the room, into the frigid tension. Both men turned to face him, Nawfal looking relieved and Waqqas scornful. But Severus had faced Voldemort in his many forms and was not impressed by the man and his position.

Without saying a word, he went over to Nawfal's potion and tested it with a quick spell. As he and the others had already guessed, it had been ruined. He turned and indicated the cauldron to Nawfal. "You'd better dispose of that before it deteriorates even more."

"Yes, Master Severus."

Waqqas began to walk back to his. Severus shook his head. "No. No, Wizard Nawfal will complete the one you're working on. You will begin this one over again, Apprentice Waqqas."

Neither man moved. They all knew that the potion Nawfal had been working on was beyond Waqqas's skills. And it had been destined for Pharaoh.

Waqqas opened his mouth to protest. Severus gestured with his hand, casting a silencing spell on the man, clearly stunning him with his audacity. It hadn't taken him long to master this wandless Magic: as Djen had explained, it was a matter of concentration. "You will do as I tell you. Court Wizard Djen has made it very clear that when he is not present, I stand in his place. For an apprentice to disobey a direct command of his master means punishment. And I will be more than happy to mete that out if it proves necessary." He approached the young lord who thought his status kept him secure. With a certain glee, Severus allowed his voice to drop into the cold, threatening register he had so often used at Hogwarts. "And you might like to remember, Waqqas, that I am not very impressed with rank and bloodlines. I would not hold my strength back with the whip."

The nobleman's eyes dropped and he turned to begin gathering the ingredients necessary.

Nawfal watched, his mouth open. He shook his head. "Master Severus, I do not deny you the power you have just used, but it has gained you a dangerous enemy."

Severus shrugged. So what else was new?

Fet noted the empty chair as he joined the others for the mid-day meal. "Where is he this time?"

Bill rubbed his face briskly with his hands. "On the porch, with Djen. He didn't respond when I called him."

Gorkopol grunted. "He doesn't hear anyone much these days."

"He seems to be spending a lot of time in that other world of his," said Ashkentag gently.

The others all looked at him.

Fet exchanged a look with Bill. "What other world?"

Ashkentag sat back and stared at his hands. "I've been listening to the conversations he's holding with Djen." He looked at his colleagues. "Djen the Court Wizard."

Bill grew very still. "I checked Severus out. He's not cursed or spelled or charmed."

Ashkentag nodded slowly. "No, he's not. He's bewitched. I've seen this before, you know." He shrugged, ignoring Fet's startled grunt. "Many, many years ago, when I was a student. So long ago that I had forgotten. I was assigned to a historian as a minor assistant. Not here in Egypt, but in India. Back then, my academic interests wavered between Egypt and India."

Even Gorkopol was surprised to hear that Ashkentag had not always been an enthusiastic Egyptologist. "What happened?"

"Though some mishap, he began channelling the god Arjuna who was seeking for his son, Abhimanyu. He thought we were preventing him from finding his son thus averting his death so he fought us constantly. He was small, small even for a Goblin, yet when he thought he was Arjuna, he fought passionately and killed several of his assistants."

Ashkentag looked at Bill. "The D.G. had no choice but to call him back and have him incarcerated for his own good. I heard years later he died still thinking he was Arjuna."

Bill shook his head. "No. That's not what's happening to Severus. I won't deny that he's not always in this world, but he's not insane."

Fet grimaced. "Not insane, Bill. But yes, now that Ashkentag mentions it, he could be bewitched. That state might not have responded to your examination of him." He turned to Ashkentag. "I remember studying the case you're talking about. Your historian ‘became' Arjuna and remained him till the day of his death. Severus's case is slightly different. He doesn't think he's someone else, just somewhere else. And that only when he's with Djen. The Cat. Who, I suppose, may also be the Wizard."

"There's something else that should be considered," offered Gorkopol hesitantly. "Whatever world he's in, he's happy there. I caught him whistling away to himself and the cat in the tomb when they picked up the last jar."

They'd aged again. All those around him were growing older except him. For him, time seemed to stand still.

Djen was growing more powerful in his skills. Which meant he held a more powerful position with Pharaoh. And that his enemies were growing proportionately more powerful as well.

Nawfal, whose powers and skills were surpassed only by his two Masters as he still called them, was warier and more suspicious. Severus knew that Waqqas had been offered a chance to leave the household but had refused, saying that only by being in the presence of such strong Wizards did he have a hope of being one himself. Severus seriously doubted that even a thousand years would see Waqqas attain that goal. He couldn't even set the snake-transfiguration curse properly. Nawfal had had to detransfigure him several times when the curse had backfired.

Nawfal's skills had allowed him to experiment with Dreamless Sleep until he thought he had found a way of sending the drinker into a deep and profound slumber that would last for... And that was the problem with the new potion. He had no idea how long the sleeping state would remain. He'd tried it on animals, with great success. There was a frog which was still sleeping after all this time.

Severus couldn't remember how many years had passed, but he knew it had been many as Waqqas had married and brought his wife into the household. Another spy, as her father was one of the High Priests.

He pushed all worry of that aside. There was a new delivery of ingredients arriving that day and the entire household was on edge because of it. From a far-away land. Through means that only Djen knew and was not about to share with anyone. At least not until now. Severus and Nawfal were with him, on a hill some distance from the residence, away from all prying eyes.

Severus said nothing but merely exchanged a knowing look with Djen. This must be how the ingredients from China had arrived. Djen just smiled and went back to perusing the skies.

"There!"

The speck in the sky grew larger and larger, black against the red of the late afternoon sun.

Severus squinted his eyes and then gasped as he realized what he was seeing. "It's a dragon!"

Djen grinned and waved to the rider of the Chinese Fireball. "A cousin on my mother's mother's side."

Severus desperately wished for his wand and hoped the Magic in the air would be strong enough for him to stupify the beast should it be necessary. "Let's hope he has a good control over the beast. I understand that besides pigs, humans are its favourite food."

Nawfal stepped behind Severus, suddenly frightened.

The cousin, a Chinese version of Djen, grounded the dragon expertly though he didn't disembark. There were quick introductions made, bundles and family news were exchanged, orders placed on both sides for the next visit. And before the sun had completely set, the dragon had once more taken off, its colour blending into the sky.

And though the three Wizards made it safely back to the residence, other eyes went instead to report to the High Priest.

Severus knew that his colleagues were concerned. If he hadn't noted their worried faces, the way they kept on popping up in his office or the lab, the tone of their voices made it clear that they were.

He made an effort to be at the table before any of them got there. He'd even left Djen in the office with windows and door shut so that the animal could not get out and prevent him from telling the others what he knew.

They were surprised to find him there. And the delight in Bill's eyes made him feel slightly guilty.

"I see that you've decided to join us, Severus."

Even Fet looked relieved.

Severus waited until Ashkentag had joined them. "I know how he did it."

All eyes were on him.

"Did what?" Ashkentag asked, gently.

Fet found he was bracing himself. He looked at Bill who was watching Severus with an intensity that made him uncomfortable.

"How he got the ingredients from China."

Gorkopol stared at him, incredulous.

Ashkentag smiled. "Well, don't keep us in suspense. You've got all our attentions."

Severus grinned suddenly, and Fet was surprised to see how young he looked for a moment. "Dragons. His family had connections to Dragon Riders. Chinese Fireballs. Liondragons. They exchanged ingredients and other such things. I think if you approach the Chinese Department of Ancient Artefacts, you may discover that they, too, have a few mysterious ingredients that they haven't been able to place. From discoveries which date from that same time."

Gorkopol gasped then suddenly began laughing. "Bloody hell! Dragons! Of course!"

Ashkentag hugged himself with pleasure. "Oh, Severus!"

Fet said nothing, only noticed that Severus kept glancing over his shoulder towards the building that housed his office. The cat was nowhere around. Was he there?

Bill smiled, almost relieved, and shook his head in disbelief. One would think with a Dragon Rider in his own family, he'd have thought of that.

Ashkentag yelled for one of his assistants to bring the maps they'd been working on and instead of lunch, they poured over the maps trying to determine the possible route the dragon would have taken.

Because of Charlie, Bill had no trouble pointing out, "It has to have come from Kunlun Shan. That's where Fireballs originated."

Gorkopol chortled happily to himself. "This will be a good time to hit the D.G. for not just a bonus but a raise."

And for a moment, when everyone laughed, the comradery of the group was as it had been before the cat had joined them.

"Master Severus."

Severus looked around the work room. It was as if a whirlwind had gone through it. Tables were upturned and ingredients scattered over the floor.

"What the hell..."

Nawfal stood up from the remains of a table. "The High Priests sent their soldiers to find proof of Djen's link with Set, the Lord of Chaos. They say that he has ties to Darkness and a firey beast that can destroy the Court and Pharaoh. That's where he is right now, defending himself from these accusations to Pharaoh. Master Severus, I am frightened. Not just for myself, but for all of us."

Bill waited until he knew Severus would be busy with Ashkentag. Djen the Cat usually didn't accompany him when Severus went off with the Egyptologist after lunch: his nap was of paramount importance, far more than listening to the two discuss symbols on pottery.

He felt a little strange, knocking on Severus's bedroom door. Djen was only a cat, after all.

Like bloody hell.

So he waited a moment then knocked again before opening the door and stepping inside just enough to find the cat on Severus's bed, head raised and looking at him.

"If you have a moment or two, there is something we need to discuss. In my office. Please."

The cat didn't move: he just continued staring at Bill.

"It concerns Severus."

The cat slowly got to his feet, stretched and yawned. Bill left the door open and went to his office, feeling both uncomfortable and yet determined to deal with the matter.

He wasn't surprised when Djen suddenly jumped up onto his desk and came over to in front of him. The cat sat down and waited, as though indicating that he was ready to listen.

"Severus is worrying us."

Djen cocked his head.

Bill stared at his hands and wondered how insane this scene was. Discussing the mental state of a colleague with a cat. He looked up and found the cat watching him with those intense green eyes.

"There are things about Severus you need to know. That happened before you appeared on the scene. You, Djen, Court Wizard to Hetepsekhemwy. That is whom I am addressing, is it not?"

After a moment, the cat slowly nodded.

"Look, it's not that we have any objections to your presence here. I mean, after all, we are Wizards and very familiar with the special aspects of certain Magics. That's not the problem."

Djen's face actually grimaced.

"Yes, I know. Get to the point. The point is that Severus...that Severus was not well when we brought him here."

Djen's eyes opened wide.

"Everyone knows. I guess we forgot that you might not."

As Bill carefully explained the situation that led to Severus's being kidnapped, his withdrawal, Djen the Cat listened. He sat still, never moving, his eyes intent on Bill who was growing more comfortable in telling the story not to the cat, but to the wizard who inhabited the animal.

"So you see, every time he goes with you to...to wherever it is you take him, less of him comes back." Bill looked into the cat's eyes. "Djen. Severus belongs to this time. Not yours. Yours is gone. Passed. I'm sorry. You're more than welcome to stay in ours but, please, don't encourage Severus to visit yours. He can't stay there. Whatever was done to you for you to be able to remain in this world hasn't been done to Severus. If he tries to stay there, he'll either die here or go truly mad. And he doesn't deserve that. Not after having to fight so hard for what he has."

Bill sat back in his chair as Djen's eyes shifted to stare at the top of the desk.

"We care for him. We'll see to it that he's protected from those who mean him harm. But, Djen, he needs to remain here."

The cat looked up. Bill saw sadness and acceptance in those eyes. "I'm sorry that you lost so much. I can't begin to imagine what it might be like to wake up and find yourself in a world that's completely different. That's moved on beyond your imagining. But frankly, Djen, I don't think you can go back either. Not back and stay there. I'm sorry. I know it can't make up for what you've lost, but we...all of us...we're ready to welcome you among us as his familiar. Not exactly the status of Court Wizard, I know..."

Djen snorted.

Bill found himself smiling. "But you will have a place and you will be appreciated. And I know for a fact that Severus has never had a familiar and I doubt that you would ever have any competition in that area. And we are going to China, Djen." He grinned at the look of interest on the cat's face. "And then at some point, I really have to visit my brother in Roumania. He's a Dragon Keeper. The change of scenery would do Severus a lot of good, I think. And wouldn't you like to ride on a dragon? Hell, it must be in your blood if your cousin could handle a Liondragon."

The cat raised his paw, stopping Bill.

They both looked at each other in silence for a minute or so. Then Djen rose to his feet and reached out with a paw to touch Bill's face.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Djen nodded, jumped off the desk and walked with great dignity out of the room.

Bill suddenly found it hard to swallow.

Bill was awakened by the sound of someone charging through the house. And out. As the door slammed shut, he quickly grabbed his robe, his wand in hand. He reached the porch just in time to see a shadow running into the tomb of the Court Wizard.

"Damn! What the hell...."

Bill ran up to the tomb, slowing down only to enter it cautiously. There was no light at all. Whoever had preceded him – and it could only be Severus – was silently waiting in the dark.

"Luminox."

By the light at the tip of his wand, Bill carefully made his way through the chambers until he was at the third. There he found Severus, his chest on the stone coffin, muttering words that he didn't understand.

Bill looked around the area. The cat was there, of course. Sitting by Severus's head, eyes glittering by Bill's light.

As he approached, Djen stood, his back arching and the hair along spine and tail standing. Bill stopped, a hand's reach away from the man face pressed into the coffin, chanting frantically.

"Severus."

The cat arched his back higher, hissed, his feet almost hopping so that he was now almost on Severus. Bill didn't for one moment doubt that, should he get any nearer, Djen would attack him.

He tried again, his voice gentle yet firm. "Severus."

"They're going to kill him."

Bill was stunned by the despair and heartache in Severus's voice.

"I have to find a way of warning Nawfal. He'll know what has to be done. But only if I get to him in time."

Bill wet his lips. He looked at the cat who was watching him with angry eyes. Damn.

"How do you usually connect?" he asked sadly.

Severus turned his face, his cheek resting on the cold slab of stone. "Through Djen. But for some reason, it's not working. I can't get through to either of them. And I have to!"

Bill's heart ached at the urgency he heard in Severus's voice. It was hard to ignore the tinge of hysteria.

"Maybe it's because the cat is picking up your fear." Djen was obviously keeping his side of the bargain, but in their well-meaning ignorance, they hadn't really considered Severus's deep involvement with the two wizards of that long ago time. "Try calming down and maybe then it'll work again."

"I've tried. Nothing works."

Djen, both cat and wizard, seemed to share Severus's despair. He lowered his spine and, though his eyes never left Bill, he nudged Severus's head with his own.

Bill admitted defeat. Maybe there was a way of doing this gradually rather than so brutally. Just because it had worked on that other withdrawal didn't mean they had to be that cruel again. "There may be a way." Bill looked and found one of the small torches they'd used. He spelled it and there was a little more light. Softer than the one from his wand.

Djen looked at him, face surprised, and then understanding the situation, gave a nod.

"Severus." Bill kept his tone calm. "Severus," he said again and waited until the man had raised his head to look at him. He pointed to the coffin. "Get up on that and see if you can settle the cat on your lap. Close your eyes and stroke him the way you usually do."

And when both man and cat were still and seemingly calm, Bill used an old spell that he had been taught years before to send both of them into a trance.

The residence was in an uproar. Servants and slaves were running all over the place, taking what they could, leaving the enclave as quickly as they could.

In the principal room of the house, Severus found Waqqas sitting at Djen's place, a goblet of wine in his hand, smiling triumphantly.

"You're just in time," he crowed. "The soldiers of the High Priest are returning to arrest the no longer powerful Court Wizard. Pharaoh has finally seen the light and understood that only our kind are fit to be his Wizards."

"Where are they?" Severus was proud that his voice didn't betray his fear. How quickly he could slip back into the persona who had faced Voldemort.

"I've had them enclosed in the work room. Not that there's anything left there that they can use. They've moved everything out. Don't know where. Probably saw their influence waning and thought..." He took a gulp of his drink. "No matter. We'll get it out of one of them before they are allowed to die."

He snickered. "I thought it fitting that they should be confined in the one place they thought themselves above the Priests of Pharaoh. They shall suffer their just desserts, for thinking they were gods." He chuckled happily as he sipped his wine. "I have been promised the life of his ignoble assistant, to do with him as I please."

Severus turned as if to leave.

"Oh, don't go. You won't want to miss the celebration. I have been appointed Court Wizard."

Severus greeted that with a blank face. Without warning, he raised his hand and gathered to him all his anger, all his powers. He had no idea if this would work: the Unforgivables had not yet been invented. "Crucio!"

And left the room to the music of Waqqas's screams.

Those guarding the prisoners were easily dealt with. He left them unconscious.

"Master Severus!"

Nawfal was pale but calm. Djen, lying on a table, showed signs of having been beaten. He grinned with a swollen mouth at Severus. "Welcome."

"We have to get you out of here. Both of you. The soldiers are on their way."

"And where would we go, my Severus?"

"Anywhere but here, I would think."

Nawfal smiled sadly. "Unfortunately, there is nowhere we can go. We would have to make it past the soldiers and the High Priest would see to their slow deaths if we were successful. They will not let us by, Master Severus."

"Besides," said Djen, "we cannot follow you out of our time. And our deaths will provide far too much entertainment for the High Priests."

Severus braced himself. "There is a chance. To accomplish what we found in my time. But only for one of you."

Nawfal shrugged. "Then it must be Djen."

Before Djen could do more than voice his protest, Nawfal turned and let loose his full powers. Severus stood quietly listening to the incantation, watching as the slim body of his friend slowly transformed into that of a cat. A cat that he knew well.

"Will the potion of sleep work?"

Severus found the strength to smile at the peasant who was proving to be far more noble than Waqqas. He nodded. "It worked wondrously well, Master Nawfal." Then he pointed to the cat who was grooming the blood off his face. "He never knew just how powerful you were."

"He would have made me leave him. I couldn't."

Nawfal found the small jar of potion that he had hidden many weeks earlier.

"And you knew that this would happen."

He shrugged. "It wasn't hard to guess. Waqqas and his wife are ambitious and have set high goals for themselves. The Priests are not fond of those with powers from outside their ranks. We peasants tend to prepare for the worst."

"Nawfal..."

The Wizard looked up from pouring the potion into a less shattered dish and offering the beverage to the cat.

"I can't save you. Your tomb was found next to his. If it's any consolation, Waqqas's is next to yours. And smaller."

Nawfal smiled. "It's not a problem, Severus. My friend, I thank you for your concern. I shall meet up with him in the next life."

Severus watched as the cat fell asleep. Only Djen had known what far off time he was from. He couldn't find it in himself to tell Nawfal that he and his lover would not meet for thousands of years.

"I can offer you the same sleep."

Nawfal shook his head. "The potion needs augmenting with spells. Only I can do that. If we can get him to the burial chamber we prepared. We have chosen the hills behind the main house. We moved things there when it became obvious that the High Priests were going to win this battle."

And suddenly they were there. In the tomb that was so familiar to Severus. The torch in his hand cast shadows on the jars of regular ingredients in the second chamber, the potions in the third. On the stone coffin.

Nawfal lay the cat in the coffin and, bending, placed a last kiss on his lover's head. With Severus's help, he moved the flat slab across, shutting Djen away for five thousand years.

Severus stood by while Nawfal recited the last of the spells and placed the curses and wards that Bill would one day remove. He didn't hear the sounds from outside, but Severus did.

Disheveled, his face racked with pain, Waqqas suddenly appeared in the entry, soldiers behind him.

"Too late," said Severus, mentally noting that Cruciatus did not last long in this time without the concentration aspect of a wand. But it had lasted long enough. He raised his hand to set it off again. But before he could, Waqqas pointed his Priest's staff and screamed out a curse of his own. It hit Nawfal, who crumbled to the ground, unconscious. Severus moved to his side, but the new Court Wizard showed that he had some ability after all. Severus just managed to duck, avoiding the line of curse that came at him. He allowed his body to drop next to Nawfal's, as though he'd been affected.

Waqqas approached, spitting at the two downed Wizards. "Your deaths have just been prolonged."

And Severus raised his hand and cast Cruciatus again. As the Wizard went down, Severus tried to get Nawfal onto his feet. The man was bleeding from the mouth and eyes.

At the sight of the new Court Wizard going down, the soldiers decided to back out of the tomb, seeking the safety of night shadows.

Severus ignored them. He managed to get Nawfal upright and somewhat conscious. After a quick examination, he knew there was nothing he could do for the man: he was dying. Severus got them out of Djen's tomb, his raised hand enough of a deterrent to the soldiers who had seen what he could do. Nevertheless they followed at a safe distance.

Severus had no trouble finding the second tomb which had already been set up for its occupant. As he lay Nawfal into his coffin, the Wizard found the strength to smile at him. "Thank you, my friend."

And he died.

Severus tried to remember the Egyptian prayers for the dead and ended up offering a prayer from his own time. It had been good enough for Dumbledore, it would be good enough for this friend. He was better at remembering the curses and wards. He had only time to complete them when a man he had never before seen appeared at the entrance of the tomb.

"Another of Djen's evil spirits," growled the man. "We shall see how powerful you truly are when facing a real Wizard, a disciple of Wepwawet!"

Severus stood, not moving. He could deal with this man, obviously one of the Priests who had arranged the downfall of his friends. But did he want to? What did he have to fight for? His friends, the first true friends he had had since his days at Hogwarts were no more. He could deal with the Priest and return back to his time. But to what? What he'd had with Nawfal and Djen, he would never again have. If he died in this time, might he not be able to join at least Nawfal in the Afterlife? Together they could wait for Djen.

"SEVERUS!"

The voice startled him. He looked about and, in the shadows beside the Priest, he could make out the ghostly figure of a man. A man with a long braid of red hair and a face that was frantic for his attention.

"Severus. Come back. Now."

Severus shook his head slightly. "To what? I have nothing to return to. No one. Here, I have known acceptance and friendship. What is there for me in your time?"

"Damn it, Severus. You have friendships here. You have me. You have Ashkentag and Gorkopol. Fet. Even Barir and Klopstok. And you have acceptance. If only you'd see it." Bill reached out his hand. "Severus. That is not your time. You have a life to live. Friends who await you. Even if you don't care for them. Please, come back."

The Priest pointed his staff and a blaze of fire came out of it.

"I thought I might find you here."

Fet slowly approached the man in the black robe, huddled in the flickering shadows, his head on his knees which were clasped to his chest. He was sitting on the floor of Djen's tomb, his back against the stone coffin. Lying above him, front paws tucked under his chest was Djen the Cat. Who might or might not still be Djen the Wizard.

After the night of Djen's death, Gorkopol had insisted that some lights be set up in both his and Nawfal's tombs. Nothing bright, just enough so that Severus could be found easily. He was spending a lot of time in both of the burial chambers.

Severus said nothing. Fet sighed and sat down next to him. After a few minutes, he said, "Shouldn't you be packing?"

Since they were on their way to China, instead of being moved to another site, all the Board's effects, other than what they were bringing with them, was going into a storage facility the Goblins maintained under some mountain.

Severus finally turned his head so that he could see the physician who had been, along with the others, keeping a careful watch on him these last few days. "I am packed. I am wearing the robe I arrived in and I have my wand. Everything else belongs to the D.G. Remember?"

"Oh." Fet frowned. This was going to be a lot harder than he'd deluded himself and the other Goblins into thinking. "Well, considering how happy the D.G. is these days, it might be a good time to approach him about the books. You're going to need them for China."

Severus snorted.

"What?"

As though his head was far too heavy for his neck, Severus slowly raised it and let it settle back against the side of the coffin. "I have no illusions about that, Fet. Don't you think it's time you and the others stopped pretending and admitted that there's no bloody way I'm going to be allowed to join the delegation to China?"

Fet turned enough so that he could examine the face with its closed eyes. "You've lost me. Why would you not be part of the delegation? It's you who basically are the reason for its existence. You're the one who discovered the link. You're the one who solved the matter of delivery. Why wouldn't you be coming with us?"

Severus opened his eyes and turned his head to Fet. "Besides the fact that my contract was for the duration of the work on this site? Let me see: do the words ‘lunatic Death Eater' mean anything to you?"

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed." And Severus closed his eyes.

Fet looked up at the cat who actually shrugged his shoulders at him. The expression on his face was very vocal: I can't do anything with him either.

Damn, he was getting to be as bad as the others if he thought he could interpret the facial and body gestures of a cat. Looked like they would have to accept that the animal was indeed possessed.

"As for the contract, it's a certainty that it will be either renewed or extended. You're too important to the find. I'll bet my favourite chess set on that."

Severus shrugged, eyes still shut. "You may not win that bet."

Fet rubbed a hand across his eyes. None of them had thought about the bloody contract. Not that he doubted for a minute that the D.G. wouldn't tie Severus up in one of those iron-clad, inches thick monstrosities as soon as possible. It was time to get to the true heart of the matter. "You think because you were a Death Eater that automatically disqualifies your participation in this delegation."

"You omitted the ‘lunatic'."

Fet scoffed. "Let me deal with one thing at a time."

He folded his hands on this stomach as he stretched his legs. "Yes, you were a Death Eater. Even if we Goblins insist on staying out of Wizard affairs, we do and did know what was going on. When Bill first nominated you as the Potions Master we needed, the D.G. sent Ashkentag a file on you. By now you must be aware that there are no secrets among the Site Board. So, frankly, Severus, the Death Eater thing is a bit of a ruse as it regards your qualifications to join us. Death Eater, former Death Eater, spy for Dumbledore. And that's just in the First War against Voldemort. In the Second, you returned to this world of spying for the Order of the Phoenix, at great personal risk. We are well aware of Voldemort's particular love of Cruciatus, among other punishments, for those he felt were not giving him their all."

He looked over to the Wizard whose eyes were still closed. " Do you seriously think that I, as your physician, couldn't find the effects of that on your body?"

Nothing. Not even a shrug.

Fet continued. "No, even the Wizards, much as they mistrusted you, had to acknowledge that you were one of the heros of the War."

That got a reaction.

"So much a hero that they tried to poison me."

Fet shrugged. "I am sorry that your people dealt with you that way. Heros are not without enemies, Severus. But it doesn't mean that we Goblins are among them."

After several minutes of silence, Severus asked, "And do Goblins support the indiscriminate destruction of a populace?"

Fet sighed loudly. "Bill told me about that." At Severus's flinch, he added, "He had to. I needed to know what your mental state was after withdrawal, before allowing you to begin work. Like him, I know with certainty – and here I can speak for all Goblins, not just the ones who have come to know you – that the use of the poison you created was not your decision. And frankly, Severus, considering what I do know of you, even at your worst, that would never have been your decision. Damn it, allow blame to sit where it fully belongs, on the shoulders of the Wizard who had so little care for his kind that he used it."

Severus remained very still. Djen the Cat stretched out his body, eyeing Fet in what he allowed was a friendly manner.

"I see that you've been avoiding the lunatic part of my comment."

"No. I just don't see it."

Severus's head snapped up and he glared at the physician. "You don't see the fact that I thought I could visit a world some five thousand years gone somewhat mentally worrying?"

Fet shrugged. "You did. Visit it. And you came back from it. So?"

Severus rested the back of his head on the coffin and stared incredulously at the ceiling of the tomb. "Dear Merlin! Are you so desperate to go to China that you'll accept a lunatic for a Potions Master... Do you seriously think the D.G. will ignore..." He scoffed, shaking his head.

Fet stared at his hands. "Severus. There are things you need to know about this particular Site Board. Things we all know and have for so long that, I suppose, we just assumed you also knew."

At the gravity of his voice, the cat got to his feet, jumped down and settled on his haunches in front of the two men. Fet watched him, wondering if the reason he thought the animal was truly interested was influenced by Severus's certainty that the cat was Djen.

"It might have crossed your mind to wonder why Goblins of the caliber – and I say this without any false modesty – the high caliber of the ones who head this site are still here and not in some Headquarters office, overseeing many sites."

Now he had the man's interest as well as the cat's.

"Let me begin with myself. I know my talents and know that, were things different, I would be in charge of some major Goblin hospital. But I am, in fact, considered to be a heretic by my people."

"What!"

"Ah, you didn't know that. Well, a good Goblin physician wouldn't be caught dead dealing with non-Goblins. As for the reading of non-Goblin medical journals, well, that is basically proscribed by the Department of Goblin Medicine. So I stay here, not just because I am not allowed to practice in my world, but because here I can practice as I want. I write and contribute to journals, but nary a Goblin one. They won't touch my work under any circumstance. Ashkentag was the one who found me this position and, so long as I am willing to work with a personnel composed of many different kinds, Gringotts will be more than happy to pay my salary."

Severus was livid. "That's idiotic! I've seen you working, not just on me. You're brilliant! A natural healer. Any medical centre would be honoured to have you..."

Fet was warmed by the tone of Severus's defence of him, but he said nothing, only shrugged. "Yes, probably. But it would be any but one dealing with my kind."

Severus shook his head angrily. "Arseholes!"

The cat nodded, agreeing with him. Fet found himself smiling.

"Then there's Ashkentag."

"What the hell is wrong with Ashkentag?"

The physician was delighted to see so much emotion from the man who had barely reacted to anything since Bill had brought him back. He noted that the cat seemed pleased as well.

"Damn, it, Fet! He's one of the very best Egyptologists in any Magical world. I understand that the Chinese were less reticent when they heard he was to be part of the delegation."

Fet nodded. "Yes. He is one of the great experts in his field. Unfortunately, it was not the field he was destined for. Ashkentag is what you call the black sheep of his family. In fact, they insisted he change his name so that no Goblin would know that he is the shame of them."

Severus pulled away from the coffin, sitting cross-legged so that he could stare into Fet's face. The cat jumped onto his lap and made himself comfortable, also facing Fet. Those two, thought the Goblin, would be a pair forever. He hoped Djen was as ready to accept them as they would be of him.

"So who the hell is his family that they think they're so much better than he is?"

Fet hid his grin at the affront in Severus's tone. "Ashkentag is the younger brother of the D.G." Before Severus could do more than sputter, he held up his hand. "The D.G. is one of the few in their family who communicates and meets with Ashkentag. In fact, he was the one who, after he became the D.G., saw to it that Ashkentag's sites were fully funded. The Family may see Ashkentag's fascination with history as repugnant to their position in the world as Gringotts, but the D.G. cares for his brother and did what he could to buffer his rejection. Since he's taken over as Head of Family, things have been better for Ashkentag, but he still is not invited to Family gatherings and if he did show up, they would forcibly eject him."

"Bloody hell!" Severus was slowly stroking Djen whose tail had puffed up, as though insulted by what he was hearing. Fet knew that the cat and Ashkentag occasionally shared the same shady spot for a post-lunch nap.

"Then there's Gorkopol. Who should be heading some Department. He's had that many finds to his credit. The D.G. makes it a point to offer him the chance every time he reports in. But he's still with us because the thought of an office in some dark building terrifies him. He was caught in a cave-in as a young trainee and it took them a week to find him. In fact, it was Ashkentag who refused to believe he was dead and forced the Site Manager to keep on searching for him. Gorkopol would have died if it hadn't been for Ashkentag.

"But even after all this time, he still can't stand being cooped up in a small space and he hates the darkness, not a normal state for a Goblin. That's why he tends to sleep in the open most nights. He couldn't do that back home. Not just because of the weather situation. His family refused to have anything more to do with him after the third time he refused a promotion out of the field."

Severus's scowl was quite pleasing.

"And then there's Bill."

The heads of man and cat snapped to attention. "And just what the hell is wrong with Bill?" Severus was grievously offended. "He's a master curse breaker sans pareil. You've said it yourself."

Fet nodded. He pointed to his head. "The red hair. In Goblish, it's called ‘dragon's breath'. And you know how fond we Goblins are of dragons. Among some of the less educated, it's considered to be unlucky."

"Merlin!"

Fet shrugged, non-chalant. "He could shave it off, but it wouldn't work. Goblins all know that he's one of those. The Goblins who work in Headquarters know better of course. They're usually more sophisticated than many of those in the field. And they have far more contact with non- Goblins. But the colour still makes them uncomfortable."

The cat rolled his eyes.

"And, yes, Bill is a master curse breaker. Since so many of the curse breakers are non-Goblins, there wouldn't be any problem with Bill either heading a department that assigns curse breakers, or even be assigned himself to the position of instructor."

"Of course, he could be an instructor," Severus snarled. "Hell, if he suggested it to McGonagall, he could be teaching curses and breaking at Hogwarts. She's been augmenting the curriculum. She'd be delighted to have another of her precious Gryffindors on staff."

The offended tone made Fet smile. "Personally, I think Bill enjoys the fact that he's as good as he is and still in the field. I know for a fact that there are times, many of them, when the D.G. has requested that he deal with some curse on some other site that no one else can break. They both know that the Site Managers only ask for him as a last resort."

Fet chuckled. "There's a lot of the actor in our Bill. By the time he finally decurses a site, he's made that Site Board sweat more than their fair share. Bill tickles the D.G.'s sense of humour. He's been known to insist that Bill appear on a site to oversee the work of other curse breakers, just to put Site Boards in their place. That's one of the reasons that Bill is so skilled with such a variety of curses. Another is that he is naturally talented in that area. It would stifle him as much as any of us to have to give up active service for the status of some office."

Severus shook his head. "I still don't see how I fit into this group."

Fet crossed an ankle over the other and stared at his feet. "You're a pureblood, aren't you, Severus? From a very old Wizard family." He looked over at the man. "With the usual pureblood Wizard prejudices?"

Severus's eyebrow rose high, emphasizing his response to the implied insult.

"Is that why you don't want to join us, Severus? Why you told Bill that you had no friends here? Because we're Goblins and no self-respecting, pureblood Wizard is ever friendly with our kind?" He spoke as though only curious when in fact he and the others had been quite hurt on hearing why Severus had considered staying behind.

Severus's mien lost the insult. He shook his head slowly. "No. No, in fact, I no longer even see you as Goblins. You're...you're just who you are. Not Goblin nor something else. Just Fet and Ashkentag and Gorkopol. Even Klopstok and the others are just who they are." He looked embarrassed. "Fet..."

The physician shrugged. "So why is it that you told Bill you had no friends in this world?"

And though he'd spoken gently, Severus heard the hurt. He rubbed his face. "The failing is in me, not you. Not any of you." He looked at the Goblin. "Fet... In my life, I have had colleagues, enemies, people who tolerated me for what I could bring or give them. But apart from a few, very few fellow students, students who chose Voldemort and all died for him, I have had no one in my life that I could call ‘Friend'. My nature is such that..." He shrugged again, his hands lifting as though to explain. He could find no words.

Fet settled back against the coffin and watched the cat whose head turned to whichever one of them was speaking, following the conversation. "Then what do you feel for us, Severus?"

The man could only shrug, again at a lost for words.

Djen the Cat raised a paw and patted the nearer hand, offering sympathy.

"Do you like us, Severus? Do we bore you? Do we interest you like one of your potions?"

The insulted eyebrow was back, but the voice was hesitant, as though Severus were only considering this for the first time. "No, I don't see any of you as one of my potions. They are things. You are...well, I won't insult you by calling you human, but you are beings. Individuals. No, you never bore me. In fact, our conversations have been among the best times I have had in longer than recent years. You are all stimulating, in your own ways. I have learnt more about this work you do, be it site or history or medicine, than I could ever have if I had remained what I was, an instructor at Hogwarts."

Severus chewed on his lower lip as he thought. "About friendship," he began.

Fet suddenly reached out and placed a hand on Severus's knee. "Hard to recognize something if you have little experience with it. It's all right, Severus. Just so you do know now that you do indeed have friends. Friends who care about you. Who would miss you if you should happen to go. Friends who enjoy you and your conversation and your contribution to our lives here. Who will delight in sharing your perceptions of China as we will ours with you."

Severus's voice was thick when he spoke. "Thank you. In the future, when you think I should be aware of something, remember that I sometimes need things pointed out to me."

Fet grinned and dared to scratch the cat on the head, between the ears. Djen purred. He pulled his hand away before asking, "Is that why you thought we could never accept you as you are?"

There was a long silence. Fet wondered if he had crossed a boundary. He was about to apologize when Severus nodded his head. "Probably."

"Severus. There is nothing that any of us can do about the past. Even with you visiting it, you couldn't truly change the destinies of Nawfal and of Djen."

The cat concurred.

"I know that it's an easier thing to say than to believe, but so believe me when I say, Severus, that should you wish to be part of this Site Board, no one would be anything less than welcoming. Even Klopstok. Who has actually been heard to approve of you. A rare occurrence, that. He barely approves of us."

That got a smile. Not a large one, but a smile nevertheless.

"Severus, as your physician, I must ask. Is one of the reasons you were so drawn to Djen's time the fact that you had no say at all in your being brought here? Was it because you truly didn't wish to be here?"

Severus's face was easy to read. "No. No, I think the reason was that Djen wanted me to see his time. And once there..." He shook his head. "Are you asking if I blame Bill? No, the answer is no."

The physician gave Djen a final scratch. The animal was going to be a firm member of this small clan that had been created out of misfits rejected, for the most part, by their own people: it was time to show the cat that he too was accepted. Then he rose to his feet. "Then don't you think you should tell him so. He seems to think that your lack of input was mainly responsible for your need to visit Djen's time. It's bothering him a great deal, Severus."

At the entry to the chamber he stopped and looked over his shoulder at man and cat. "If I were you, I'd talk to him about that soon. The air needs to be cleared before we start off on this new adventure of ours. Djen, come along. I think the cook has some of that lamb you like so much going to waste."

Djen hopped off Severus's lap and, giving him one of his very excellent glares, tail in air, went off after Fet, chirping as though asking the Goblin to wait for him.

Severus watched from the security of the hallway while Bill was rereading some report, his quill once or twice touching the scroll for some refinement. Probably one of the last to come from this site as most of the room had been set into extreme order. He doubted that Molly Weasley would have found one thing to complain about, unlike the normal state of the office.

Fet had indicated that he needed to make his feelings known about his so- called kidnapping. How could he reassure Bill when he himself still wasn't certain it had been a good thing? Not that he had doubts about him. For himself, yes, it had been one of the best things that had happened to him. But for the others? For Bill especially?

What would happen to him should the Ministry find out just who was behind his disappearance? Would the Department of Magical Law Enforcement be called in to deal with the matter? It was one thing for Fet to say that everything was going to be all right, but a far different matter as concerned Wizard society and its expectations and rules.

Would once more someone be made to suffer because of him?

And, bloody hell, what would happen to him if the MLE got hold of him? Would it be that padded cell and the straightjacket for the rest of his life?

He shook his head. Enough of the dark thoughts. He would have to learn to trust. And surely the D.G. took care of his people.

He sighed. This couldn't be put off any longer: the present had to be dealt with here and now.

He knocked on the doorjamb and waited.

Bill looked up and slowly placed the scroll on the desk. "Yes?"

"Do you have a few minutes?"

Bill didn't like the tone of Severus's voice: still, he nodded and gestured invitingly to the chair.

Severus sat and slipped his hands into the sleeves of his black robe. "Before anything else is said, I want to thank you for finding a way to send me back to that time. It gave me a chance to say good-bye to people who had become important to me."

Before Bill could respond, Severus added. "And to thank you for bringing me back. I couldn't have done it if you hadn't offered me your hand in friendship."

He held up his own hand, once more forestalling Bill. "And before we get around to any discussion, there are a couple of other things I need to say."

Bill sat back in his chair and waited, eyes focused on Severus's. There was a time, his mother used to say – probably still did – to talk and a time to keep quiet. This was definitely one of those keep quiet times. He nodded.

Severus took a deep breath and released it slowly. "First of all, I want to thank you for, as Fet keeps on referring to it, for your ‘kidnapping' of me. I would be probably dead by now if I had remained in Priceless Alley. Or as good as. In no way do I regret the fact that you pulled me out of Britain.

"It has given me the opportunity to put my knowledge to work in a setting other than Voldemort's laboratory or a Hogwarts classroom. I always wondered if I would be able to work in conjunction with others and now I know that I can. I thank you for that."

Bill opened his mouth but shut it again at a slight glare from Severus.

"I thank you for the trust you have shown me. Even when you thought I was insane, you allowed me to continue on the path I had chosen. And when that path was closed to me, you found a way for me to find it again."

Bill wriggled a little. The secrecy of the agreement between Djen and himself made him uncomfortable but it had been made with the best of intentions. He knew Djen would never say anything; he decided to continue keeping his mouth shut. If apologies needed to be made, he would make them later, when Severus had finished getting whatever he needed to say off his chest.

Severus's smile was rueful. "Even if I know you didn't approve." He took another of those deep breaths and ploughed on. "Fet wondered if the reason I wanted to stay with Djen and Nawfal had to do with the fact that this is a Goblin enterprise. That as a pureblood Wizard, I considered myself above friendship with them."

"Severus..."

Severus shook his head. "We've cleared the air on that," he said softly. "He, and I hope the others will too, understands that had nothing to do with it. It was mainly that I am not used to having people consider me as a friend."

He sat back in the chair, rested his elbows on the armrests and stared at the steeple of his fingers. "I need to explain to you just why I was so drawn to that time and world."

"Severus, that's not necessary."

Severus shook his head. ‘Yes, it is. Fet says that you worry that I was drawn to it because I had no say in my being brought here. There are no grounds to that belief, Bill. And if I explain to you the whys, maybe you'll understand I mean it."

"Yes," said Bill softly, "I would like to know why you thought them friends and us not."

Severus chewed on his lower lip a moment as he slowly put his thoughts into order.

"I think it's because they didn't know me. They didn't know about Voldemort. About the Mark. About the Hogsmeade potion. About...about all of it and any of it. To them I was only Severus, from a future time. A Potions maker like they were. Politics, theirs or ours, never came up. It should have, theirs at least, but it wasn't considered to be of any importance. We were, of course, sadly wrong.

"To them, I was an equal. Someone to talk and share potions with. I carried no baggage with me, Bill. Do you have any idea how...how liberating that was after all this time of...of dragging my dirty linen along with me? So, yes, I did want to stay there. It was the best of all possible worlds. Except that it wasn't possible. It was a world long gone. I had no more place there than I have...than I thought I had here."

"Oh, Severus..."

Severus shook his head and smiled. "Don't worry. Fet's read me the riot act. Though I suppose it would only be fair for you to have your turn at it."

Bill shook his head, a smile growing on his face. "It Fet's done it, I don't think mine could be much better."

Severus smiled ruefully. "He's very good at it." Then he grew serious once more. "The upshot of it is that, yes, I know and accept that I have friends here. That I can offer friendship that will be and is accepted. In this time and with this...scandalous Site Board. Fet has persuaded me that I do indeed fit in rather well. That," and there was a lightening in his tone which warned Bill, "a lunatic former Death Eater is not going to raise any eyebrows around here. In turn, Fet has promised that should I need certain facts of life pointed out to me, he will be more than happy to take on that challenge. And that both Djen and myself are to consider ourselves as part of this team."

Bill cocked his head. "And do you both consider yourselves to be part of this team?"

"I cannot speak for Djen..."

To both their surprise, the cat suddenly jumped up onto Severus's lap. Severus looked down at the animal happily purring away as he kneaded the material bunched at a knee.

With a small laugh Severus scratched the cat's head. "Well, maybe I can." He looked up and met Bill's grinning face. "On behalf of both of us, I think I can safely say that we would be proud to be part of this team. My friend."

The Gobbledygook was incredibly noisy.

They were celebrating it before finally shutting down the site and going on to meet with the D.G. in Zurich. Then, after the briefing, it would be off to China and the meeting with their Minister of the Department of Ancient Artefacts.

Severus looked at the tankard of cider in his hand and wondered if it had refilled itself magically. It seemed to him that he had emptied it only moments before. He took a sip, wincing at the level of alcohol in the beverage. When Goblins prepared hard cider, it was indeed ‘hard'. Rock solid with the potential to knock the drinker on his arse.

The celebration had begun once all non-Goblins had left the site. He and Bill were the only such present, an exception to the rule for they were considered , for the event, to be ‘token' Goblins, as Fet had pronounced them over the evening meal.

The food had been plentiful, as had the cider. All the Goblins were dressed in the colours of their families, except for the members of the Site Board who were garbed in their own colours of white and a red called dragon's breath. There had been much telling of tales of heroism and valour from all family traditions throughout the meal, which had lasted many hours.

From that, the conversation had segued into stories that the Goblins found humourous. Severus had caught himself laughing as well, even though, truthfully, he didn't know why he was doing so since he never seemed to get the punch line. Goblin humour was something else he was going to have to acquire. Still, the laughter just seemed a good idea and went so well with the cider. Which was when he'd decided to slow down the amount he was drinking. He'd actually changed to water but somehow the water had become cider and here he was drinking it again.

He was sitting under one of the trees, watching the dancing circle around the bonfire that burnt brightly under the midnight sky. He raised his tankard in response to the shout of his name as Fet went by. For once the physician looked like the Goblin he was: eyes glowing in the reflected light and gestures wild as he moved in tandem with his fellows, his arm around the shoulder of one of his female assistants. The song he and the others were singing competed in volume with the drums and the trumpets that seemed to be the favoured instruments of music making among Goblins.

Severus looked up in the tree whose branches and leaves waved slightly in the cooling night breeze. Djen, nestled safely in the crook of some branches, was watching the goings-on with great interest. The cat's eyes were glittering from the faint light that reached up there.

"Are you all right?" Severus called, trying to make himself heard.

Djen deigned to look down and raised a delicate paw to give it a lick or two before turning his attention back to the spectacle.

Gorkopol was spinning into view, eyes on the sky, lost in some world that only he could see. He was smiling. Severus was amazed that he was still on his feet. The Site Manager had drunk at least three tankards for every one of his. He turned his head and caught sight of Severus. With a wild whoop, he waved to him. Severus laughed and raised his tankard in salute as Gorkopol spun himself around the curve and out of sight.

Severus slouched until his head rested on the back of the chair. The seats had been set up for Ashkentag who, in spite of his venerable age, was still participating in the dance. The old Goblin appeared energized by the life about him. Severus doubted that he could be convinced to take one of the chairs, happy just to watch, for some time yet.

He raised his tankard in silent tribute to Ashkentag before taking another sip.

As had been expected, the D.G. had indeed given everyone on site bonuses for their participation in this, his excuse into Chinese territory. Their letters had arrived just that morning, in time for handing out at lunch.

"Another commendation in our files and, let me see, a year's salary as bonus!"

As Bill and the others had cheered, Severus had opened his more slowly, wary of what it might contain.

"Well?" Ashkentag had nudged Fet who had grinned at Gorkopol. Bill, who had no idea, reached for the letter when Severus could do nothing more than stare at it. He scanned it quickly before the smile grew on his face and read it aloud.

‘Sfankt Professor Snape:

As you know, the contract agreed upon between Gringotts and yourself was for the duration of the work on this site. Due to the importance of your discoveries and the necessity for your participation in further developments arising from this situation, you will find enclosed, in an accompanying package, a twenty-five year contract, renewable for further such contracts on mutual agreement. These contracts would be served out with the Ashkentag-Gorkopol Board.

In lieu of the year's bonus presented to all members of the team, Gringotts offers you the contents of the library that is at present at your disposal. Should this prove to be acceptable, Nafkt Klopstok will present you with the appropriate forms to sign.

We are very aware of your reputation in regards to the creation of potions. We would wish to encourage you in this pursuit. Therefore, we offer the following addendum to your contract. See pages...etcetera.

The work you do for Gringotts must, of course, always be a priority. However, in other times, you will be free to experiment, should you wish. Should the potion be one that you developed prior to the time of the signing of the accompanying contract, in other words, the amelioration of an existing potion, then though you may make use of the site facilities, you are to do so on your own time. Ingredients thus used will be billed to you. Potions that you develop subsequent to the signing of the contract must be submitted to our Legal Department, which will oversee production and sales. Profits will be dispersed in a 60-40 ratio, the greater amount being Gringotts', of course. Some pro bono production will be permitted on the proper presentations to the Legal Department, which will evaluate your reasons for doing so. Be assured that Gringotts is well aware of the importance of such charitable sentiments.'

"By Thoth, Severus," had gasped Ashkentag. "The D.G. has to be very pleased with you to make such an offer. He usually rejects anything under a 70-30 split in Gringotts' favour!"

Fet had raised his cup of tea. "Welcome to the Board, Sfankt Professor."

Gorkopol had chuckled. "It'll be interesting to see what the Chinese make of Djen."

The cat had grinned at them all, making them all laugh. Even Severus hadn't been able to hide his happiness at having his concerns dealt with.

So they would all be off to Zurich, Djen the Cat included.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Severus looked up at the man responsible for these changes in his life. "Thinking and trying to remain somewhat sober."

Bill shook his head sadly, his fists on his hips. "No way, Severus."

Severus gave it a last effort. "Ashkentag..."

"Is good for several hours yet. Believe me, I know." Bill held out his hand. "Come dance, Severus."

With exaggerated reluctance, Severus placed his tankard onto the ground then allowed Bill to pull him out of the chair.

Laughing, he joined the dance.

NIF

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