Not having Fawkes to fly them out of the Chamber, the walk back up was slow and aided by a sticky charm to their feet. Neither said a word, and Harry was grateful that the chatty Myrtle had not returned to the girls' washroom.

The way back to Snape's quarters in the dungeons was mostly quiet, save for a few lone Slytherins who were playing what appeared to be hide and go seek in the dungeons. Snape had absolutely no reprimand for them, which Harry thought slightly unfair, until he remembered that no other houses really wanted to play with the Slytherins. Snape had always favoured his own house, but Harry had a little more insight now as to why.

"Sir?" Harry asked, slightly confused as to why they'd stopped in front of the lower dungeons potions cupboard. It was for extra and rare ingredients, the kind that were not to be stored with the every day supplies students got into.

Snape crossed his arms, an action slightly diminished by the unattached sleeve on his right arm. The poison had been banished from the ruined material, but Snape still used it to cover his bare arm.

"The vials, Potter," Snape impatiently said. Harry's cheeks went a bit red, but he retrieved the unbroken vials from his pocket. He'd figured that Snape would know if someone had stolen from cupboard, but didn't regret doing it. Not after the venom had burned into Snape's arm.

"What's the cost?" Harry asked, raising his head stubbornly. He was an adult, and willing to pay for supplies he needed.

Snape stared at him in speculation, before shaking his head slightly and walking off toward his office.

"Professor," Harry started, following him.

"It's the school's cost," Snape explained, unlocking the door to his office. "The headmaster has always made sure that the best ingredients have been available to me for...whichever purpose."

"Oh," said Harry, surprised. "We should still split some costs. We'll have to do some travelling later for the other horcruxes."

Snape opened the small door that lead to his personal quarters, and Harry followed him back to the private lab.

"What costs are you anticipating?" Snape asked, almost conversationally. Harry suspected that Snape was just humouring him, but Harry was determined to interact like the adult he was.

"Food, supplies, incidentals," Harry said, shrugging. "Replacement robes."

Snape glanced at him before saying a spell to light all the lanterns and sconces in the room.

"I'm so very glad to see you've retained your sense of humour, Mr Potter," Snape said, putting on a pair of thick gloves. "Most important for a man facing your magnitude of life challenges."

Harry raised his eyebrows at that - it sounded as if Snape was almost teasing him, in a non-malicious way.

"The Basilisk returned unharmed to whatever den it has?" Snape inquired, holding the glass vial of venom up to the sconce light. He'd tossed his torn sleeve to the workbench, and Harry found it extremely odd to watch him standing there with his arm exposed. He was so used to seeing Snape wrapped up in his robes that it was slightly unsettling.

"I think so. I spoke through the crack in the door, and I heard her slithering away."

Harry was sitting on a stool, slumped over and looking drained. Somehow knowing what was coming made Harry dread the adventures.

"Her?" Snape sharply asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "She didn't seem to appreciate our company."

"The feeling was mutual," Snape grimly said. He was using a set of very fine scales to weigh the venom, and Harry wondered if they had enough for all the horcruxes. He hoped so, as he couldn't imagine Snape voluntarily returning to the Chamber.

"Sorry for kicking you," Harry blurted, remembering that he'd done so. "I've never seen you freeze lik-"

"I did not freeze," Snape snapped, nearly dropping an extra weight on the scale. "I was caught off guard."

"I told you it was large," Harry said, as non-combative as he could make his tone.

"Potter," Snape warned, looking menacingly at Harry. "I am merely recovering from a traumatic attack a week ago. I highly advise that you drop the subject."

"Alright," Harry said, holding up his hands. Nagini had attacked him as well, but it wasn't to the same extent and Harry wasn't suicidal enough to mention it.

"If we need any more venom, I can just get it myself," Harry suggested, yawning.

Snape gave him an irritated look.

"You most certainly will not. You will never return to that Chamber unsupervised," Snape said, pointing a long skinny finger at him.

.....

Transfiguration classes were at a tricky part of the curriculum. They were at the point of transforming plants and flowers into non-living objects, such as a small photo frame or a set of cooking utensils. Harry found the work remarkably easy, and was extremely glad that though he'd returned to his eleven year old body, he could still do he magic he'd learned in his seven years in the wizarding world.  Hermione was somewhat suspicious of his skills, and had outright asked if he was cheating.

"You can't cheat at transfiguration, Hermione," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "If it were divination or potions though, I'd agree with you."

The journal under his fingers grew warm, and Harry ignored the urge to immediately glance at it.

"Ahem," Ron coughed, an intense look of concentration on his face as he stared at the pot of daisies in front of him.

"We've never taken divination before, Harry," Hermione quietly said, shaking her head.  She'd been given a rose, and had turned it into a wooden ladle with a red head and a green handle.

"No," Harry agreed, berating himself mentally for the slip up. "But it's just making guesses about what's to come, isn't it?"

Harry had purposefully turned his plant into a photo frame that still had green leaves stuck to it at random spots. He rather liked it, but knew McGonagall wouldn't give him full points.

"Guessing would be cheating," Hermione declared, trying the spell again on her rose.

Harry flipped open his journal and read the most recent message from Snape. It had been charmed to ensure no one else could read it, but Harry still safeguarded the journal, just in case someone took the security charms as a personal challenge. Not that he didn't trust Snape's work.

"The cup is in Gringotts already?"

Harry closed the journal and stared at his frame, appearing to be studying what had gone wrong. He was trying to remember what Dumbledore had told him of he cup - it was a founder's item, Voldemort considered those with a vault to be well off - so it should already be there. Voldemort would have given Bellatrix the cup before she'd been jailed and him defeated.

"Yes, it's there. The vault's deep below by the dragon; how are you getting in?"

"Polyjuice."

Confused, Harry stared at the notes on the blackboard at the front of the room. The words were blurred, he couldn't read them, and he tried to figure out how Snape would explain Bellatrix Lestrange's presence when she was still jailed.

"That won't work, will it? She's in jail. And where did you get her hair from?"

Ron finally succeeded at the transformation, and actually earned points for Gryffindor.

"Whatcha think, Harry? Send it home to Mum?"

Harry looked at the slightly dented utensil can and the ladle inside. The ladle was chipped and cracked like the pot had been, but it did seem to be made of wood.

"Definitely," Harry smiled. The journal warmed again and Harry went back to answering it.

"I have acquired a few strands of hair from all of the Death Eaters, for various purposes. With the exception of the Dark Lord."

"Sounds like an unpleasant task," Harry wrote, not even wanting to imagine how Snape had accomplished that. Another thought occurred to him, and he tried to fight a grin as he went to write it. He could only imagine the look on Snape's face upon reading the message.

"Is THAT why Voldemort is bald? So no one can polyjuice into him?"

Harry closed his journal, trying to concentrate as he reworked his frame to remove the leaves. The journal grew hot under his hand, but Professor McGonagall was walking around and he could only sneak a look at it a few moments later.

"I suspect your previous death and time travel experience has rendered you somewhat demented, Potter."

Harry snorted to himself, covering it up with a cough when Hermione gave him a strange look.

"I don't think I can get all the leaves off in time," Harry lied, looking toward the large hourglass at the front of the classroom. There was very little sand left, and it was thankfully the last class of the day.

Ron was rather proud of his transformation, and talked the entire way back to the tower of how he would wrap it up and give it to his mum. He went into a detailed description of how great the Burrow was, which confused Harry at first because he'd been there many times. Not in this time however, and Harry got a sickening feeling in his stomach. All those nights he'd spent at the Burrow with Ron and Hermione, joking and laughing as they heard everyone else banging about in the house, Bill and Fleur's wedding, getting up early for the Quidditch world cup, none of that had happened yet. Harry had a head full of memories that only existed to him, that his friends might never know. If he and Snape managed to destroy the horcruxes, would Harry, Ron, and Hermione become as close friends as they'd ended up? It had been hardship and the fight against Voldemort that had made their friendship nearly unbreakable.

"You look a bit sick, mate," Ron said, breaking through his thoughts. They'd made it to the grand staircase, but Harry couldn't remember the walk getting there.

"I..." Harry shook his head.  Ron, George, and Fred had broken him out of the Dursleys in the summer before second year, and he spent the rest of the summer at the Burrow. Would he get to do that again? Not if they destroyed the diary, and Harry would never meet Dobby, the house elf so loyal he gave his life for Harry.

"I feel sick," Harry said, clutching his stomach. He wasn't lying - there were so many things that would change by them destroying the horcruxes, and Harry didn't want to give up the memories he'd already built. He didn't want to give up what they'd all earned by sacrifice.

"Maybe you should go to the infirmary, Harry," Hermione said, concerned and slightly mothering. Harry leaned back against the cool stone walls, his palms scraping slightly against the rough texture. Hermione, looking at him with her childish face that still threw Harry off guard. Maybe this time she wouldn't get tortured by Bellatrix. But then, maybe she and Ron wouldn't get together.

"Yeah," Harry quietly agreed. He just needed to figure out how to get there without breaking into frustrated tears.

"We'll go with you," Ron announced, looking around the hall as if he had to escort Harry through a crowd.

"No, no it's alright," Harry said, shaking his head. What he wanted right now was a quiet room with no other people to ask him what was wrong, as he didn't think he'd be able to not tell the truth about travelling back in time. And he knew how well that would go over.

"Go have dinner, I'll see you after," Harry said, standing as straight as he could and walking in the direction of the infirmary. Harry could feel them watching him as he walked as calmly as he could, and once he turned a corner, took off into a run.

....

The infirmary was mostly dark, as Madame Pomfrey seemed to be out getting supplies or something. Harry didn't much care, as he moved directly to the large fireplace at the front of the room, near her office. Having been a patient once or twice in the infirmary, Harry knew that there was Floo powder in an old Muggle first aid box on a shelf near the fireplace, so he grabbed a handful and threw it into the low fire. It flared up and Harry took a deep breath, jumping in.

Snape was sitting at his desk, and at first glance he appeared to be marking. His quill jumped across the page as Harry stumbled out of the fire, crashing into the extremely uncomfortable visitor's chair Snape had in front of his desk.

"You are lucky my fireplace was not warded shut," Snape coolly said, covering his surprise as he went back to his notes. There was a mug of something warm, with a spoon sticking out of it, on the desk next to Snape, and a plate of two empire biscuits and crumbs.

Harry leaned against the chair, taking a deep breath to quell his stomach. He had several smart remarks for Snape, but didn't have the energy for it. He didn't understand how he could be falling apart now, over a bunch of memories, after all he'd been through.

Snape must have been suspicious about the silence, as he finally looked up and made eye contact, taking in Harry's dishevelled hair and pale face.

"What happened?" Snape quietly asked.

"I've lost my friends," Harry said, hating how small he was again compared to Snape's large desk. "They know me, but they don't know what we've been through. It's like the people I knew all suddenly have amnesia, and their memories will never come back."

Snape put his quill down, studying Harry as Harry caught his breath.

"What if...what if we're only as strong as we are, because of everything we went through?" Harry asked, tapping the back of the chair and looking down at Snape's hands. "What if by destroying the horcruxes with you, I destroy the friendships I have with my friends?"

Snape didn't answer him immediately, and after a minute Harry wondered if he should just leave. He didn't want to see any other people though, so his only other option was to escape to the Room of Requirement. Snape suddenly sat back though, and Harry looked up at him.

"Is guaranteeing them a life without the Dark Lord not worth it?" Snape asked. He waited for Harry to fully ponder the question before taking a long drink from the dark mug on his desk, once again avoiding the spoon's handle. It rested against his cheek, very close to his eye, and Harry wondered if there was a heat mark on his cheek or an indent from the spoons.

"Why do you keep the spoon in when you drink?" Harry asked.

Snape slowly placed the mug down and answered frankly.

"A learned old wives' tale. It keeps the tea hot longer."

"Does it?"  Harry relaxed his grip on the chair back, feeling a bit more settled than he'd first been when he arrived.

"Negligible. Answer the question," Snape pressed.

"Of course it is," Harry replied, feeling guilty that he'd been so upset over lost memories. He'd gone back in time, and all his friends were alive and well. Snape had gone back, and his best friend was still gone. "I never wanted anyone to die for me. I didn't want them to get hurt, to suffer, to lose anything. Not for me."

Snape scoffed and pushed the biscuit plate toward Harry.

"If you think this war is only about you, by all means fight it yourself."

"I know it's not," Harry said, taking a biscuit. "But Voldemort thought that if he destroyed me, he'd automatically win the war."

"He also thought Muggleborns were worthless," Snape dismissively said. "You have homework for tonight. In the journal I want you to write down everything you remember about the diary. Just the diary, and when it was mentioned. Write about that house elf as well, the one that knew of it."

"You don't want to go to Malfoy Manor?" Harry asked, slightly puzzled. The biscuit was delicious, but he'd get a sugar rush if he only ate them for the night.

"Not if there's an easier way," Snape said, nodding at the door. "Go back to dinner, your absence will be suspicious."

"Yes sir," Harry automatically responded, distracted by his thoughts of Dobby. Dobby had tried his best to be extremely helpful to Harry, in his own dangerous way, but he couldn't disobey his master by telling Harry of the danger coming. This time, Harry knew what Dobby was warning of, so perhaps he could persuade Dobby to help them further. Dobby knew of the diary long before it had been given to Ginny, so maybe Harry could get Dobby to give it to Snape. If the little elf knew it would be destroyed...

Stopping at the doorframe, Harry thought of one more thing he wanted to ask.

"How hard is it to see him again?"

Snape hadn't returned to his notes, he had just been balancing the quill on his fingers and watching Harry. Harry knew he didn't need to clarify that it was Dumbledore he was referring to.

"Life is neither fair nor easy, Mr Potter," Snape evasively answered. His face showed nothing, but Harry remembered how angry Snape had been in the memories of Dumbledore demanding his own murder.

"Be nice if it wasn't this hard though," Harry replied. He wrapped his school robe tighter around himself, and walked back toward the Great Hall. How odd was it that Snape would be the one to provide a bit of comfort now? It wasn't truly surprising though, Harry knew, as Snape had never been a man to sugar coat anything for Harry's own protection. Evasive, secretive, loyal to the very inch of his life. But Snape had never lied to Harry just to make him feel better. He'd also rarely said anything at all to make Harry feel better, but that was a minor detail.

...

After spending a full hour after bedtime behind the curtains of his bed, scribbling into the shared journal about the life of Dobby the house elf and the Tom Riddle diary, Harry fell asleep to strange dreams of the memory - Tom Riddle playing snakes and ladders with Dobby in the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle turned into Bellatrix, and the game into a chanting dance of Ring Around the Rosie - before Harry sat up in bed, disorientated. The journal was under his stack of books on his bedside cabinet, and Snape hadn't written any reply to him in it. Nothing else in the room seemed out of order, and beside him, Ron was whispering something in his sleep.

Shaking his head, Harry burrowed back down into his bed covers and closed his eyes. Tomorrow he'd ask Snape if the dream meant anything, or if it was just from exhaustion.

The following day, Harry walked with Ron and Hermione down the second floor corridor toward the stairs. Directly above them was the third floor and Fluffy, who they hoped was still guarding the chamber.  Harry knew the Stone was still safe, but Ron and Hermione didn't and Harry didn't have a good explanation for him knowing. He didn't want to tell his friends he was older than them, didn't want to tell them about the horrors waiting for them in the future. There was time enough for that to come.

"Harry, you're staring into space," Hermione said, giving him a peculiar look. She was a very smart witch, and Harry was slightly uncomfortable with the knowing looks she'd been giving him lately.

"Just thinking," Harry said, shifting his notebooks in his arms.

"Mr Potter," a deep voice behind them said, startling all three. Snape towered over them, and had a half sneer on his face as if he thought Harry, Ron, and Hermione were up to something.

"You are to accompany me to the Headmaster's office."

Harry stared at Snape, searching for any other sign in the man's bored look, but saw nothing. He did notice Ron's intensely curious eyes looking somewhat timidly between Snape and Harry, and he suddenly remembered that at eleven, Snape was terrifying and big and almost inhuman.

"Now, sir?" Harry asked, as if it were an inconvenience.  Hermione's eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"No, this is merely a social invitation. Yes, now Potter," Snape impatiently said.

Ron appeared insulted at that, and it was almost comical the way it was written all over his face. No wonder the professors had never had trouble knowing what the first years were up to.

"See you guys later," Harry shrugged apologetically, slipping between his two best friends to follow Snape up to the Headmaster's office.

...

Professor McGonagall was waiting for them, and Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, spinning some sort of tale that had her smiling.

"Harry! Come in, come in. No need to be shy," Dumbledore said, waving him into the room. His office would never cease to be impressive to Harry, full of wonderful and magical objects that whirled and beeped and chirped for seemingly no reason.

"Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, timidly taking his seat. He kept pinching his thigh through his pocket, to remember that he didn't know Dumbledore that well at this time in his life. It wouldn't do to sound overly familiar.

"Professor McGonagall," Harry added, smiling at her. Snape remained behind him, scowling at the room in general.

"Harry, there's been a small development with your relatives," Dumbledore said, sounding kind and grandfatherly. Harry's eyes focused sharply on him, before turning to look at McGonagall and Snape. There had never been an issue with the Dursleys in his original first year.

"What sort of development, sir? I haven't spoken to them since the first of September," Harry asked, clutching the notebooks in his lap.

"Just a minor matter that will be settled at Gringotts, in London," Dumbledore smiled. Professor McGonagall was sitting properly and sternly in her seat beside Harry, and she exuded a matronly aura.

"Yes, well, as minor as it is, you'll be going to London this afternoon to see to it," Professor McGonagall said.

"But it's Wednesday," Harry blurted, looking between Dumbledore and McGonagall. As much as he wanted to know just what the hell the Dursleys were up to, he did have evening classes to attend and it would look extremely suspicious if he didn't go.

"That it is, Potter," Snape said from behind him. "And lucky for you, I do not have any classes to teach this afternoon."

Harry tried to school his face into disappointment as he looked at Snape. Beside him, McGonagall was glaring sternly at her colleague.

"I'm certain Professor Snape will be efficient and diligent in taking care of the problem, Mr Potter. And I'll assume he would like to leave a soon as possible, so run along to your dormitory and fetch your vault key."

"Yes ma'am," Harry said, intent on doing just that. He'd been so careful to never mention the money to the Dursleys, and was starting to worry about what they'd be able to do with his vault.

Slightly distracted, Harry only just barely heard what Dumbledore said next, as the door was closing.

"Do what you must, Severus. Find this solicitor and explain that no one has any right to the Potter vaults but Harry Potter himself."

...

Ron was sprawled out on the couch as Harry passed through the portrait of the Fat Lady. He had his arms up and was waving his hands around like a conductor, with his robe sleeves flapping around him.

"Maybe Nicholas Flamel was a pilot," Ron said.

Hermione, who was sitting on the edge of the chesterfield and skimming over a chapter for the night's astronomy lesson, just rolled her eyes.

"Why would Dumbledore hide a plane in the castle?" Hermione asked.

"Doesn't have to be a plane," Ron stubbornly argued.

"I need to go to Diagon Alley," Harry interrupted, standing by Hermione.

"London?" Ron asked, sitting up. "But it's a school day. You can't go to London."

"I have to. I think the Dursleys have found out I have a vault full of gold," Harry said, determined to do what he could to fight them.

"What?" Ron blurted, aghast. "The goblins will never give it over."

"Harry, that's horrible!" Hermione insisted. "What's Dumbledore going to do?"

"He's sending me with Snape to Gringotts, so I can sign papers or something," Harry said, keeping his voice down. A class of upper year students were returning to the common room.

"Good idea. Snape'll scare the pants off the Dursleys," Ron decided, nodding his head.

"Do you know when you'll be back?" Hermione worriedly asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry honestly answered. "I don't know what I have to do at the bank."

Harry headed for the stairs to the dorm, hoping he could remember where the key for his vault was.

"You can copy my notes for astronomy then," Hermione decidedly said. Harry paused, before shaking his head. Of course she'd be worried about him missing class.

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry smiled.

...

Snape stood at the outside doors of the castle, watching over the path that led to the gates at the bottom of a gentle hill. The Forbidden Forest, still dark and menacing despite the late afternoon sun overhead, seemed teeming with life as sounds and rustles escaped from it. He checked the watch on his wrist, irritated by the small burn marks left in his skin from the venom. Potter was late, by two minutes.

When they boy finally arrived, he was half out of breath and struggling to put his travelling school cloak on. His hair was mussed, glasses skewed, and he looked apoplectic.

"Are the Dursleys trying to steal my money?" Potter demanded, yanking his cloak over his shoulder and fumbling the clasp.

"Not so loud, Potter," Snape immediately said, looking about. There weren't any students around though, as it was a free hour before dinner and the cool end of February air was still too crisp to be hanging about outside.

"I won't stand for it," Potter growled, shaking his hand away as his fingers were snapped up in the clasp. "They're not getting a knut."

"Oh for," Snape leaned forward and swatted Harry's hands, doing up the clasp in two seconds. "Let's go. We have an appointment."

"An appointment?" Harry asked, stomping after Snape as they made their way to the front gates. "Uncle Vernon made an appointment to meet with goblins?"

Snape huffed and slashed his wand as they approached the gate, barely pausing to allow the gate to creak open.

"The appointment has nothing to do with your uncle," Snape said, grabbing Harry's arm. They twisted into apparition before Harry could ask anything further.

Landing in Diagon Alley near the bank, Harry took a deep breath and steadied himself, trying to not sick up.

"Wait," Harry said, staring at the ground as Snape impatiently urged him on. After another minute, when Harry was certain that his lunch was going to stay down, he gave Snape a small nod.

"Okay, we can go," Harry said, holding his hand over his stomach. He ignored the rolling of Snape's eyes. "We're not meeting Uncle Vernon?"

The bank was rather full inside, lots of wizards and wizards checking deposits of their pay packets and paying bills before going home for the day. Harry noticed two or three of the goblins giving them a suspicious look as Snape lead them confidently to a small door at the side of the main atrium.

"Don't be ridiculous Potter. Dursley doesn't know a thing about your vault. He wouldn't know his arse from a hole in the ground."

Harry's jaw dropped for a second and he stared at Snape.

"What about the solicitor Dumbledore mentioned?"

"Money is a very effective bribe to have someone write a false claim letter. Don't forget that," Snape remarked. The door flashed at them, and before Harry realised it, Snape leaned over and hoisted him up into the air.  There was a small black rectangle on the door, and once he'd been seen through it, Harry was put back down.

"Don't speak until spoken to," Snape murmured, walking through the door. They went down two hallways and into a cramped little office owned by a hideous looking goblin that had a nameplate on his desk reading ‘Tadgh.'

"Professor Snape," the goblin said, extending his grubby fingers. His nails were long enough to be classified as talons, and Harry twisted his face up at them. Snape didn't even pretend to offer his own hand to shake.

"Tadgh," Snape said, managing it somehow. Harry had no clue how to pronounce the name, even after hearing Snape say it. "I am in need of two small daggers."

The goblin's eyes lit up as he looked between them, no doubt calculating what sort of profit he could make.

"Of course. Jewel encrusted? Wand length? Solid gold? Only the finest, of course," Tadgh said, waving his talons over his messy desk. Harry supposed that somewhere under there were materials to make daggers and swords.

"Jewel encrusted?" Snape scoffed, sneering at the goblin. "Solid gold? The boy is eleven, and a scrawny thing to boot. Do you want him knifed by some little rotter looking for a flashy souvenir?"

The insult seemed to roll off the goblin's back like water off a duck's, but Harry could see in his eyes that he was a bit rattled by Snape.

"Something more deceptive, then?"

"Yes," Snape immediately answered, leaning against the wall. There were two chairs in the room, both goblin sized and both covered in papers and random books that looked like they had very little to do with money.

"It'll be something both Harry and I will need to carry at all times. It will need to be a maximum of seven inches, smaller for him, and it should not be immediately recognized as a dagger."

Harry blinked in surprise at hearing Snape say his first name, and without derision in his tone. The goblin seemed to think the familiarity was normal, and his arrogance was starting to fade as he wrote the notes down on a notepad.

"Material?"

Harry watched Tadgh as he wrote, not understanding a word of the written Gobbledegook.

"Silver," Snape said, as if there were no other option. "Covered in leather."

This got Tadgh's attention, and he looked up.

"Covered in leather, that'll make an ugly dagger."

"But a nice watch," Snape countered, staring down at the goblin. "I'm quite certain you creative goblins can forge a dagger that can be worn easily as a watch, and comes rigidly to function at the whisper of a spell."

Harry looked up admiringly at Snape. Never in ten years would he have thought to fashion a dagger out of a watch. It apparently impressed the goblin as well, or he was merely looking forward to the challenge.

"Return in a month, and your watches shall be finished. First week of April." 

"A month?" Harry blurted. Snape cut him a glare, and the goblin gave him a nasty smile.

"These sorts of creations take time, Mr Potter," Tadgh said.

"And cost money," Snape said, moving the conversation back along. "What's your price?"

"A hundred galleons," Tadgh immediately replied. "Each."

"No," Snape replied. "Seventy."

"Rubbish. If you want quality, you'll pay for it. Ninety-five, and nothing less," Tadgh grunted.

Harry watched the dealing go back and forth, absolutely fascinated. Snape stood impassively by the door, unlike Tadgh, who was very animated in his own gestures.

"Seventy-five galleons, four and sixteen. Or I find another goblin."

"No one else will make it on your timeline, or as discreetly," Tadgh arrogantly said.

"Likely not," Snape agreed. He put his hand on the back of Harry's neck and steered him toward the door. "Good day."

The hallway was brightly lit and empty as they walked back to the door that had let them in. Harry kept waiting to hear the Tadgh's footsteps, but he didn't hear anything as they made it to the door. He was surprised, as a goblin-made weapon was something they rather needed.

Snape opened the door confidently though, and stepped back into the main atrium of the bank. He kept his head held high, and continued to guide Harry to the front doors, ignoring how some of the customers in the bank stared at Harry and his scar.

Tadgh was waiting by the very last pillar.

"Eighty-three, seven and fourteen. Final offer."

Snape considered this with a gloriously bored look on his face.

"Eighty-five flat. And permanent ownership until it's destroyed, no goblin ownership rules."

"Fine," Tadgh grumbled.

"Very well," Snape said, pleased. "If you'll see us to our vaults, you will be paid."

...

One of Tadgh's assistants, a monstrous looking goblin with a poorly fitted suit and a large gash down the side of his face, arranged to take them to their vaults. Snape's was first, closer to the top than Harry's was, and Harry remained behind the door while Snape gathered the money he needed. Snape's actions were quite protective, and Harry didn't feel like getting yelled at by a paranoid and insecure Professor Snape.

The trip to his own vault was even shorter, and Harry was happy to see that there didn't even appear to be a dent made in his pile of galleons. He pocketed more than enough for the dagger and some ‘just in case' money, and got back into the cart. Harry was happy that the Dursleys had no idea about his money, and that they'd ordered weapons to destroy the horcruxes. He wasn't prepared for Snape to hit the assistant goblin with the imperius curse just before the cart started up again.

"What the hell did you do that for?" Harry yelped, turning to stare at Snape's focused face.

"Take us to the Lestrange Vault," Snape commanded, stepping into the cart behind Harry.

"Snape!" Harry tried again, as the cart zoomed down the track and the lantern hanging off the front swung dangerously.  Harry was rather grateful to note that this time they did not pass through the Thief's Downfall.

"Do you remember where the goblet is?" Snape asked, leaning forward to speak near Harry's ear. "It's prudent we exit as quickly as possible."

The cart started to slow down as it twisted through the narrow tunnels. He didn't know how far down they were, but Harry could hear the clanking of the chains that the dragon wore.

 "Why didn't you tell me we were breaking into Gringotts?" Harry demanded, ignoring Snape's question.

The cart came to a shuddering stop in front of a very familiar door, and Harry slowly got out of the cart. Snape was already out, guiding the goblin toward the ornately carved door.

"Because Potter, I have come to the conclusion after years of study that you tend to be more successful if flying by the seat of your pants," Snape tetchily replied.

"No! I'm not!" Harry argued. The goblin serenely raised his palm to the door, and the locks could be heard twisting apart.  "I usually have a plan. It never turns out quite right, but I have one."

"I'll remember that in the future," Snape dismissively said.

"Planning came in handy in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry grunted, stepping into the vault and being extremely careful to stay in the centre of the floor space. He turned to tell Snape the same thing, but Snape was already reaching toward an ugly silver cup.

Levicorpus! Harry thought, flicking his wand instantly. Snape flew upward in a flurry of robes, and when he spun to face Harry, had an expression of fury on his face.

"Put. Me. Down," Snape hissed, spittle coming out of his lips.

"I will," Harry immediately said. "But you can't touch anything. Everything here duplicates and burns you at a single touch."

Snape still looked livid, but he didn't hex Harry once he'd been returned to the ground. Harry immediately focused on the cup, hoping to distract Snape from thoughts of revenge.

"It's up there," Harry said, pointing at the top of a cabinet in the back of the vault, where he'd found the cup before. He felt a huge amount of relief seeing it still there.

"Everything duplicates?" Snape asked, his arms crossed and the lines on his face tight and pronounced.

"Think so," Harry said. "Though the cup didn't."

Snape handed him a bag that was normally used for collecting ingredients. It was made of thick leather, and had some mud stains on it.

"Fetch, Potter," Snape said, levitating Harry off the ground with a flick of his wrist. He wasn't upside down, but Snape wasn't the most smooth at manoeuvring people in the air.

"Are you playing Hangman?" the goblin asked, watching with placid amusement as Harry floated dangerously close to the rough ceiling of the vault.

"In a way," Snape smirked.

Harry was mentally cursing Snape as he used his wand to push the goblet into the bag. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally touch it and be as affected by it as he was with the diadem.

"What's your plan to get out of here, Professor?" Harry asked, with as much sarcasm as he could master on the title. Snape was only slightly gentler bringing him back to the doorway.

"The goblin," Snape said, as if Harry were daft. They made their way back to the cart and climbed inside, Snape in the back, Harry in the middle, and the goblin up front.

Halfway back to the atrium of Gringotts, Harry saw Snape's arm reach over his shoulder and pour an excessive amount of murky liquid out of a tiny bottle, all over the back of the goblin's shoulders.

"Finite incantatem," Snape whispered. Harry's eyes widened at the mess made of the goblin's outfit, but Snape wasn't finished.

"Potter!" he bellowed near Harry's ear, making Harry wince and the goblin slow the cart to look at him. The goblin gave Harry a dirty look when he realized that the back of his jacket was all wet.

"Motion sickness," Snape explained with exasperation. "If you'll permit me?"

Snape held up his wand, and at the goblin's nod, banished the mess. Harry was immensely curious to Snape's reasoning, and it took him the rest of the ride to figure out that Snape's wand would now have a cleaning spell on it for priori incantatem, instead of the imperius curse.

...

The sun was setting over the peaks of the buildings in Diagon Alley, and even though it was chilly out, Harry didn't feel quite like going back to Hogwarts yet. Snape didn't either, as he suggested a warm dinner at a pub on the muggle side of the gateway.  Shepherd's pie was the agreed upon choice, and their booth was enshrouded with the muffliato spell as the waitress walked off.

"Where are you going to keep that, if we can't destroy it for a month?" Harry asked, sipping the milk that had been brought to the table. Curiously, Snape had not ordered alcohol with his meal, as Harry thought he might have.

"In a lead box, in the lab," Snape answered, glancing in the rucksack the goblet was in. "I want to know what memories this one reveals, but I have no desire to transport your unconscious body back to Hogwarts. Not until after I've finished my dinner."

"That's nice," Harry sarcastically said. Dinner arrived shortly after, and conversation was halted as it was consumed. Harry with the gusto of a growing boy, and Snape like a man who hadn't had many good sit down meals in a while. One it was mostly done, Snape brought out his notebook again.

"Once the daggers are completed, we will imbue them with the basilisk venom. I assume from there it is merely a matter of destroying the horcruxes with the daggers?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, wiping his mouth with his serviette. "Sort of. You said they fight back violently when they go into the container? It's the same coming out."

"Wonderful," Snape said.

"I think we should hold off on getting any more until we destroy these two. They leech things out of the people holding them, I don't want to know what they'd do all together in a room."

Snape looked thoughtful, before nodding.

"Three left to find then, before you are returned to the Dursleys."

"I'm not going back," Harry strongly said, looking up from the menu. "I refuse to be starved or locked up again all summer."

"As much as I personally find Petunia Dursley abhorrent, Potter, they're your legal guardians," Snape said, rolling his eyes. "You have no choice."

"Yes, I do. I have money," Harry said. "And it's only for the summer, I'll live with the Weasleys if I have to. Or, or I'll stay at Grimmauld Place if I need..."

Harry trailed off and his fork clattered to the table. Snape gave him a worried look, snapping his fingers in front of Harry's face.

"Potter? Is there a horcrux there?"

"Yes," Harry answered, his eyes focusing on Snape again as he blinked the moisture in them away. "But that's not...it's Sirius' house. Sirius is still alive."