Harry knew he was in serious trouble now.

Snape’s wage may not cover him for everything he needed, but at least it was something. He might have been able to get away with replacing the bare essentials and borrowing everything else. But if he continued as he was, he would lose the only income he was able to keep.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t stop working; he’d completely starve. He couldn’t help himself to the food he desperately needed, or the Dursleys would up his debt.

You need help, the little voice that sounded like Hermione spoke in his head. Come on Harry, you know you should never have let it get this bad.

Harry knew she was right. The time had come to swallow his pride. But who on earth could he ask?

Snape returned to the room, holding a plate of scrambled eggs, and put it on Harry’s lap. “Eat, Potter, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry didn’t need telling twice. Without a thought to how undignified it looked, he fell on the food hungrily. He didn’t need to see Snape’s face to picture his expression.

“Legless Leprechauns, Potter, when did you last eat a proper meal?”

It took Harry a moment to work it out. “Last Thursday.”

Snape shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe even you can be so foolish. It’s a wonder you didn’t pass out long before now. Take the rest of the day off and get some rest, and make sure you have dinner later as well.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said between mouthfuls, but he knew that was impossible.

You need to get help, Harry! You need it now!

A thought struck him, so startling he paused eating.

Snape was scary enough to make the Dursleys wet themselves. He’d have no trouble forcing them to change their ways.

Of course, he was also one of the last people Harry wanted to know about his financial problems. But he knew something about Snape that Snape apparently didn’t want anyone to know—about his post-Cruciatus effects.

“Um … Professor Snape?”

“Yes?”

Harry bit his lip nervously. “Um … I wasn’t entirely honest with you before.”

“Why does that not surprise me,” Snape said.

“I mean, what I said was the truth; just not, um, the whole truth. The thing is …” Harry took a deep breath. “I’m broke.”

Snape raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“I-I got a letter from Gringotts saying I’m overdrawn. That’s why I got this job. It’s also why I’ve been doing others around the neighbourhood. Quite a few, actually. And I did keep missing dinner because of them, and my relatives don’t really go out of their way to help me, so if I’m not there they just assume I’m not eating. B-but on Monday my aunt saw the money I’d earned and started saying I owed them for a load of stuff, and took it off me, and now they’re saying I’m not allowed to eat until I’ve paid them back every penny. Also I had to stay up most of the night to do my homework because I’ve lost the spare time I did have to do it in, my aunt and uncle filled it up with more jobs to do.”

Harry finished speaking in a rush. Snape was staring at him, looking completely perplexed.

“Potter, if this is some tall tale to gain sympathy—”

“No!” Harry protested. “I swear, Professor, it’s the truth!”

“So why did you not go to anyone for help? You’re supposed to be telling the Order if you have any problems with your relatives, aren’t you?”

Harry squirmed. “I was … embarrassed.”

There was a pause. “I see.”

“It’s not like you don’t keep secrets from people who want to help you,” Harry pointed out.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, you didn’t tell Dumbledore or Mrs Weasley about your post-Cruciatus effects, did you?”

Snape stiffened. “I … see your point.”

“Could you not … tell anyone, please? I’ll keep quiet about your condition if that’s what you want.”

“There is no need to resort to such a thinly veiled attempt at blackmail, Potter.”

Harry blinked. “Blackmail?”

“I do understand the … sometimes self-destructive desire to keep one’s personal problems to oneself,” Snape admitted. “I promise I will not be liberal with your secret—but you must realise you will have to talk to Professor Dumbledore soon about fees—”

“Yes, I know, I will, but aside from that I really don’t want anyone to know,” Harry said. “And for the record, I wasn’t trying to blackmail you. Just offer a deal.”

“Oh.”

“So …” Harry swallowed. “Do you think you could, um, maybe have a word with my relatives?”

Snape nodded slowly. “I certainly will. And I promise your family will not know what hit them.”

Once Harry had finished his eggs, Snape Flooed with him back to Mrs Figg’s, then walked him to Privet Drive.

Harry couldn’t believe he had actually asked Snape of all people for help, and could believe even less that Snape was perfectly willing to help. Probably only so Harry could continue working for him. But whatever his motives, Harry was grateful.

He let them in. Petunia and Dudley were just sitting down to lunch. Snape hadn’t bothered to change into Muggle clothes, so Dudley took one look at him, squealed and ran for cover. Petunia jumped up like she had received an electric shock and cowered against the wall.

“Wh-what d-do you w-w-want?”

“Hello, Petunia,” Snape said, surprisingly calmly. “We need to have a little chat about money and food and your nephew’s health.” She went completely white. “Whatever money you took off him, give it back. Now.”

Petunia didn’t move, frozen solid, her face terrified.

“I wonder what sort of cactus you would make,” Snape said thoughtfully, raising his wand. Petunia jerked to life and raced into the hall.

“Prickly,” Harry muttered, unable to suppress a grin. Snape smirked.

Petunia came running back with her purse, and with shaking hands counted out all the money she had confiscated from Harry.

“Is that all of it, Potter?”

“Yes,” Harry said, pocketing it.

“Right.” Snape fixed Petunia with the worst glare Harry had ever seen him wear. “Let me spell it out for you, Petunia, because you obviously have trouble comprehending. Harry Potter doesn’t owe you anything. You are not to take money off him ever again, unless he willingly offers it. You will also not use food and any other basic necessities as leverage against him. From now on you will make sure he has three square meals a day or I will be coming back. If I have to return, you and your husband and son will not only be transfigured into a whole load of creatures, plants and inanimate objects of my choosing, but I will leave your house in a mess so big it will take you a year to clear it up, and I will summon all your neighbours to come around and see it.”

“No!” Harry’s house-proud aunt cried in horror.

“And if you starve your nephew, force him to work or steal money from him again, I will be adding criminal charges,” Snape finished. Petunia whimpered. “Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

“Y-y-yes,” she stammered.

“Good. Just to make sure you remember this threat …” Snape raised his wand, and with a BANG, the kitchen exploded. Everything had fallen out of the cupboards and fridge/freezer, the table and chairs had fallen apart, and worst of all (for Petunia’s germ intolerance), every surface was now splattered with mud. She took in her ruined kitchen, and clean fainted away.

Ignoring her, Snape turned back to Harry. “Potter, stop working all these other jobs. Maybe in a week or so, you can take on a few extra hours if you feel up to it, but do not push yourself to the limit again, and don’t exceed the law either. I am raising your salary to three Sickles per hour so you don’t feel as much pressure to earn.”

“R-really, sir?”

“Yes. As for money for school things, there’s always second hand, or you can borrow from someone who doesn’t need them anymore. If you still need help, the school can provide it, and not just about the fees; a Hogwarts Professor can buy you what you need. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now I expect you to return to work only when you’re fit to. Don’t forget to contact Professor Dumbledore about fees.”

“I won’t. Thank you, sir.”

And if you run into any more problems with your relatives, tell me at once. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Snape sighed. “Then I’ll leave you to rest. Let me know when you’re ready to come back to work.” Harry nodded. “See you then.”

Once Snape had left the house, Harry retreated upstairs. He phoned the Post Office, Miss Price and the Jenkins’, apologising but saying he would be unable to work the rest of the week, citing ill health. Then, feeling like a huge weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Harry collapsed into bed and promptly fell asleep.

-

“Harry, wake up.”

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Harry opened bleary eyes. “Aunt Petunia?”

“It’s dinner time. The kitchen is, well, still unusable, so we’re ordering pizza. What toppings would you like?”

So it hadn’t been a dream.

Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes, and took the offered menu. It was quite a novelty being offered a choice—normally the Dursleys just gave him whatever was cheapest or leftover, and Snape hadn’t even made it part of his threat. But Petunia was clearly too frightened of him returning to risk Harry complaining about them again.

“Um … Hawaiian with peppers and extra cheese?”

To his surprise, even though it would incur extra cost, she accepted his order quite willingly and returned downstairs.

Harry yawned, but forced himself to get out of bed. He felt much better for a few hours’ sleep. He kept himself awake by looking at his work timetable and deciding how to better manage. By the time Vernon called him down to say the pizza had arrived, he had decided to quit everything except the dog-walking, and he would still babysit for Barkers’ twins if asked. It seemed a good compromise between giving up everything and working himself to the bone.

The Dursleys had ordered him a large pizza, and even allowed him a share in the garlic bread. They all gave him nervous looks as he ate, but no-one said anything about Snape’s threat, trying to pretend that things were normal.

Harry retreated upstairs with a book after dinner, and remembered to turn off his six o’clock alarm—he would not be needing it tomorrow. For the first time in what felt like forever, he went to bed without his tummy rumbling.

Never would have believed Snape would actually help me, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. Makes a nice change … maybe the old bat’s not so bad after all …