Broke! by Alexannah
Past Featured StorySummary: Harry's Gringotts account is empty, with two years left at Hogwarts. What is he going to do? Get a job working for his Potions Master, that's what.
Categories: Healer Snape, Master Snape > Apprentice Harry, Fic Fests > #22 Spring fest 2017, Teacher Snape > Professor Snape, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dumbledore, Molly
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Drama
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe, Injured!Harry, Physical Impairment
Takes Place: 6th summer
Warnings: Neglect
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 13 Completed: No Word count: 26279 Read: 76147 Published: 03 Aug 2017 Updated: 11 Oct 2017
Story Notes:
My entry for the Spring 2017 Fic Fest! Rating may go up as the plot develops.

1. Chapter 1: Overdrawn! by Alexannah

2. Chapter 2: Hired by Alexannah

3. Chapter 3: Falling by Alexannah

4. Chapter 4: Help by Alexannah

5. Chapter 5: Overstretched by Alexannah

6. Chapter 6: Ultimatums by Alexannah

7. Chapter 7: Blackmail by Alexannah

8. Chapter 8: Robbed! by Alexannah

9. Chapter 9: Interrogation by Alexannah

10. Chapter 10: Plotting by Alexannah

11. Chapter 11: Hypocrisy by Alexannah

12. Chapter 12: Fever by Alexannah

13. Chapter 13: Backup by Alexannah

Chapter 1: Overdrawn! by Alexannah

Aunt Petunia’s shriek when the owl flew in through the kitchen window was almost enough to shatter glass.

Harry jumped up to catch the envelope it dropped, wondering who could be so desperate to talk to him. It was only the second morning of the summer holiday, and he didn’t recognise the owl.

The envelope bore a Gringotts stamp. He frowned.

“Shoo!” Aunt Petunia brandished a spatula at the owl, and it flew hastily back out of the window. Not keen on sticking around to hear her ranting about freakiness and filthy animals, Harry quickly took off upstairs.

Now he knew about the prophecy, Harry had decided to get hold of some more advanced Defence books and really knuckle down on preparing himself for whatever came next. He’d only ordered one so far. Maybe this was the confirmation of his transaction? Though those usually came with the actual owl-ordered product, and the catalogue had said to allow three days for delivery.

Harry sat down on his bed and opened the letter. His mouth fell open.

Dear Mr Potter,

Your account is OVERDRAWN. As such we have been unable to process your transaction to Flourish and Blotts.

You have a week in which to pay in the required sum of 14 Sickles 3 Knuts or you will be charged 5 Sickles. If you have not paid in the required amount in two weeks your transaction will be cancelled.

Thank you for banking with Gringotts.

Harry didn’t know how many times he re-read the letter, trying to take it in. By the time he stopped, he could have recited it word for word, but he still couldn’t believe it.

His account was overdrawn? He had no money left at all?

How was that possible? He’d still had piles of money the last time he’d withdrawn! … Mind you, that had been before third year. The last couple of summers, the Weasleys had withdrawn for him. And he had never bothered to find out how much the Hogwarts school fees were; they probably made a sizeable dent. He’d never bothered to keep track of his money full stop—it wasn’t as if he was in the habit of splurging on big things, so he’d thought of himself as careful enough to not need to count the Knuts.

“This can’t be happening,” he moaned, trying to think straight.

He was such an idiot. He had spent all his money, and he still had two years at Hogwarts left.

“Mrs Weasley would have mentioned last year if I was running low,” Harry said to himself, “so the fees for this coming year must have been what emptied it. If I hadn’t had enough for that, the Gringotts letter would have said so, so at least I’m okay for this year …”

He trailed off, realising he wasn’t. He still needed money for his set textbooks, plus he was running low on stationary and potions ingredients, and his robes were a couple of inches too short for him now. He also needed to buy some new toothpaste, and most of his hand-me-downs were so close to falling apart he couldn’t justify not replacing them anymore. That was a small fortune before he even added the extra textbooks he wanted to get.

“What on earth am I going to do?” Harry said desperately to Hedwig. She only ruffled her feathers and put her head under her wing, having been out hunting all night.

It was at that point, as if to answer his question, yet another owl arrived, and dropped the Daily Prophet on his desk. Harry paid the owl out of his last few coins, and sent it away with a note cancelling his subscription. He was going to have to rely on his friends to keep him updated on what was going on now.

“I’ve only got one choice,” Harry said as the thought hit him, grabbing the newspaper and turning to the classifieds. “I’m going to have to get a job.”

He knew from all the careers-related chatter in the last few months that the wizarding world had summer job opportunities for underage wizards. Ron had been talking about getting one this summer, but most students who took one put in their applications months before the holiday.

Harry scanned the jobs section, looking for something suitable. There was only one available.

House-cleaning/errand runner/gardening assistant wanted, 2 S/hr, 4 days/week
SO NMR
Apply Floo 7383787-76273

The SO, Harry knew, stood for Summer Only, and NMR for No Magic Required. He had plenty of experience cleaning and gardening for the Dursleys, too, so it was perfect—except he didn’t know what the Floo number meant.

He left the house and headed for Mrs Figg’s.

“Hello, dear,” she said warmly when she opened the door and saw him there. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine—I just wanted to ask you something. Are you connected to the Floo Network?”

“Yes, I am. Come in, come in. Was there someone you needed to talk to?”

“Er, well, sort of. What’s it mean if someone says Floo followed by a long number?”

“Oh, that—every fireplace is numbered, and some people might give out their number if they don’t wish to give out their address. If you only have the number, you can make Firecalls, but you can’t travel to that address.”

“Oh, okay. Um, in that case, could I make a call?”

“Of course. Would you like a cup of tea or piece of cake or anything?”

“No thanks, Mrs Figg.”

She left him alone, and Harry threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames.

“Seven three eight three seven eight seven dash seven six two seven three,” he reeled off the advert, then hoping he’d said it right, thrust his head into the flames.

It emerged in the fireplace of a dark living-room. He couldn’t make out much, but it smelled quite dusty. No wonder the owner wanted a cleaner. He opened his mouth to call for someone, then promptly sneezed.

A figure appeared in the doorway. “Potter? What are you doing in my fire?”

Harry blinked ash out of his eyes, and his stomach dropped. “P-Professor Snape? This is your house?”

“Yes it is, and you didn’t answer the question,” Snape growled, striding towards the fireplace with a scowl. “What do you want, you little brat?”

“Um … I was looking for a summer job.”

Snape stilled. “You what?”

“A job. It was you who advertised, right? I didn’t get the number wrong?”

“Yes, it was me,” Snape said, still scowling. “What could you possibly want a job for? I thought you were rolling in it. Or did your twit of a father exaggerate the extent of his family fortune that much?”

Feeling a blush creep up his cheeks, Harry knew he would rather eat a live scorpion than admit to Snape he had spent all his family’s money. “No—I just wanted to get some experience working. Hermione keeps telling me it would look better to future employers.”

“And of course you left it to the last minute,” Snape scoffed. “Typical Potter. However, you’re the only applicant I’ve had in four months, so I suppose I can give you a trial run.”

“Great,” Harry said. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to be working for Snape, but he knew he didn’t have much of a choice. “How soon can I start?”

Snape sighed. “You might as well come over now. Make sure you tell whoever’s watching you where you’ve gone. The address is Ty Clogwyn, and you’ll need to say my password afterwards; it’s llafn y.”

“Er, okay. Back in a minute.”

Once Harry had delivered his message, tried to flatten his hair and refused tea and cake from Mrs Figg again, he stepped into the Floo fully. “Ty Clogwyn, llafn y.”

He hoped he’d remembered and pronounced it right as he tumbled through the fireplaces, wondering idly why Snape had a Welsh-sounding house address and password when his accent was unmistakably English.

As always, he stumbled from the fireplace the other end. He brushed off the soot, noting with relief that it was the same living-room from before.

Now he had a better view, Harry saw it wasn’t as dark as it had looked. There was a large window, but the thin grey curtains were drawn across it, a sliver of light coming in from between them. The walls were panelled in dark brown wood, the floor grey stone, and the furniture was a reddish-brown and sagging.

Snape reappeared in the doorway. “You’re here.” Unsurprisingly, he didn’t sound enthusiastic. He gave Harry a critical look. “Get the rest of that soot off you, and then follow me.”

“Why are the curtains closed?” Harry asked as he brushed himself down vigorously.

“They don’t open,” Snape said. “Fixing it will be one of your tasks, if you are up to the job.”

Harry had no idea how to fix a dodgy curtain rail, but decided he’d better not say this.

Once Snape was satisfied Harry wasn’t going to trail soot all over the dusty floor, he showed Harry around the ground floor. The hallway, library/study and back room were all furnished similarly, though the curtains in them were actually open, letting in plenty of sunlight, so it didn’t seem so dismal. The kitchen and laundry room were very old-fashioned, and the windows of the small conservatory were almost impossible to see out of because the greenery around it had almost covered it. Snape led him into the garden, which was so overgrown it would have put the Forbidden Forest to shame.

“I do not expect you to clear this all up yourself,” Snape said, to Harry’s utter relief. “I will be doing the tasks which require magic, but there are plenty of others that simply require manual labour and elbow grease. Assuming you still want the job, I wish to start with the garden.”

“Yes, sir. I can do it.”

Snape gave Harry a funny look, clearly having expected him to change his mind when he saw how much was needed to do. “All right, then.”

-

For three solid hours Harry worked under the streaming hot sun. The garden was filled with all sorts of both magical and non-magical plants, some of them dangerous. Snape had given him very specific instructions.

“The blue ones have to be dug up completely, not a single root left in the ground. Be careful around the red ones; watch your fingers and don’t smell the flowers, they have very poisonous fangs. I have antidotes to hand but all the same I would rather not have to use them on you.”

Trekking through the garden, which Harry couldn’t even make out the size of, was like fighting his way through a jungle. At one point Harry slipped and plunged headfirst into a pond he hadn’t even realised was there. When he staggered over to Snape covered in painful stings, bites and rashes from whatever creatures were lurking inside, he received an apology from the man, for the first time in his life.

“I’m sorry, Potter; I had no idea there was a pond there.”

“This is your house, isn’t it?” Harry said shortly, realising even as he said it that surely no-one could have lived in it for years—it was in an even worse state than Grimmauld Place had been.

“Technically, yes. I inherited it last summer, but I haven’t had a chance to explore every inch yet.” Snape grabbed Harry’s wrist to stop him scratching his red throbbing skin. “I’ll get you some cream for those.”

“Thanks, Professor.”

Harry followed Snape into the house, swaying a little upon entering, and Snape grabbed his arm to steady him. He led him into the kitchen, where he rifled through one of the cupboards and pulled out a selection of healing salves.

“Um … I’m not fired, am I?” Harry asked as Snape, surprisingly gently, rubbed the paste into his itching skin.

“Believe it or not Potter, I am not going to fire you for falling into a pond.”

“Oh. Good. Thanks.”

“Though in future you should be more careful where you put your feet.”

To be continued...
End Notes:
The next chapter will be posted when I've written it--I'm hoping to at least get another couple of chapters up by the end of the week, but can't promise anything.
Chapter 2: Hired by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
I changed Harry’s wage because when I added up his weekly earnings it sounded like a lot. I’d based it on HP Wikia’s estimations of the value in pounds, but individual amounts in the books themselves don’t seem to correlate with this, so it’s all subjective.

Harry was much more careful where he put his feet as the day continued.

Around midday, it clouded over and started to rain heavily, so Snape moved them indoors, and he took a break for lunch.

Harry hadn’t thought to bring anything to eat, and Snape didn’t look too keen to feed him, so he pretended he’d had a big breakfast and wasn’t hungry, and hoped Snape wouldn’t hear his stomach grumbling. While Snape made himself a sandwich, Harry was instructed to make a start on the master bedroom.

There were four bedrooms upstairs, and two bathrooms. Everything was coated in dust, except the bed in the master bedroom and a trunk next to it. The bedframe was old but in good shape, the mattress brand new, but the bedclothes were folded neatly in a corner, a sleeping-bag on the bed itself.

As instructed, Harry removed the grimy curtains, and washed both them, the bedroom rugs, and the bedclothes. Snape had no washing-machine, but there were spells on his laundry room equipment to make it easier than it would have been washing them completely by hand. There must have been some sort of colour-restoring element to the soap, for they emerged much less faded. The bedclothes and curtains matched, a pretty Victorian floral pattern.

Snape came into the room as Harry was just hanging them out. “Finished?”

“Almost, sir.”

“When you’re done, I want you to make a start on the floorboards.”

“Yes, sir.”

Once everything was hanging out to dry, Harry returned to the bedroom with a broom, dustpan and brush, bucket of soapy water, a scrubbing brush, and Villyfeather’s Magnificent Magical Varnish.

He was really hungry, having barely touched his breakfast due to being distracted by his financial problem. But he wasn’t going to cave and ask Snape for something to eat—he’d stick it out till dinner. He’d gone without food for longer at the Dursleys’, after all. And whilst doing manual labour as well.

By five o’clock, Harry had scrubbed and polished the bedroom floorboards till they shone, dusted and polished all the furniture, made the bed with the clean and dry bedclothes—the holes in them had disappeared, so Snape must have used magic to fix them—washed the windows, rehung the curtains, and got rid of the moths and spiders.

He felt ready to collapse. He was obviously out of practise, not having done chores this strenuous in years.

Snape inspected his work carefully, and Harry held his breath. There was a long pause.

“Adequate, I suppose,” Snape said finally. Harry nearly fainted with relief. The fact that Snape hadn’t criticised he knew meant he couldn’t find any fault with it. “It seems you are up to the task after all, Potter.”

“Thank you, sir. Does this mean I’ve got the job?”

Snape nodded. “It does. I want you here at nine sharp, Potter. Nine till five Mondays to Thursdays. Do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you prefer your salary in cash or Gringotts transfers?”

“Um, transfers please.”

They went downstairs, and Snape wrote up and signed a transfer order there and then and sent it off with his owl.

“See you tomorrow morning then, Potter. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t sir. Bye.”

Harry Flooed back to Mrs Figg’s, then walked home, doing the maths in his head.

Eight hours a day at two Sickles per hour … that made just under a Galleon each day … three Galleons thirteen Sickles each week. Well, it would go some way to buying his necessities, but even if he got everything second-hand, he wasn’t certain it would cover it. Plus he would need money through the year as well.

His school fees for seventh year he was trying not to worry about. He’d heard that people were allowed to postpone payment if they had financial trouble. The thought of explaining to Dumbledore why he needed to postpone made Harry squirm with embarrassment, but he didn’t see any other way to do it. But that was a problem to deal with later. Right now he had enough on his plate.

His job with Snape was definitely a start, but he needed more …

Harry came to a sudden stop as he passed the post office. As always there was a mass of cards in the window, people advertising various goods and services, and for various goods and services.

I only work four days a week, Harry thought with a jolt. I could get another job in my spare time.

There was also an advert for someone to do a paper round in the early morning. Harry could do that before he went to Snape’s, and then something else at the weekend. All right, so his salary would be in Muggle money, but he could always get that changed when he went to Gringotts. It was better than nothing.

-

Severus Snape had very conflicted thoughts about letting the Potter boy work for him.

The boy had turned out to be a surprisingly good cleaner. Now Severus thought about it, Potter had been rather good at the cleaning up in classes and detentions, and for that matter the ingredient preparation—it was the subtleties of brewing he fell down on. Still, his work ethic had surprised him.

Mind you, Potter could well just have been trying extra hard in order to be hired. It wouldn’t surprise Severus. He wished there was an alternative option, but the only students who had called in interest had changed their minds when they saw who they would be working for. And Severus couldn’t do it all by himself.

He really didn’t want to put up with Potter’s company all summer—during term time was long enough. However, there was a perk. Working for Severus would keep Potter out of trouble, at least for thirty-two hours a week.

-

Harry arrived back at Number Four jubilantly holding a paper round position, and with the details of all the suitable adverts for one-off or weekend jobs that were in the window.

After grabbing a piece of toast, he sent a letter to Flourish and Blotts cancelling his order, and one to Gringotts telling them he had some money coming in regularly now, but could they cancel his transaction to Flourish and Blotts anyway.

Next Harry began phoning the numbers on the adverts.

“Hello, do you still need a dog walker on Fridays? … Oh.”

“I’m interested in the job you posted in—Am I what? … Qualified? What qualifications do you need to wash a car?”

“You were looking for a petsitter for this weekend? Yes, I’m available then.”

“Yes, I’m good with kids. Er … no, I’m afraid I don’t have references …”

“I have lots of gardening experience.”

“What sort of DIY does the job entail?”

Harry wrote it all down as he went, so after he had rung dozens of different numbers, he had a timetable of work. In addition to the daily paper round and Snape’s job, he had taken three regular jobs and filled in the gaps that week with a number of one-off jobs.

He totalled up the quoted salaries, and it made just over sixty pounds for the week, not including Snape’s Galleons. That was more like it.

Looking at his timetable, Harry saw there wasn’t an awful lot of free space. (He also knew he was working far more hours than he was legally supposed to, but that should be okay as long as neither Snape nor his Muggle employers found out about the others.) However, his weekend job was housesitting, which entailed very little actual physical work; he could take his homework with him and do it there.

Now Harry had made a proper plan, he felt a lot more relaxed, and headed downstairs to have his long-awaited dinner.

He found Aunt Petunia washing up. She turned to look at him with a scowl as he entered. “What do you want?”

“Um, dinner, please,” Harry said, looking around for his plate.

“You were up there for hours; we thought you weren’t eating,” Petunia said, going back to the dishes.

“You mean you didn’t leave me any?”

“No we didn’t. Have some cereal or something.”

Harry groaned. He’d been looking forward to sitting down with a hot meal when he’d finished sorting out all his financial problems.

“And stop looking so sorry for yourself; you can’t expect us to read your mind. If you can’t be bothered to come to the table when the rest of us eat, you can go without.”

Harry checked in the fridge and the cupboards, hoping to find something he could quickly cook himself, but there wasn’t a lot of options.

“And another thing,” Petunia said, clanging the china together more forcefully. “Exactly how much time did you spend on the phone?”

“Um …” Harry didn’t want to admit he had probably rung about thirty or forty numbers over the course of two and a half hours. “Why?”

“Because when the bill comes, you will be paying for it. We’re not paying for you to phone up all your freaky little friends.”

Harry’s heart sank. “Oh. Okay.” He almost told her he hadn’t been phoning wizards, but stopped himself just in time. That would provoke questions as to who he was calling, and if he told the Dursleys he had got a job (or more), they would have the money off him before he could say ‘bankrupt’.

He poured himself some cereal and ate it in silence, then returned to his bedroom. Since he was going to be up at six for his paper round from now on, he needed to get an early night. Harry undressed and got into bed, and read for an hour or so before setting his alarm and turning out the light.

-

The early night had been a smart move. When his alarm had jolted him awake at six the next morning, Harry had had nearly nine hours’ sleep. He had silenced it quickly before it woke the Dursleys, showered and dressed, quickly stuffed several slices of toast and marmalade, pocketed more bread and some fruit for his lunch, and slipped quietly out of the house.

The paper round route thankfully did not include Privet Drive, or Mrs Figg’s house. Harry knew the area well, and it took less than the estimated hour and a half the post office had told him. Once he was done, Harry collected his payment and went early to Mrs Figg’s. The tea and cake was very welcome despite tasting years old.

“I think it’s very brave of you to work for Professor Snape,” Mrs Figg said, her eyes sparkling a little. “I’ve heard all sorts of stories about you two.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, if it gets me a better job after school, I’m game.”

“Would you like another slice, dear?”

“Um, no thanks Mrs Figg, I should get going now.”

He Flooed to Snape’s house at five minutes to nine. Snape entered the room when he heard him, and his mouth fell open in astonishment.

“Morning, Professor,” Harry said, feeling being polite was the best way to keep this bearable.

“Er … morning, Potter.” Snape checked his watch, then the grandfather clock (which had stopped at twenty past five a long time ago, judging by the cobwebs on the hands). “Punctual for once. I hope for your sake you keep it up.”

“What do you want me to do today, Professor? Oh, and do you have somewhere I could put my lunch? I don’t want it getting squashed or dusty in my pocket.”

“Show me,” Snape said, not answering the question. Harry pulled out three slightly crushed slices of bread, an apple and a banana. Snape raised his eyebrows a little, but didn’t comment on Harry’s choice of lunch. “Follow me.”

He led Harry to the kitchen, and opened a cupboard to reveal a large cool box inside it. Inside it was tins, jars and packets of ready-to-eat and finger food, a tin opener, a few pieces of clean crockery and some Tupperware boxes. He rummaged around and found an empty one the right size.

“In future it would be prudent for you to bring your own lunchbox, Potter,” he said, holding it out.

“Yes, sir,” Harry said, not wanting to admit that he didn’t own a lunchbox, nor that he had almost forgot to pack a lunch at all. He was going to have to buy a box with his earnings. He packed his food in the box, and Snape packed it in the cool box.

“As it happens, I want you to start on the pantry next. It will probably take most if not all of the day.”

“Yes sir.”

To be continued...
Chapter 3: Falling by Alexannah

The pantry did take all day. Whoever had lived in the house before Snape inherited had obviously not been very careful; there were old spills stuck to the floor and several broken glass jars, fragments scattered over the floor. Harry was just grateful Snape had already removed the mouldy food.

Harry scrubbed clean every surface, fixed several wobbly shelves, replaced the couple which were so rotten they wouldn’t hold anything, and made the whole thing suitable for storing food again. Once he was done, Snape had him unpack his cool box and put everything away.

“The rest of the kitchen can be tomorrow’s job,” Snape said, looking around at the dusty work surfaces.

“Okay, sir,” Harry said faintly.

Once Snape had dismissed him, he Flooed back to Mrs Figg’s and hurried back to Privet Drive. His working day still wasn’t over.

“Aunt Petunia,” he said as he hurried into the house, “do you think you could save me some dinner tonight?”

“Why, what are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

Harry thought about saying “Oh, Mr Ferrero asked if I would walk his dogs”, but he didn’t want Petunia to ask him about it and be told he was paying him.

“I’m going for a walk; need some fresh air.”

“You just came back from one!”

“No, I came back from Mrs Figg’s,” Harry said truthfully. “I’ve been in her house all day. I’ll be back around seven.”

“Fine, fine. Go and walk, then, I’ll save you some damn dinner.”

“Thanks.”

Harry took a quick shower and put on his best clothes, then left for Mr Ferrero’s house. He took a deep breath, and rang the doorbell.

It was opened by a man in about his sixties, with greying hair. He had three tiny dogs in his arms.

“Hello, Mr Ferrero.”

“I know you … You’re the Dursleys’ nephew, aren’t you?” he said, sounding wary. His arms tightened protectively around the dogs.

“I am,” Harry said, realising with disappointment that he might have counted his chickens before they hatched. “Look, I promise, whatever my aunt and uncle have told you about my criminal tendencies, is complete rubbish. They lie about me and my parents all the time; it’s an old family grudge.”

Mr Ferrero hesitated.

“I promise, sir, your dogs are in safe hands. Animals like me. And I’m studying Care of—I mean, animal care at school.”

“Well … all right,” he said slowly, putting them down. “But I swear, if anything happens to them on your watch …”

“It won’t, I swear,” Harry assured him.

After being introduced to the Pomeranian called Vanilla, the Chihuahua called Ziggy and the Dachshund called Tess, and given a long list of what they did and didn’t like and where their favourite spots were, as well as other miscellaneous advice, Mr Ferrero finally handed Harry the leads.

“You’re not getting a penny till you’ve returned them safe and sound,” he promised, and knelt down to say goodbye, cuddling each dog close and telling them to be good.

When Harry finally left the house, he took the dogs to the park, which was on the list of their favourite spots. Vanilla and Tess seemed well-behaved enough, but Ziggy was a bit of a handful, pulling on the lead this way and that as he stuck his nose in everything from a drainpipe to a passing pedestrian’s trouser leg.

Dogs were allowed off their leads on the green, though not in the playground. Harry let the dogs off and threw their toys for them to fetch, which they seemed to like, though he had to herd Ziggy away from the playground a dozen times. He grimaced when Vanilla did her business by the fence post, but dutifully cleared it up.

When they looked like they were getting tired, Harry whistled them back, put the leads back on (after a short tug-of-war with Ziggy) and took them home.

Mr Ferraro fussed over them, checking every inch and asking hundreds of questions.

“They’re fine, Mr Ferraro, see? I would never hurt your dogs.”

“Well … thank you.” He stood up, and watched Tess worry playfully at Harry’s shoelace. Harry leaned down and stroked her. “You understand I was worried—”

“Yes, I do. So you’re still happy for me to look after them on Friday?”

“Yes, yes. Here you are; you’ve earned it.”

Harry left Mr Ferrero’s house relieved, exhausted, and a couple of quid richer. He returned home, hid his earnings for the day under the loose floorboard in his bedroom, then headed to the kitchen in the hope of finally being able to eat a proper meal.

He couldn’t find any plates of food about, nor could he find anything stored in the fridge. He went in search of his aunt, and found her in the living-room watching television with Vernon.

“Aunt Petunia? Did you leave me any dinner? I can’t find anything.”

“Hmm?” she said, not tearing her eyes away from the game show.

Harry sighed, and stationed himself in front of the television. Both of them protested.

“Aunt Petunia,” he repeated. She and Vernon were trying to peer around him. He picked up the remote and turned the television off completely. “Did you leave me any dinner?

“What? Oh—no, I forgot.”

Harry stared at her. No dinner again?

“Stop whinging and put the telly back on, boy,” Vernon grumbled.

Harry tossed the control into his aunt’s lap, not very gently, and returned to the kitchen. Since Dudley had been put on his diet, the Dursleys didn’t keep much in the kitchen at once to stop him having midnight raids, only buying what they needed for that day each morning. His choice was bread, milk, cereal or fruit, and there wasn’t much of any of them left. If Harry used up the bread, milk or cereal, he’d be in trouble in the morning for not leaving any for breakfast. So he helped himself to the last banana and orange.

-

The next morning, Harry borrowed Dudley’s old Mickey Mouse lunchbox he’d taken to school, in the hope none of the Dursleys would notice it gone. It wasn’t as if he ever used it nowadays, but all the same, it was still ‘his’, and that meant he didn’t want Harry to touch it. Harry couldn’t use his own lunchbox because Dudley had broken it early into his school life, and since Petunia had refused to buy another one, from then on Harry had been forced to take his sandwiches to school loose in his bag. It had made for some very messy homework.

The jam sandwich and banana didn’t fill the lunchbox by any means (it had, after all, been Dudley’s), but he didn’t dare take any more food. He was relying on Mrs Figg to offer him cake again for his breakfast as it was. Still, at least, he should be able to eat a proper meal tonight—he got back from Snape’s just after five and wasn’t due anywhere else till eight.

Harry completed his paper round in good time, and headed to Mrs Figg’s.

“Hello again, dear,” she said cheerfully. “Tea?”

“Oh, yes please,” Harry said, though a nasty thought had occurred to him. “Um … do you have any cake today?”

“Afraid not, Harry. I have a few biscuits left, though.”

Harry drank his tea and ate the two stale shortbread that Mrs Figg offered him, too polite to ask for more. He thanked her, and moved onto Snape’s, hoping his stomach’s growls weren’t audible to anyone else but him.

“Morning, Potter.”

“Morning, Professor,” Harry replied. His stomach gave a huge gurgle, and he felt himself go bright red as Snape looked at him, frowning.

“Potter, tell me you weren’t stupid enough to skip breakfast this morning. You need the energy for manual labour.”

“I had breakfast,” Harry insisted, thinking quickly. “I think it just disagreed with me. I’m not hungry.” His stomach gurgled again, and he wished he could silence it.

“Good.”

Harry spent the day cleaning the kitchen, making it suitable for actually preparing food in. Every inch of it was scrubbed (even the ceiling) until it was spotless. The whole time, he thought longingly of his dinner that night, and spent the morning resisting the urge to eat his lunch early.

It was almost time for him to leave, when he heard a voice calling from the living-room. It wasn’t Snape’s. Harry entered curiously, and saw Dumbledore’s head sitting in the fire.

“Hello, Harry,” he said pleasantly, apparently not surprised at all to see him there. “Is Severus around?”

“He’s on the roof,” Harry said. “Do you want me to call him?”

“That would be very helpful, thank you.”

“Okay, back in a minute.”

Harry left the house through the back door, which Snape had taken earlier. It was the first time he had stepped outside the house. He had seen out of the windows, and knew they were on the top of a cliff in the middle of nowhere, but he hadn’t been able to hear the sea much inside. Now, the noise almost deafened him.

He called Snape from the bottom of the ladder and got no reply, so he climbed it up to the roof.

The roof didn’t look very stable, but Snape had told him that the house was being held together by magic until he’d finished magically sealing the materials back together. Still, he climbed very gingerly up the tiles.

“Professor Snape?” he called again.

Snape was on his knees on the topmost point, wand in hand. When he saw Harry, he was so startled he dropped it. “What are you doing up here? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

“Professor Dumbledore wants to talk to you, he’s in the fire.”

“Oh.” Snape got carefully to his feet. A particularly strong gust of wind made them both stagger, and Harry’s foot stepped on Snape’s wand.

It snapped, and he slipped.

“AAHHH!” Harry tumbled sideways down the tiles. A hand grasped his arm, almost yanking it from his shoulder, and he saw Snape had caught him—but he was still dangling off the roof.

He looked down, and his stomach turned. This side of the house was right on the cliff edge. It was a long, sheer drop down to some very jagged rocks.

“Potter—” Snape gasped. He was clinging onto Harry’s arm with both of his, his legs wrapped around the chimney to stop him from falling too. “Climb—up—quick—”

Harry scrabbled around for footholds, but couldn’t find any big enough to lever himself up. “C-can’t you just pull me up?”

Snape grunted, his face soaked with sweat. “No!”

Their hands were slipping. Harry cried out as he fell from Snape’s grasp. He heard Snape yelling his name in panic as the wind whistled through his ears. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the rocks racing up towards him.

To be continued...
Chapter 4: Help by Alexannah

“NOOO!” Severus screamed as Potter slid from his slippery grip.

He grabbed his broken wand and attempted every spell he could think of, but his wand only sparked angrily at him and refused to function. Instead, he watched in horror as the boy fell, his heart completely still.

The fall seemed to last hours—plenty of time for Severus to reflect on how he’d utterly failed. Time enough to be overcome with guilt that he had (however inadvertently) caused the boy’s death. Time enough to be filled with a hopeless helplessness, watching and knowing that there was nothing he could do.

Harry Potter kept falling, tumbling over and over in the air …

… and then he bounced.

Severus couldn’t believe his eyes. As if he had hit some invisible trampoline, Potter ricocheted back towards him and landed ungainly on the roof with an “Ouch!”

“P-Potter?” Severus stammered. “Y-you’re alive?”

“Ow,” Potter moaned. “Looks like it.” He sat up, nursing his head. “What was that?”

Overcome with relief that he hadn’t caused the boy’s death, Severus grabbed his shoulders, and almost pulled him close—but stopped himself at the last moment. Potter looked pretty startled.

“Are you all right?”

“Er, yeah I think so. Just a few bumps and bruises.”

Severus forced his stern expression back. “Perhaps this will teach you to be more careful, Potter.”

“Well I certainly won’t be coming up here again, if that’s what you mean,” the boy muttered. His eyes fell on the two wand pieces between them, and they grew solemn. “I’m sorry I broke your wand.”

Severus swallowed hard. “The important thing is you didn’t fall to your death. Now I think we’d better get down from here the safe way, and see what the Headmaster wants.”

He tried to get to his feet, but fell back with an undignified whimper. He wished he had known the last owner had cast a Safety Net Charm over the top of the rocks. Trying to hang onto Potter had sent crippling pain through his entire body. Under normal circumstances, he would never have been able to hold up something as heavy as a skinny sixteen-year-old at all—he had never pushed himself this far before.

“Professor?” Potter sounded strangely concerned. “Are you all right?”

“I—I’m fine,” Severus stammered, and gritting his teeth, tried to get up again. But every movement made the pain so much worse. Anyone with lesser self-control would have been screaming in agony.

“You don’t look fine,” Potter said, biting his lip. “Do you need help?”

Severus had never even asked Albus for help; the last thing he wanted was to ask Potter. But he knew from experience that the pain wouldn’t settle back to normal for days. He couldn’t stay up here all that time.

“I-I do, actually,” he half-whispered, completely humiliated. “I n-need your help to get up, Potter.”

Without asking any questions, Potter put one of Severus’ arms around his neck and pulled him to his feet. To his further shame, Severus’ legs refused to take his weight, and he leaned on Potter completely.

“I dunno how we’re going to get you down the ladder,” Potter said, looking anxiously down at them. “Any ideas?”

Severus thought for a moment. “Give me your wand.”

Potter pulled it from his pocket with his free hand and passed it to him. Severus conjured a parachute.

-

Snape’s knees buckled again once they hit the ground. Harry hung onto and steadied him, worried about his teacher. He didn’t understand what was wrong with Snape, and Snape didn’t seem keen on sharing, but he hoped his little accident hadn’t somehow hurt him.

He helped Snape into the house, and through to the living-room, where Snape collapsed looking relieved into an armchair. “Albus,” he croaked, and Harry turned around to see Dumbledore still in the fire, now frowning anxiously. “What is it?”

“Are you all right, Severus?”

“I’m fine. Just twisted my ankle a little on the roof; nothing I can’t fix. What were you calling for?”

“I believe I sent you the list of suggestions our colleagues came up with for the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher for your input.”

“Oh, yes,” Snape muttered. “Well, I know for a fact that the Kettering family have Death Eater ties, and I’ve heard rumours about the sort of things Deerchase got up to in his last post which you certainly don’t want of a teacher. The others I don’t know anything about.”

“Thank you. Let me know if you think of anything else.” Dumbledore turned his eyes on Harry. “Having a good holiday, Harry?” he asked with a trace of humour in his eyes.

“I’ve had worse,” Harry said.

“That’s the spirit. Enjoy your renovations, Severus.”

“Bye, Albus.”

Once Dumbledore had gone, Harry gave Snape a stern look. “You did not twist your ankle. Why did you lie to Dumbledore?”

“That’s my business, Potter.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll just go home and leave you there, then. See you in the morning.”

“Wait!” Snape said quickly. Harry gave him a pointed look. “All right, fine. I’m … probably not going to be able to get up for hours, maybe even days.”

“How come?”

For a long moment Snape didn’t speak, just stared at the floor. “Post-Cruciatus effects,” he muttered finally, his cheeks reddening.

“Oh,” Harry said softly.

“It’s difficult—well, impossible really—for me to do things like moving heavy objects … heavy duty cleaning … that’s why I wanted an assistant to do the strenuous work. If I try, the pain flares up badly.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said awkwardly. “Is there anything I can do?”

Snape paused to think. “I don’t know how I can manage without my wand.”

“You could borrow mine—”

Snape shook his head vigorously. “And if the Dark Lord were to attack you whilst you had lent it to me? Don’t be stupid, Potter.”

“Okay … well, what if I were to get someone else to lend you their wand, or even come and look after you?”

“The Headmaster has enough on his plate, and …” Snape grimaced. “No-one else is going to volunteer.”

“I bet you I could Floo away now and be back with someone in five minutes,” Harry said.

“How much do you bet?”

“A Sickle.”

“I’ll take that bet.”

“Okay then.” Harry turned to the Floo.

He tumbled out of the fireplace at the Burrow, and was met with a number of excited squeaks. “Harry!” He was engulfed in hugs. “What are you doing here?”

“Where’s your mum?” Harry said to the twins.

“In the garden.”

He hurried outside without explaining, and found Molly and Ron outside in the middle of de-gnoming the garden.

“Harry!” Both were so startled, they dropped the gnomes they had been holding, who took the opportunity to escape. “Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said. “I don’t know if you heard, Mrs Weasley, that I got a job working for Snape—”

Snape?” Ron gasped. “Are you off your rocker?”

“I heard, dear,” Molly said quickly. “Is he making things difficult again? Because I swear, if I hear of one more—”

“No, nothing like that. He’s, um, sort of not very well, and his wand’s broken, and he needs to either borrow a wand or have someone look after him for a few days—”

“Oh, the poor dear,” Molly said, Snape instantly going from the villain to one of her dears. “I’d be happy to help.”

Triumphant, Harry Flooed back to Snape’s house.

“I notice you return alone, Potter.”

“Not exactly,” Harry said. “Molly Weasley is packing an overnight bag and telling her family where she’s going. I believe you owe me a Sickle, sir.”

-

Harry left Snape in Molly’s capable hands. She was running him a hot bath when he left, a Sickle better off but feeling bad that Snape was in so much pain because of him.

He’d never known the Cruciatus had effects other than what had happened to Neville’s parents. He wondered if they had the pain as well as the insanity. How had Snape been tortured so much? Would Voldemort really do that to his own followers? Harry knew Voldemort did use the Cruciatus on his followers, but surely he wouldn’t use it enough to leave permanent damage? Why would anyone want to follow someone who did that to them?

Maybe that was why Snape had left Voldemort’s circle … Oh, no, whatever that reason was, Dumbledore knew it—and he obviously didn’t know about Snape’s Cruciatus effects, or Snape wouldn’t have lied to him, would he?

Harry sighed. His brain hurt.

He let himself into the Dursleys’ house, and looked for his aunt to ask her how soon she would be doing dinner, but couldn’t find her anywhere.

“Aunt Petunia? Aunt Petunia? … Uncle Vernon? Dudley?”

Finally he found a note on the kitchen bench.

Having dinner with your uncle’s boss. Help yourself to cereal or something. Aunt Petunia

-

Babysitting, which Harry had anticipated as a very demanding task, had actually been easier than he had expected. The twin five-year-olds were already in their pyjamas on their way to bed when he had arrived. What was more, their parents didn’t seem to recognise him as the Dursleys’ nephew, and he made no effort to enlighten them.

“Now this is the number you can reach us at, and I think that’s everything … Oh, and just to warn you, Petey sometimes wakes up after an hour or two and comes down for a snack. He can have anything from the tin on the bench, but nothing else.”

“Got it.”

Once the parents had gone, the kids had happily done their teeth, and let him read them a story and tuck them into bed.

“Mr Harry?”

“Yes, Polly?” Harry said with a grin. He had never been called Mr Harry before.

“You’re nicer than our last babysitter.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Now go to sleep, kiddos.”

They giggled a little when he turned off the main light, but soon settled down. He hovered on the landing till he was sure they were asleep, then returned downstairs and took out a textbook, which he’d hidden inside a Muggle book’s dust cover.

After an hour and a half, he heard little footsteps on the stairs, and put his book down. “Petey? Is that you?”

The little boy appeared in the lounge doorway. “Mr Harry, can I have something to eat?”

“’Course you can. Come on.” Harry led him into the kitchen and opened the tin on the bench. “What would you like?”

“Ice cream.”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you ice cream, kiddo; your parents said you’re only allowed what’s in here.” He held out the tin and rattled it invitingly.

Petey pouted. “I want ice cream.”

“No ice cream,” Harry said firmly.

“Chocolate?”

“Or chocolate. Pick something from in here.”

Petey folded his arms and sulked.

Harry rifled through the tin. “We’ve got crackers, breadsticks, raisins …”

“They’re too crunchy. And I don’t like fruit.”

Harry had a brainwave. “How about I make them all soggy?”

Petey looked on in fascination as Harry crushed several crackers and mixed them with cold water, creating a mush, then mixed some raisins into it. “There. Now you can pretend you have chocolate chip ice cream.”

“Um …”

“Open wide!” Harry loaded a spoon and made choo-chooing noises. “Here comes the train towards the tunnel!”

It worked like a dream. Petey not only ate the mush, he actually seemed to like it. Once he was done, Harry made him clean his teeth again, tucked him back up in bed, and washed up.

Piece of cake, he thought. He regretted his choice of words a moment later as his stomach groaned. Harry firmly closed the lid on the tin of snacks and pushed it far away from him before he lost the battle not to help himself. He was not going to steal even one cracker from his employers—especially since he didn’t trust himself to stop at one if he started.

To be continued...
Chapter 5: Overstretched by Alexannah

The next morning, Harry felt a bit more positive. He arrived at Snape’s house having eaten both cereal and cake, and not feeling quite so hungry.

“I’m here. Hello?” he called, finding the living room empty.

Molly appeared from the kitchen. “Oh, morning, dear. Professor Snape’s still asleep, but he gave me instructions to give you.”

“How is he?”

Her face softened in sympathy. “Not very good. He still can’t get up of his own accord. Poor dear looks terrible—and he’s not very good at accepting help,” she added, sounding exasperated. “Rather like you, dear.”

Harry grinned awkwardly, not trusting himself to speak. She took a good look at him, and frowned.

“Talking of which, dear, you’re looking very peaky. Are you sure you’re eating enough? You should be having more than usual with all the work you’re doing for Professor Snape.”

“I’m fine,” Harry lied. “What’s, um, wrong with Professor Snape, anyway?” He was interested to know if Snape had actually told her.

“Acute Lacerti Pestis. He’ll be fine, dear, he just needs a few days of rest.”

“Er … that’s what he told you?” Harry asked slowly.

“Yes, why?”

Snape really was a world-class liar. Not that Harry was one to talk. Although he wasn’t convinced Snape was doing the right thing, refusing to tell Molly or Dumbledore what was really wrong with him, Harry could understand keeping something like that to himself.

“Nothing.”

Harry didn’t see hide nor hair of Snape all day, for because it was good weather, Snape had him continuing to work in the garden. Molly alternately fussed over Snape and supervised Harry to make sure he didn’t fall into anything else.

When Harry took his break for lunch, Molly took one look at his single round of jam sandwiches and insisted on making him two more from Snape’s own food stocks.

“You need more than that to eat, dear—my goodness, no wonder you look so peaky—”

“But it’s Snape’s food,” Harry insisted. “If he wanted me to eat it, he’d have offered—”

“You let me handle Severus, dear. You need a decent-sized meal and you need some protein, too—where was that peanut butter I saw?”

It was only the knowledge that Molly Weasley could be scarier than Snape when she wanted to be, and of all the people Harry knew she was one of the few that probably could handle him, that made him accept the peanut butter sandwiches. For the first time in days, he didn’t still feel hungry after eating, and attacked his afternoon’s work feeling a little better.

When Harry arrived home late that afternoon, he was hit with a delicious smell of cooking food.

“When’s dinner?” he asked Petunia, who was checking on something in the oven.

“Not for an hour or so.”

“Okay. Please call me when it’s ready.”

She mumbled an agreement, and Harry retreated upstairs. With no other job on that evening, he was determined to make some progress on his homework.

He opened the textbook he’d been reading at a bookmarked page, spread out a fresh roll of parchment, and inked his quill.

The next thing he knew, his alarm was going off.

Harry jerked awake, blinking stupidly. Why was his alarm going off? He was resetting it every morning for the next one …

Then he saw the daylight creeping through the curtains, and realised it was morning. His parchment was blank apart from an inky smudge. He’d fallen asleep the moment he sat down—he must have been asleep for over twelve hours!

And he’d missed dinner AGAIN!

Cursing his aunt for not waking him up, Harry hurried to silence his alarm, reset it for the next morning, and began getting ready for his paper round.

If he made himself three rounds of sandwiches for his lunch, that would mean nothing for breakfast again except a handful of grapes. So he ate one of the rounds with the grapes, leaving two for his lunch. That should hopefully keep Molly from giving him Snape’s food again—even if Snape were to tolerate a one-off, Harry didn’t want to push it by eating his food daily. Nor did he want Snape—or even Molly—to find out why he was eating his food.

Before he left, Harry left a note for Petunia on the bench.

PLEASE LEAVE ME SOME DINNER! HARRY

-

“Morning, Potter,” Snape said when Harry Flooed in. He was lying on the sofa with a blanket over him—Molly’s doing, no doubt—and holding a mug of coffee.

“Morning, sir. How are you doing?”

“A little better,” Snape said shortly, and quickly changed the subject. “I want you working in here today.”

“Yes, sir.”

Working was worse when Snape was right there watching. He didn’t criticise as much as he did while watching Harry brew a potion, but his gaze was very off-putting.

The soft furniture had all been cleaned by magic, so that left Harry to wash the rugs and curtains, and dust and varnish everything else. His lack of proper meals was definitely taking its toll. He worked as hard as he ever had, but doing so drained him more than it had to begin with. Thankfully, Snape didn’t seem to notice how much more effort it took him.

Molly didn’t seem to notice either, for she only came in and out, and hadn’t seen him working beforehand anyway. Snape didn’t seem to like relying on her to do everything for him, going red every time he had to ask, and bemoaned her constant “mollycoddling”, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion he actually liked the affectionate attention.

He paused his scrubbing of the floorboards to eat his lunch. Molly tutted again at his sandwiches.

“What? I’ve got more than yesterday,” Harry said.

“I’ll make you another round, dear, and you should really have a different filling.”

“What’s wrong with honey? It’s got energy in it.”

“Yes but it goes quickly. You’d be better off with protein.”

“The Dursleys don’t keep peanut butter anymore, not since Aunt Petunia had a reaction to it.”

“What about cheese or ham or something?” Molly asked, cutting slices of cheese for Harry’s sandwich.

“Don’t have any of that either.”

“Well maybe you should get them to buy some. Here you go, dear.”

-

Once five o’clock came, Harry headed straight to Miss Price’s house. She was an elderly neighbour who needed someone to help her with housework.

She was very chatty, and seemed to take a liking to him. He listened to lots of stories of her youth as he did her laundry, ironing, vacuuming and cooked her dinner. His back was aching by the time he had finished, but his working day wasn’t done.

He headed straight to Mr and Mrs Jenkins’ house to babysit their kids for the evening. Gillian, Tommy and Amanda were much less well-behaved than the Barker twins had been, and he spent most of the evening running around trying to chivvy them into bed.

I think I’ve bitten off more than I can chew, Harry finally admitted to himself, collapsing on the sofa once the kids were finally asleep. His eyes were starting to close when he heard a key in the lock, and the parents came home.

It was ten o’clock, and he could hardly walk the short distance back to Privet Drive. He let himself in quietly, hearing the television on in the living-room. Without much optimism, he checked the kitchen.

For the first time in days, Harry found a plate of dinner sitting in the fridge for him. At last!

He had a small piece of gammon with a spoonful of mashed potato and the rest was vegetables. Although it didn’t fill him up, it tasted wonderful after days of bread, cereal, fruit and stale biscuits.

Once he’d eaten, he wrote his note out again (the previous one seemed to have disappeared), stumbled upstairs and fell into bed.

-

After his paper round the next morning, Harry had to remind himself not to head to Mrs Figg’s—it was Friday, which meant he wouldn’t be seeing Snape again until Monday.

He was dogsitting for Mr Ferrero today, which meant he had checked in on them and put out food and water before his paper round, and he headed back to the house to check on them again. He spent a little while playing with them, then headed to Mr Ellis’ house, where he was hired to spend a couple of hours cutting the lawn and weeding the flowerbeds. He checked on them again afterwards, ate his measly lunch at their house, then headed to his fourth job of the day—helping the Wilkinsons decorate their spare room, mainly painting the walls and assembling a shelving unit. (Harry had done both before when Dudley’s room was decorated.)

It was definitely his busiest day, Harry thought as he took the dogs out for their evening walk. But on the plus side, it was also his most lucrative.

When he got back to the Dursleys’, he was disappointed to find Petunia had ignored his note and not left him anything to eat again. He didn’t know if she had mistaken it for the previous one, or was just being difficult because he’d forgotten to wash up his dinner things last night, and couldn’t be bothered to try and pry her attention away from the television to find out.

-

“This is your list of duties, all the phone numbers you can reach us on, and you’ve seen where everything is—any questions?”

“Um, no.”

“We’ve left you milk and bread, there’s cereal in the cupboard, and a shop just around the corner.”

“Thank you,” Harry said gratefully.

Mrs Morrison held out a bunch of keys. “Here are the keys.”

“Thanks. Have a good time.”

Mr and Mrs Morrison left, leaving Harry in charge of their home.

He collapsed on the sofa, wondering about having a doze before he got on with his duties. He changed his mind, afraid he might end up sleeping for twelve hours again—it was getting more and more difficult to wake up in the mornings despite his alarm.

“Right,” Harry said, getting to his feet and looking at the list.

He saw to the needs of the Morrisons’ five cats, brought in and sorted their mail when it arrived. He put the radio on with the windows open, and sat in the front garden to deter any burglars. The Morrisons were only going away until Sunday night, but there had been a number of break-ins in the road.

Harry sat in one of their sun loungers with his homework, the phone and a pad to take any messages. He hoped his teachers would accept an essay written in biro on Muggle paper, since he didn’t dare use parchment and quill outside the Dursleys’ house. At least it was for Charms rather than Potions.

He spent the weekend, when he wasn’t doing his chores, doing his homework in the garden or catching up on some sleep. Early on, he had gone to the corner shop and used some of his precious earnings to buy himself a large jar of peanut butter, but was saving it for his more strenuous days, making do with the food the Morrisons had left him in that time.

When Harry returned to the Dursleys’ on Sunday night, he wasn’t expecting any dinner on the table. He hadn’t said anything to them in advance because he didn’t want them to know he had been staying the night elsewhere. From the lack of interrogation when he entered the house, he didn’t think they had even noticed.
To be continued...
Chapter 6: Ultimatums by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
A bit of a longer chapter than usual today. I really wanted to end it where I did, and it took more words than I expected to get to that point. Enjoy!

Snape was up and about on Monday, although he did very little actual walking, being very wobbly on his legs. Molly was still fussing over him as if he were one of her children, and he seemed to have given up trying to stop her.

“What do you want me to do today, sir?” Harry asked, trying not to laugh at the sight of Molly putting slippers on Snape’s feet while he watched, a resigned look on his face.

He gave Harry instructions for getting started on the hallway, and Harry started gathering the cleaning materials.

The weekend had done him some good; he felt he had more energy now he’d had a couple of days without too much to do. Molly was busy tucking Snape into bed for a rest when Harry had his lunch, so she didn’t notice his once again meagre rations, though he had at least started on his jar of peanut butter.

Once again, Harry had left a note for Petunia asking for dinner. He had started dating them to make sure she couldn’t mistake any of them for the previous day’s. He hoped that might do the trick—but he was in for yet another disappointment when he came home after walking Mr Ferrero’s dogs.

His note was sitting on the dinner table. His place was set with a plate and cutlery, but instead of food, one the plate was a piece of paper.

“What’s this?” Harry asked as he picked it up, but realised a split second later.

“The phone bill came,” Petunia said in a clipped tone, clinking the crockery in the sink together unnecessarily hard. She wouldn’t look at him. “Your uncle and I took the liberty of working out how much you cost us.”

Harry didn’t understand all the terminology on the bill, but saw items circled, with a total added up and circled several times.

“Th-there must be some mistake! I can’t have spent this much!” Even as he said it, though, he had a horrible feeling he may have done. He had called a lot of phone numbers.

“Yes, boy, you did. I don’t know why you were calling hundreds of local numbers on Sunday evening but you can bloody well pay us back for it.”

“I—I don’t have enough money!” Harry blurted. This wasn’t strictly true; he had earned enough Muggle cash to cover the bill—but it would take a huge chunk out of his first week’s earnings. Maybe if he fobbed Petunia off now, he could pay the Dursleys back once he’d covered everything he needed for next year.

Petunia shrugged like she didn’t care. “Then it looks like you won’t be getting any dinner till you’ve paid it.”

Harry’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe her nerve. “You can’t starve money out of me!”

“Watch me. You must have some money to feed that pesky bird of yours and pay for all those freaky books and things. You’re not eating until you’ve coughed up.”

She had him. Harry couldn’t go without dinner the entire holiday. “Fine.” Very slowly, he left the kitchen and headed upstairs.

He pulled up the loose floorboard in his bedroom, tipped the contents out onto the bed, and started counting it out.

Oho.

Harry jumped, and whirled around. Petunia had followed him upstairs without his realising; she was standing in the doorway, eyes fixed on his money. He scrambled to gather it back up and hide it, but it was too late—she had seen.

“Where did you get all that, boy?” she said, cogs visibly turning in her brain. “I thought your lot had their own weird money?”

“Um …”

“Of course. I know what you’ve been up to. The other day Mr Ferrero told me what a good job you’d done walking his dogs. I thought he had got you confused with someone else—but it was you he meant, wasn’t it? One of those numbers was his … You’ve been working all around the neighbourhood, haven’t you? That’s how you have all this normal money.”

Harry swallowed. “Um … well, I might have done a few odd jobs … so what?”

Petunia’s eyes gleamed in a way she didn’t like. “You know, Harry—” The use of his first name startled him; it was so rare any of the Dursleys used it. “—seeing how you’ve got money … you never paid us back for any of the damage you caused in our home.”

What?

“Let’s see … there was the broken window when you were five … the exploding washing-machine when you were nine … not to mention the cost of repairing the living-room after your friends came, and of putting the bars on your window which they ripped off …”

“Hold on!” Harry blurted. “You can’t charge me for all of that!”

“Why not? Would you prefer to pay us back for everything you cost us? Food and clothes and—”

“No! But—” Harry was lost for words.

“I think you’ll find we’re being more than reasonable only requiring you to pay us back for the damage you and your friends caused,” Petunia said calmly.

Of all the words that came to mind, ‘reasonable’ was not on Harry’s list. But he knew his aunt. The more he argued … well, the more she would add to his debt.

“Okay, fine, but I don’t have that kind of money now!”

“That’s a shame. You’ll just have to work a bit harder, won’t you. In the meantime, we’ll take what you have already.”

Harry watched helplessly as she swiped his hard-earned cash. All he could think of at that moment was At least my payment from Snape is safe.

“So, I’ve paid you for the phone bill and you’ve got some towards the rest,” Harry said. “I promise I will pay you back the rest. Can I please have some dinner?”

“No.”

Once she had left, Harry collapsed on his bed, overwhelmed with despair.

He didn’t know what to do. Since he was seeing Snape, a member of the Order, four days a week, he had only been sending a letter at the weekend to let them know he was okay. Petunia seemed to have conveniently forgotten the Order’s threat to investigate if they found out Harry wasn’t being treated properly, which this definitely was. But Harry didn’t like the idea of calling on anyone for help—not only was it humiliating to admit his relatives were trying to squeeze every last penny out of him, he would also have to explain why he couldn’t just pay them off.

True, he was going to have to explain to Dumbledore eventually that he was broke, in order to postpone his school fees. But Harry would really rather have a discreet word with him once term started than the whole Order find out. Dumbledore probably had more than enough on his plate right now without sorting out Harry’s problems—he would no doubt delegate the confrontation with the Dursleys to someone else, and then everyone would find out what a careless idiot he was.

Harry knew it was stupid to let his pride get in the way of being able to eat and pay for his school belongings. But he couldn’t help it; he just couldn’t bring himself to pick up a quill and write for help. This was his problem. He would find a solution … somehow.

-

Petunia had threatened to double Harry’s debt if he took anything more than three slices of bread per day—one for each meal—and warned him she would know if he did. He turned up at Snape’s house the next morning, relieved to find Molly was no longer staying there—as much as he had enjoyed her company (and watching her mother Snape was quite entertaining), he didn’t want her to keep forcing him to eat Snape’s food or quiz him on why he was now only eating half a peanut butter sandwich for his lunch.

Last night, once Petunia had filled Vernon in, he had demanded to know what hours Harry was working. At the time he hadn’t said, but Harry had found a note on the bench that morning with a list of extra jobs the Dursleys had acquired for him.

After spending eight hours scrubbing Snape’s hallway, then another hour and a half washing three cars, Harry was forced to take what seemed to be all the soft furnishings of Mr Devon’s entire house to the nearest laundrette. At least he was able to sit down while things were in the machines.

In a desperate attempt to hang onto some of his earnings, at the end of the day Harry had handed Petunia the two fivers he had got, from Mr Devon and for washing the Smiths’ cars, and hidden the two pounds fifty from his paper round in his shoe. Unfortunately, she knew him too well, and frisked him until she found it.

“You can forget about getting anything for tea tonight,” she said after giving him a clip around the ear.

Harry headed up to his bedroom and ate a spoonful of peanut butter out of the jar, so desperate was he for something in his stomach, before pulling out his homework. Before he could write an entire sentence, he had fallen asleep again.

-

The next day was the worst. Petunia had offered Harry’s services to Mrs Williams, an elderly lady who had always frightened Harry as a child. He was no longer scared of her—well, not much—but she was still as sharp-tongued and quick with her walking stick as ever. If Snape were an elderly lady, Harry figured they would be quite similar.

“Not like that, boy! You’ll get dust all over the carpet! … No, no, no! Idiot child! … If you burn my blouse so help me you’ll be black and blue!”

Harry did her shopping; washed, tumble-dried and ironed her laundry; and hoovered and dusted her entire house. All on top of another eight hours scrubbing and varnishing Snape’s staircase. Several times, Harry thought he might pass out from exhaustion, but gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep going.

When he finally trudged back to the Dursleys’, he just wanted to collapse into bed and sleep until his alarm went off. But he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to have any spare time to do his homework in anymore, and he needed to do it, or he’d be at a distinct disadvantage when it came to starting his NEWTs.

None of the Dursleys seemed to be about. Harry sneaked into the kitchen and made himself a cup of very, very strong coffee.

He paid dearly for it. He’d just finished the mugful when there was a shout from Petunia.

“You didn’t say I wasn’t allowed a drink!” Harry protested, but she was resolute—his debt was now doubled, and his ear smarted from the clip around it.

However, it worked. The caffeine buzz kept him awake until three in the morning, working solidly on his Transfiguration essay. He finished it just as the caffeine was wearing off, and just had time to collapse onto bed still fully-clothed until he passed out.

-

Harry had trouble waking up when he alarm went off. He forced himself to sit up, fighting to keep his eyes open, and got to his feet before turning the alarm off. When he got in the shower, he kept the water on cold to wake him up properly. He considered another coffee, but didn’t want to double his debt again.

Something of his exhaustion must have showed on his face, for both his employer at the Post Office and Mrs Figg asked him if he was all right. He gave his usual “Fine.”

Snape gave him a funny look when he arrived, but Harry quickly said, “So what am I doing today, Professor?”

The answer was cleaning each room’s chandeliers and replacing the candles which needed replacing. It was a harder job than it sounded, for the candle stubs were sealed in securely with all the melted wax, and the chandeliers themselves, though small, were very decorative, which made cleaning them much trickier.

Harry was standing on Snape’s ladder to work, but it wasn’t going very well. His head kept swimming. His eyes were closing. His arms were screaming at him from all the scrubbing and pulling.

Just a bit longer, he kept telling himself. Just a bit longer …

-

Severus had just entered the living-room to check on Potter’s progress when it happened.

The boy had slumped over forwards onto the chandelier. The ladder tipped. Severus pulled his wand.

He managed to catch the boy with a spell as all three fell to the floor. The chandelier, however, smashed, the ladder clattering down with it. Severus dropped the boy, not very gently, onto the sofa, pocketed his wand and strode over to give him a good piece of his mind. “POTTER!”

The boy didn’t stir. Severus reached out to shake him, then froze.

Harry Potter was skin and bones—even more than usual. His ribs were showing even through those rags of his. Severus hadn’t paid much attention to how Potter looked, apart from noticing he had slightly bloodshot eyes that morning, but now he couldn’t believe he had been so blind.

He shook the boy’s shoulder, and Potter jerked awake. “Professor! I—I’m sorry—did I fall asleep?”

“Potter, how stupid are you? Have you been trying to do manual labour whilst not eating properly? You look like someone’s been starving you!”

“No, I’ve been eating,” Potter mumbled quickly, his face reddening.

“Eating what? Clearly not three square meals a day!”

“Um … no, not that much.”

“What, then?”

“Um … sandwiches and cereal, mostly,” Potter muttered.

Severus frowned. “What about dinner?”

Potter cringed and mumbled something incomprehensible.

“I didn’t catch that, Potter.”

“I—I keep missing dinner,” he muttered, cheeks now flaming red.

“What do you mean, you keep missing it?”

“My aunt doesn’t always remember to call me down or leave me some if I’m not there.”

Severus couldn’t understand the problem. “So leave her a note—”

“I tried that, it only worked once.”

“—or take the initiative and come down to dinner of your own accord.”

“But most of the time I’m not there when they have dinner.”

“Why not? I let you go at five; surely they don’t eat before then?”

Potter flinched. “Um … no, they usually eat about six.”

“So what’s the problem? Potter for goodness’ sake—”

“I do stuff in the evenings.”

“What ‘stuff’? Surely nothing worth missing dinner for.”

“I’ve … um … been babysitting for some neighbours. And sometimes I walk another neighbour’s dogs, they prefer to be walked in the evenings.”

“How … community-spirited of you, Potter,” Severus said slowly. “Am I to take it you don’t do this out of the goodness of your heart?”

Potter tried to shrug it off. “Well, I make a couple of quid here and there.”

“Do you feel I am not paying you an adequate wage?” Severus deliberately made his voice sound accusatory rather than concerned. “I would have thought most heirs to a fortune such as yours would not be so fussed over ‘a couple of quid’. Or are you one of those people who, no matter how much they have, always has to have more?

“Um …” Potter’s forehead beaded with sweat. “I-I just like to have some Muggle cash as well, sir, and it’s easier to earn it straight from Muggles than go to London and get it changed. Besides, I like looking after kids and animals.”

“That may be, but you are clearly overdoing it at the cost of your health and adequate nutrition, not to mention I expect you are exceeding the legal amount of hours you are allowed to work.” Potter winced. “I thought so. Potter, when I hired you I expected you to give this job your full dedication. If you do not pull yourself together and start taking care of yourself, I will have to let you go.”

Potter’s head shot up, his expression alarmed. “Sir, please!”

“I’m serious, Potter. Drop the other jobs and start eating properly, or you’re fired.”
To be continued...
Chapter 7: Blackmail by Alexannah

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 …

To be continued...
Chapter 8: Robbed! by Alexannah

For the rest of the week, Harry caught up on sleep, did some homework, and enjoyed having some free time to himself. Petunia had taken Snape’s demand for Harry to have “three square meals a day” very seriously, cooking for him breakfast and lunchtime as well as dinner time, offering him seconds and thirds and not taking no for an answer, so he finished each meal feeling uncomfortably full. It was a very weird experience after being constantly hungry for so long.

On Sunday, Harry let Snape know that he would be returning to work on Monday. When he turned up the next morning, Snape looked him up and down and seemed satisfied.

“Been eating well, Potter?”

Too much, if anything, but Harry didn’t bother to say so. “Yep.”

“So I see. You look a lot healthier now. Have you spoken to the Headmaster yet?”

“No.”

“Well get a move on and do it this week. Out of curiosity, how long did it take your aunt to clear up the kitchen?”

“All night,” Harry said. “She wouldn’t go to bed until it was spotless.”

The corner of Snape’s mouth twitched. “Some people never change,” he muttered.

“Pardon? Do—do you know my aunt, sir?”

Snape hesitated. “We’ve met before.” His tone indicated he had no interest in continuing that line of conversation. “Right, today I want you in the bathroom …”

Harry had been wondering when Snape would have him work on the bathroom. He’d been warned on his first day that the plumbing wasn’t working, and since fixing it was beyond Harry’s capabilities, Snape had had to wait to be able to get someone else in to do it. In the meantime, they had been making do with self-emptying chamber pots and self-refilling water buckets. Apparently, however, the wizard plumbers had been on Friday, and now everything was working.

He cleaned the toilet first, eager to stop needing to use the chamber pots. Once it was sparkling, he moved onto the bath and basin. He had just got started when Snape reminded him to have his lunch.

Petunia had bought Harry a lunchbox the size of Dudley’s, and packed it the previous night. Snape raised his eyebrows as Harry opened it to find it filled with chicken and noodles.

“Do you want me to heat that up for you?”

“Oh—yes, please, Professor.”

Snape prodded it with his new wand, and suddenly the food was steaming.

“Thanks, sir.” Harry picked up the fork and began eating.

“I see dinner is no longer just for dinnertime—unless that is your dinner?”

Harry shook his head. “Aunt Petunia’s so afraid of being accused of starving me, she’s been cooking me a main meal every mealtime,” he said between mouthfuls.

Snape considered. “Well, I daresay you could do with the calories.”

“Yeah, plus I’m really sick of sandwiches.”

-

Another week passed. Harry was working hard without exhausting himself, doing his homework whilst keeping some free time for himself, and generally managing his routine well. His aunt was still making him filling meals thrice a day, though they didn’t make him feel as uncomfortably full anymore—his stomach had obviously grown used to them.

Snape didn’t ask Harry any more probing questions about his health or his relatives, but seemed to be keeping a close eye on him nevertheless. In turn, Harry had not raised the subject of Snape’s condition again, though from time to time he found himself thinking about it.

As Snape’s house slowly turned from a dusty wreck into something one could actually live in, Snape began unpacking his possessions from his trunk—or, to be more precise, Harry unpacked most of them. It was expanded far beyond the Hogwarts’ trunks, with dozens of different fold-out compartments, and contained all his clothes, books, potions equipment and more.

He was shelving Snape’s books as Snape directed him when he came across a series of notebooks. He hadn’t intended to look in them, but one fell open, and upon glancing at the page he saw the writing wasn’t in English.

“Is this Welsh?” he asked in surprise.

“Yes,” Snape said. “It keeps nosy students from prying into my personal business.”

“Aren’t there any students who can read it?”

“Probably, but it’s also written in code.” Snape pointed to an empty shelf. “You can put them up there.”

“You’re Welsh?” Harry queried, shelving the notebooks.

“Half.”

Surprised that Snape had actually answered the questions rather than telling him to mind his own business, Harry decided he’d pushed it far enough and continued shelving in silence.

Once all Snape’s books were organised the way he wanted them, they took a lunch break. Before opening his lunchbox, Harry pulled his post from that morning from his pocket—he had been running late and hadn’t had a chance to open it.

The first was a letter from Hermione. Harry had informed her of his job working for Snape now Ron knew, but hadn’t told either the real reason why he had taken it on. He was halfway down her letter when Snape spoke up suddenly.

“Isn’t that a Gringotts stamp?”

Harry dropped Hermione’s letter and examined the second envelope. His heart sank as he saw the Gringotts stamp. What now?

He tore it open and pulled out the letter. As his eyes fell on the word OVERDRAWN, he yelped out a word that, had he said it at school, would have made Snape force him to dissect toads for the whole year.

“Language, Potter! What does it say?”

Dear Mr Potter,” Harry read out loud in a shaking voice. “Your account is OVERDRAWN. As such we have been unable to process your transaction to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Transaction to—?” Snape spluttered. “Potter, you idiot! You never spoke to the Headmaster, did you?”

“I …”

“What possible reason could you have for not doing it? I reminded you multiple times!”

“I-I thought I didn’t need to yet,” Harry stammered, still trying to process what this meant.

Snape stared at him as if he had spontaneously turned purple. “What? Why on earth would you think that? Of all the dim-witted—How did you think you were going to pay your school fees for this year?”

“I thought I already had!” Harry burst out.

“Pardon?”

“When I found all my money was gone—I thought it must have been my school fees that emptied my account! It was the only thing that made sense; Mrs Weasley would have said if I’d got so little in there I couldn’t pay for a book.

Snape stared at Harry for a moment, processing his words. “Hold on. Start at the beginning. How much did you used to have in your account?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Harry said miserably, “but the last time I looked personally there were piles and piles of Galleons. Must have been thousands.”

“And when was this?”

“Summer before my third year.”

“So—Molly Weasley withdrew for you last summer?”

“And the one before that.”

“And she said absolutely nothing about how much you had left?”

“No she didn’t,” Harry said.

Snape was quiet for a moment, thinking. “Your school fees would hardly make a dent in that. Did you spend much on owl-orders through the last two years?”

“I think I would remember spending thousands of Galleons! I doubt I even spent ten!

“What about the thousand you got from the Triwizard Tournament?” Snape said suddenly. “Where did that go?”

“I gave it to Fred and George Weasley for their joke shop.”

Snape blinked at him. “You what?”

Harry shrugged. “It wasn’t rightfully mine; I didn’t want it. Or need it. The Diggorys wouldn’t accept it, so I decided to put it to good use.”

“You call funding the Weasley twins good use,” Snape said, sounding horrified.

“People need laughter, especially now. Anyway, the point is, if it didn’t go on school fees, I have no idea where my money’s gone.”

Snape sighed, and glanced down at Harry’s lunchbox. “I think we need to take a trip to Gringotts. Eat your lunch and then we’ll leave.”

“We?”

“Whilst I understand you are in charge of your own account, it might be beneficial for you to have an adult with you.” Snape pointed his wand at Harry’s pasta. “Do you want me to heat that up?”

-

Once they had both eaten lunch, Snape and Harry Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to Gringotts.

“Hello,” Harry said to the goblin once they reached the front of the queue. “Um, I want to find out where all my money’s gone.”

“Pardon?”

“I just got a letter saying my account’s overdrawn, but the last time I checked I had piles of money, so I want to find out where it all went.”

“Surely you keep details of transactions,” Snape spoke up.

“Of course we do. Name?”

“Harry Potter.”

The goblin glanced briefly at Harry’s scar before telling them to wait a moment while he retrieved the records.

Harry fidgeted a little while they waited, unable to keep still. Snape cast him a few irritated looks, but didn’t comment. It felt like forever until the goblin came back.

“Here we are.” The goblin dropped a heavy book open onto the counter and started running a finger down the page. “Let’s see …” There was a moment of silence, then he frowned, and then he gave Harry a funny look. “You say you don’t know where your money is?”

“That’s right,” Harry said.

The goblin frowned even deeper. “Mr Potter, your money is wherever you put it.”

“Pardon?” Harry and Snape said at the same time.

“According to this, Mr Potter withdrew every coin from his vault on the first of July this year.”

What?” Harry exclaimed. “No I didn’t! I haven’t even been here for two years!”

“Well, it’s clearly written here.” The goblin looked back down. “It may be possible a mistake was made. Griphook!”

The goblin who had first taken Harry down to his vault appeared. “Yes?”

“The record says you took Mr Potter to his vault on the first of July to empty it,” the first goblin said. “Is that correct?”

“It is,” Griphook said, looking curiously at Harry.

“No it isn’t!” Harry protested. “I haven’t made a personal withdrawal for two years!”

Snape put a hand on his shoulder. “Gentlemen,” he said, “it seems to me that you dealt with an imposter, rather than the real Mr Potter.”

The goblins looked at each other darkly and began muttering together.

“That means … someone stole all my money,” Harry mumbled, completely in shock.

It wasn’t his own fault he’d gone bankrupt after all. All those long days spent starving and working himself to the bone—and he’d had no reason to be too ashamed to ask for help. He’d suffered for nothing.

“Potter, this is good news,” Snape said.

What? How can that possibly be good news?”

“Because,” Snape said, “if it was stolen, rather than carelessly spent, there is a chance you may be able to get it back.”

Harry wasn’t sure he dared hope. Though he knew Gringotts had been robbed before, it was so difficult to pull off, whoever had done so had to be clever enough to cover their tracks well. What chance was there of catching the thief, let alone recovering what they had taken?

To be continued...
End Notes:
If you're enjoying this story, please don't forget to vote, the fic fest poll is now open!
Chapter 9: Interrogation by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
Please don't forget to VOTE! The fest poll's been up a while, but no-one's voted yet (on any of the fics!)

There was silence in Harry Potter’s bedroom while the boy hunted frantically through his Hogwarts trunk.

Severus knew he should be paying attention to the search, but instead he was examining the room. It was so small it could hardly be called a bedroom at all; Severus’ pantry was bigger than this. The bed was a child’s one, and even considering how short Potter was for his age, he was surely too big for it. Severus was also thinking about the rusty locks hanging off the door, and the cat-flap in the bottom. As far as Potter’s belongings went, all he could see were his Hogwarts things, his owl and those raggedy clothes he had been wearing to work.

Potter himself was engrossed in his search, Kingsley watching him. Severus sidled up to the wardrobe and peeked inside. An oversized thin jacket with holes in the sleeves and a broken zip, and nothing else.

He had assumed the clothes Potter wore to work were just old ones he didn’t care about getting dirty, but now he thought about it, he’d never seen Potter in anything else except his school and Quidditch robes. Until now, it had never occurred to him to wonder why he wore things far too big for him.

Perhaps he needed to have another word with Petunia Dursley.

Potter finally stopped hunting, all the contents of his trunk spread over his bed. “It’s not here!” he said.

“Are you sure?” Kingsley asked.

“I’ve been through it all ten times! My key’s not here. Whoever posed as me must have stolen it right out my trunk.”

And you didn’t check it was still there after your money mysteriously vanished? Severus wanted to say, but bit it back. Potter had gone through enough thanks to this thief. It had taken him a while to realise why Potter wasn’t relieved at the news, before realising that it meant the boy’s pride had made him suffer in silence when it hadn’t been his own fault at all.

As much as he hated to admit it, he and Potter were a lot alike.

“Harry,” Kingsley said, “where has your trunk been during the year?”

“Just my dormitory and here,” Potter said slowly. “Apart from being taken to and from the train.”

Severus frowned.

“It must have been taken one of those times,” Potter continued. “Like from the station or something.”

Either that, or it had been stolen by one of his own Housemates. But Potter clearly didn’t want to consider that possibility. Severus, on the other hand, was not going to rule anything out. He met Kingsley’s eyes, and saw he was thinking the same thing.

“I will update the office and then check on how the goblins are doing,” Kingsley said.

“We need to go and see the Headmaster and fill him in,” Severus said, looking back at Potter. The boy didn’t squirm the way he had always done before when Severus mentioned it, though he didn’t look eager to do so.

They parted ways. Severus took Potter back through Mrs Figg’s Floo, to Albus’ office.

“Good afternoon, Severus, Harry,” Albus said, sounding a little startled but otherwise pleased to see them. “What can I do for you?”

“Headmaster, Potter has something to tell you.” Severus pushed the boy forward pointedly in the small of the back.

Potter took a deep breath. “Professor, I can’t pay my school fees.”

“Oh,” Albus said, clearly taken aback. “Why not?” His tone was completely free of judgement, but Potter flinched a little anyway.

“Someone stole all my money,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“According to Gringotts, Mr Potter withdrew everything from his vault earlier this summer—but Potter swears he hasn’t been near it in two years,” Severus explained. “His key is also missing. The goblins are looking into it, and I informed Kingsley.”

Albus nodded, looking worried. “I’m sorry, Harry, this must be a shock. I will cancel your fee transactions, and—do you need any extra money for books and things?”

“Um … maybe,” Potter said slowly. “I’m not sure.”

“Headmaster, could you make sure the money that’s just been taken from Potter’s vault is returned,” Severus said. “He’ll need that.”

“Of course I will—and Harry, you can pay your fees only when you are able to.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

“And if you need any extra money by the end of the holiday, or during the year, just let one of the teachers know and we will provide it.” Albus considered. “I will have a word with Kingsley and the goblins and see if there is anything I can do to help find out who took your money.”

Potter looked a lot happier. It would have been a different story if the boy had foolishly spent it all.

“Albus, the key had to have been taken from his trunk, either during the term or on his way back home afterwards,” Severus said. “Meaning the culprit was most likely someone with access to Gryffindor Tower.”

“But not necessarily,” Potter said quickly.

Albus smiled. “I realise you don’t want to suspect your Housemates, Harry, but we have to consider all possibilities—though I would not rule out any non-Gryffindors just yet. I will alert the staff to keep an eye out for anyone who seems to have suddenly become a lot richer.”

“The goblins are checking the vault for clues as to who might have emptied it, and searching for suspicious amounts of money paid into other accounts since,” Severus said. “And Kingsley’s started an official criminal investigation. I think we’ve got every angle covered.”

-

Snape gave Harry the rest of the day off, but insisted on walking him back to Privet Drive. He followed Harry into the house without asking, and peered into the living-room. It was empty, but there was a half-drunk flowery mug on the coffee table, meaning Petunia would be coming back any minute. He sat down in the opposite chair.

“Er … Professor?” Harry said. Snape looked like he was making himself comfortable.

“You go on up. I need to have another little chat with your aunt.”

Lucky Petunia. Harry had no idea what Snape wanted with her now—he couldn’t suspect her of emptying his vault, could he?—and pretended to go upstairs, but sneaked back down to listen to the conversation.

“You! What do you want now? The boy’s been eating plenty!”

“I know. That’s not why I’m here this time.”

“You lot can’t keep barging into my house and threatening us, Snape!”

Wait—how did Petunia know his name? Harry didn’t remember him telling her last time he was there.

“I think you’ll find we can,” Snape said completely calmly.

“I’m sure your Ministry would have something to say about it!”

“I’m sure they would. As indeed they would have something to say about you starving your nephew. But if you’d like to risk an Azkaban sentence, by all means go ahead and report me.”

There was a furious silence.

“I thought so. Now, I was in Potter’s bedroom earlier and couldn’t help but make a few observations. I wonder if you could clear a few things up for me.”

“Hmph.”

Snape obviously took that as a “Yes”. “What was the purpose of the locks on his door?”

“Why do people normally put locks on doors?” Petunia snapped.

“I imagine to lock them,” Snape said drily. “And why exactly did you want to lock this particular door?” There was a pause. “And don’t even think about trying to lie to me; I will know.”

“We grounded him a few summers ago. Couldn’t trust the little brat to stay in his room. Happy now?”

“I see. And what exactly did Potter do to earn this punishment?”

“He smashed a pudding and ruined our dinner party.”

There was a long silence. “Smashed a pudding.”

“With magic!” Petunia added.

“Ah. I do believe I heard about this incident. I don’t suppose you asked him for an explanation?”

“Of course not! He knew he wasn’t allowed to do freaky—”

“If you had, he might have pointed out that he didn’t do the smashing,” Snape said. “Mind you, I’m sure you and your husband would be reasonable enough not to punish him for something a visiting house-elf did.” His voice was dripping in sarcasm. “Putting that aside, what about the cat-flap?”

“Well we had to put food in his room somehow.”

“Oh, I see. And unlocking the door three times a day was too difficult a task for you. I don’t even want to know how you managed toilet facilities. Moving on, I couldn’t help but notice this is a four-bedroom house.”

“So?”

“So why is Potter sleeping in a room and bed that would be small by an ten-year-old’s standards, when you have a perfectly acceptable spare room right next door?”

“It’s—it’s not spare. My sister-in-law sleeps there.”

“Oh, right. How often does she stay with you?”

“Er … from time to time …” Harry could hear a quaver of fear in Petunia’s voice.

“When was the last time?”

There was a long silence. Harry could hear Petunia was trying to pluck up the courage to lie. “When the boy blew her up.”

“That—that was three years ago!” Snape spluttered. “Potter sleeps here every summer! Don’t you think he should have a decent bedroom?” Silence. “Obviously not. What about clothes?”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve seen the rags he wears when he’s not in school uniform. They look like they were made for a sumo wrestler. He only has about four changes of clothes, no proper winter wear as far as I can see, and it’s all ancient and falling apart. Why don’t you buy him something that fits?

“We’re not made of money!” Petunia snapped.

“Your husband is director of a large drilling firm—yes, I did my homework. Your house is full of pricey pictures and ornaments, and your clothes are all designer. You also have a bedroom chock full of toys and gadgets obviously bought for your son, all of which look very expensive to me. You can’t tell me you can’t afford to pay for another set of clothes.” Snape’s voice was rising. “You just don’t want to.”

“So what if I don’t? Dudley’s hand-me-downs are perfectly adequate.”

“Maybe I didn’t make myself quite clear,” Snape said shortly. “The boy needs new clothes. I would tell you to buy him some, but your judgement is clearly compromised, so I will do it myself. You will be reimbursing me, or face the consequences.”

“You can’t just—!”

“Yes,” Snape said very finally, “I can. What you can do is let him move into your spare room and swear you will never lock him up again. If it weren’t for the fact he has so little time left here, I would have him moved from your house entirely, but I’m sure you can be persuaded to behave like decent human beings until he is of age—given the right persuasion.”

“You mean if we don’t comply you turn us into horrible things and mess up my house!”

“Exactly,” Snape said. “It seems we do understand each other. I’ll be checking on him regularly, Petunia, so you had better make sure you do what I say.”

Harry heard him stand up, and realising the conversation was over, hurried upstairs as quietly as he could, then sank onto his bed.

That was a weird conversation. Snape sounded like—well, like he cared. True, he’d sorted out the food and money problems before, but Harry had assumed it was just so he wouldn’t pass out while working for him again. What possible reason could Snape have for having Harry change bedrooms and buying him new clothes?

“Potter?” Snape called up the stairs. Harry hurried onto the landing and leaned over the bannister, trying to pretend he hadn’t heard all that.

“Yes, sir?”

“Put your shoes and jacket back on. We’re going shopping.”
To be continued...
End Notes:
Don't forget to VOTE!
Chapter 10: Plotting by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
Thank you to everyone who voted! I finally realised the reason it looked like no-one had was down to a glitch in the skin I use, not because no-one voted.

Harry had never been clothes shopping before.

He was still reeling from the conversation he’d overheard as he picked out t-shirts he liked, overwhelmed by the choice on offer. Snape hadn’t mentioned what he had said to Petunia, and Harry had decided it was probably safest not to let on he’d been eavesdropping. But it wouldn’t leave his thoughts.

“Is there a problem, Potter?”

“Um, no … just …” Harry was looking back and forth between two t-shirts. “I can’t decide between them.”

“You’ve only picked out three; have both if you like them both.”

Slightly stunned, Harry added them to the basket. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me. I shall enjoy getting the money for it all out of your aunt,” Snape muttered, a hint of a smile on his lips.

Harry didn’t doubt it. He had a sneaking suspicion that Snape and Petunia had known each other before he showed up this holiday, but neither of them seemed willing to say so, and he wasn’t sure how to raise the subject.

They eventually left the shopping centre laden down with clothes. Although they had not been able to find proper winter wear, Harry did now have a decent coat and warm jackets as well as t-shirts, shorts, jeans, jumpers and pyjamas, and even a new pair of trainers.

He was going to enjoy watching Snape get compensated from Petunia as well.

-

Vernon was pacing up and down the kitchen by the time Petunia finished speaking.

“Blasted freaks … think they can push us around … I’ve had it with the lot of them!”

“But Vernon, we’ve got to do what he says—Snape doesn’t make idle threats—”

“There has to be something else we can do! What about those freaks in charge, the ministry?”

“Snape said he’d report us for starving the boy—and t-trust me Vernon, w-we don’t want to end up in their prison!”

“We didn’t starve him! If the brat can’t be bothered to be around when we eat it’s not our fault—”

“But we were forcing him to work as well, more than he’s allowed, and taking his money. He’d press charges for that as well, he threatened to the first time.”

“I am not going to roll over and do what that lot want anymore,” Vernon snapped.

“P-please, V-Vernon …”

“You said this Snake person—”

“Snape,” she corrected.

“He said he considered taking the boy away?”

“Y-yes, but—”

“Well, let’s persuade him to do it. There’s only so much he can do to us if he doesn’t want to go to prison himself, isn’t there?”

Petunia whimpered. “V-Vernon, please, d-don’t push him. You’ll just get us all in trouble!”

“Nonsense. We’ll think of some way. Petunia … you said you know this Snape bloke?”

-

When they arrived back at Number Four Privet Drive, Harry and Snape found it empty, with just a note on the table and a plate of leftover chicken and potatoes in the fridge.

“If Petunia thinks avoiding me will stop her having to pay me, she’s got another think coming,” Snape said as he helped Harry carry his purchases upstairs. “Show her the receipts and tell her to send the money with you tomorrow, or I’ll be paying another visit.”

“Okay.” That would be a fun conversation. “Thank you, Professor.”

Snape nodded slightly in acknowledgement, bade him goodnight and left.

Harry unpacked his clothes, then headed downstairs and ate his dinner. He was just finishing when he heard a car in the drive, and then a key in the lock.

“Evening, Aunt Petunia,” he said calmly as she poked her head nervously around the kitchen door. “It’s okay; Snape’s gone home.”

“Oh, good.”

“He also wants me to remind you you owe him for all of this,” Harry said, pushing the receipts across the table at him.

Petunia’s eyes bulged as she looked at them, and Vernon came in. He scowled when he saw Harry.

“You’ll have to tell him we don’t keep this much cash in the house,” Petunia said, putting the receipts back down a bit too calmly. “Vernon will get some more money out at the weekend after his salary is paid in; Snape can have it on Monday.”

They’re up to something, Harry immediately thought. But he had no proof, and he didn’t want to risk messing up the situation by probing too hard.

“Okay.”

They both looked too relieved. Something was going on, but Harry couldn’t work out what. Surely the Dursleys were too terrified of Snape to risk doing anything else to him, right?

-

The next morning, Harry was eating his bacon and eggs when Petunia made an announcement.

“You know, Harry … your uncle and I have been talking, and we think you’re getting a bit big for Dudley’s second bedroom.”

You think? Harry thought, but bit back.

“We’re thinking of switching your room and the spare room over so you can have a bigger one. Of course, it needs a lot of cleaning and redecorating first—”

Harry raised his eyebrows, not believing this for a second.

“—but when it’s done over, how would you like a bigger bedroom?”

“I’d … love one,” Harry said slowly. It was dawning on him that his relatives were procrastinating Snape’s demands—possibly stalling for time while they came up with some way to stop him blackmailing them.

He hoped they didn’t stall too long. As tempting as the thought of letting Snape turn his relatives into various creatures was, if Snape got arrested for it, it would be Harry’s fault. He would also lose his job if his employer was sent to Azkaban.

Petunia told him to have a think about what colours he wanted his room painted (Harry pinched himself to make sure he was awake) and said on Friday he could come with her when she did the shopping and have a look at paints and furniture and things.

“Okay,” was all Harry could manage at this bizarre statement.

He finished his breakfast, showered and Flooed to Snape’s, eager to get away from his weirdly-acting aunt.

“Morning, Potter,” Snape said, entering the living-room at the sound of the fireplace flaring up.

“Morning, Professor.”

“How are things at home?” Snape asked, carefully nonchalantly.

“Well,” Harry said slowly, “my aunt said you can have the money for the clothes on Monday after my uncle’s wage is paid in, and she’s offered me the spare room, after they clean and redecorate it.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “It didn’t look dirty or in need of redecorating when I saw it.”

“I think they’re stalling to try and think of a way to stop you threatening them, sir.”

“I see.” Snape paused, then frowned. “Potter, you listened to that entire conversation, didn’t you?”

“Oh, er …” Harry flushed, realising denial was pointless. “Yeah.”

“It’s disappointing to see you can’t exercise restraint with your nosiness at home at least,” Snape said, shaking his head. Harry blushed harder. “However, since I am neither your guardian nor at present in a teaching capacity, and you were not at work at the time, I shall let it slide.”

“Um … thank you sir.”

“But you really need to cure this eavesdropping habit of yours, Potter,” Snape continued, a little more sharply.

“I’ll … try, sir.”

“Hmph. Well then, onto what you’re actually here for …”

The house fell silent while Harry worked on the landing all morning. Around half ten, Snape took a break for a cup of tea, and let Harry try a cup of his herbal brew after he commented how nice it smelled—flowery and fragrant. When they took their lunch break, Harry was just opening his lunchbox when Snape suddenly seized his arm, dropping his plate.

“Professor?” Harry said uncertainly.

“Potter, you’re going to have to leave.”

“What? Why—” It suddenly hit Harry. “Voldemort?”

“Don’t say his name,” Snape hissed through gritted teeth.

“He’s calling you?”

“Yes, so this will have to be finished up tomorrow. Leave, now. I can’t keep him waiting.”

Harry hesitated.

“Did you not hear me, Potter?”

“Yeah—sorry. I’m going.” Harry reluctantly closed his lunchbox, headed back towards the fireplace and Flooed back to Mrs Figg’s.

He didn’t feel good about leaving Snape to face Voldemort—not that there was anything he could have done to stop him needing to. But the thought of what Snape might await—more torture spells that would make his pain even worse—made him shudder.

Harry wondered vaguely if he would have the guts to do Snape’s job, and then considered it seriously. Maybe, if there was absolutely no other option, but he didn’t know how anyone could bear to do it without knowing for certain it would help defeat Voldemort.

Well, if the alternative was losing more people he loved, he supposed he could put up with anything. But for Snape, who never appeared to care about anyone, what could possibly be his motivation?

-

“Are you ready to go?” Petunia said brightly when Harry had finished his lunch.

Since he had the afternoon off, she had moved up the shopping trip. Petunia was also acting far too cheerfully, and friendly too. Harry had a bad feeling about this trip. But if she tried anything, he could remind her of Snape’s threats—right?

“Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Diddikins!” Petunia called. “We’re leaving!”

“Dudley’s coming too?” Harry asked, puzzled. Dudley hated shopping—unless it was for something he wanted. When they were younger Petunia had had to bribe him with ice cream and/or new toys every time they went anywhere.

Dudley appeared in the kitchen, scowling with his arms folded. “No,” he said firmly.

“Don’t be silly, darling. Come along.” He didn’t move. Petunia glanced at Harry. “We’ll leave you in the video game shop while we do the boring things.”

“I said no. I’m not doing it.”

She looked confused and frazzled, and kept giving Harry wary glances. He had no idea why she was so keen for him to come with them.

“I’ll buy you some presents while we’re out, popkin. How about that new game you wanted? And some videos—”

“I. Am. Not. Going,” Dudley said very firmly. “And if you try and make me I’ll tell Harry what you’re up to.”

Petunia blanched. “Diddikins!

“What?” Harry asked. “What’s she up to?”

“Watch your p—”

Petunia didn’t give her son a chance to finish his sentence before she dragged Harry from the room and out of the front door. Harry tried to pull his arm out of her hand, but she had a very tight grip.

“What was that about? What’s going on, Aunt Petunia? You remember what Snape said about—”

“Just get in the car,” she snapped, then plastered her fake smile back in place. “Don’t listen to Dudley, Harry, he’s just jealous because he wants a new bedroom of his own.” She pushed him forcefully into the car and closed the door sharply on him.

“Ow!”

Petunia ignored him, walked around the car and got in the driver’s seat. Harry massaged his throbbing elbow and tried to work out what she was up to. A feeling of dread was growing in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Belt up, Harry. Let’s go and get you your new bedroom.”

To be continued...
Chapter 11: Hypocrisy by Alexannah
Author's Notes:
I’ve upped the rating to a T due to plot developments.

What Petunia was up to soon became apparent.

Before taking Harry into any furniture or paint shops, she ushered him into the video store, talking about getting Dudley “a little something to console him”.

She spent a long time looking at the newest, most expensive games, while Harry wandered the store waiting for her to make her mind up. After what felt like forever, she startled him from behind. “I’ve found the perfect one. Come on, Harry.”

Petunia dragged him to the checkout, and then they walked out of the shop.

Alarms suddenly blared, making Harry jump out of his skin. Petunia didn’t jump, but frowned. “What’s going on?”

As the store security closed in, the bottom dropped out of Harry’s stomach. He patted down his pockets.

Watch your pockets, Dudley had been going to say. He should know—he’d slipped things inside Harry’s pockets for fun too many times to count. Inside one of his jacket pockets was something hard, shaped like a disc case.

“Oh, great,” he muttered.

-

There was no looking at furniture or paints—it had all been a ruse to get him into the shops. Harry tried invoking Snape’s name on the way home, but only got a clip around the ear for his trouble.

I don’t understand, why doesn’t that work anymore?

After the hours spent at the police station, Harry had had to endure Petunia’s lecture in the car on the way home.

“Thought you’d finally learned your lesson … A common thief, in our family … Wait until your uncle hears about this …”

As if Vernon didn’t know about it already. He and Petunia had probably planned it together. What Harry didn’t understand was why on earth they thought they were going to get away with it.

Then again … they had so far. The moment Harry had realised what had happened, he felt like a little boy again, too scared to tell anyone he’d been set up. Planting things on Harry during shopping trips had been one of Dudley’s favourite games, and he’d always made it clear he’d break Harry’s legs if he ever tried to tell anyone it was him.

Besides, who would believe anyone would plant a video game on their own nephew just to get them into trouble?

Harry hadn’t ‘confessed’, the way he had as a child, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to defend himself either. After all the cautions he’d had, this time he faced an actual trial. The cops had assured him he wasn’t going to go to prison, most likely he would get a fine and/or community service.

I’ve got to tell Snape, Harry told himself sternly as they got out of the car. I’ve got to tell someone. I can’t keep letting the Dursleys walk all over me because it’s humiliating asking for help.

The moment he saw Snape on Monday, he resolved, he would tell him everything. He dreaded to think what Snape might do to Petunia, but he didn’t see he had any other option.

“Right,” Petunia said sharply once they were inside the hall. “Into the cupboard.”

Harry stared blankly at her. “What?”

“Into the cupboard now,” she snapped, shoving him towards the cupboard under the stairs.

“You’re not serious!”

“I am deadly serious,” she snapped. “Clearly neither working nor your freaky school is doing you any good, so we’re going back to old punishments. You’re going to be locked in your cupboard until further notice, and you can forget about the nice big meals you’ve been enjoying at our expense.”

“What about what Snape said?” Harry tried again.

She clipped him around the ear again, opened the cupboard door and kicked him towards it. “You let me handle Snape. If he tries to interfere in our household again he will seriously regret it.”

Petunia sounded completely confident in her statement, and a horrible gnawing feeling churned in Harry’s gut. What did she think she had up her sleeve? Was she delusional, or did she really have some way of making Snape back off?

“I told you to get inside.” Petunia kicked Harry until he scrambled in on his hands and knees. “Now, you can forget about dinner tonight; since you’ve been fattening yourself up on our food—”

What?” Harry knew he had put on a couple of pounds thanks to Petunia’s cooking, but he was still barely a healthy weight—and even if he had got fat, it would be unbelievably rich of her to criticise, considering she had fed her own son until he was morbidly obese.

“—I think you can stand to go without any for a while. When your punishment’s over, and only when it’s over, we’re going to go back to the arrangement where you work off your debt to us. We’ll be adding food and clothing and so on to it as well.”

“You can’t do that! You never even bought me clothes! And—”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Petunia said furiously, and slammed the cupboard door shut. He heard her lock it. “Every peep I hear out of you will add an extra day to your punishment.”

“But—”

Be quiet!

Harry fell silent, and she stalked away into the kitchen.

He hadn’t even seen inside his cupboard since he moved out five years ago. There were far more spiders inside now, and a lot more dust. He sneezed a couple of times, causing Petunia to yell at him again. There was no longer a bed inside, or blanket, or anything, and it felt far too cramped now he was much taller.

Being back in here now only made Harry feel more like the miserable, unloved, frightened little orphan he had been before Hogwarts. He curled up on the floor, starting to shiver, but not with cold. The walls seemed to be pressing in on him and he was having trouble breathing. The more time passed, the more distant Hogwarts and his friends and safety seemed.

“Harry?” someone whispered outside his cupboard door.

Harry sat bolt upright and almost cracked his head open on the ceiling. “Dudley?

“I—I’m sorry. I tried to warn you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Mum’s hidden the key, so I can’t let you out. I tried to squash some bread so it would fit under the door,” Dudley said, “but I couldn’t get it flat enough.”

“That’s okay. I appreciate you trying. Um … why are you trying to help me?”

There was a long silence the other side. “You helped me last year,” Dudley finally said.

“Oh.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the door, and Harry heard footsteps. “Dudley?” It was Vernon. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing—”

“Get away from that freak! Can you imagine how much you’ll upset your mother if she finds you talking to him?”

Apparently Dudley didn’t like that thought, and obediently left the hall. He didn’t try talking to Harry again.

It was hours after the rest of the house had gone quiet that Harry finally dropped off to sleep.

-

“Eurrgh,” Harry muttered as his brain began working enough to notice how he felt.

He was shivering, and this time it wasn’t just the psychological effects of being back in his cupboard. But it wasn’t cold, either—or not just cold, for he felt boiling hot.

Harry’s head was pounding so hard he felt sick, and when he tried to lift his head the cupboard spun giddily. His whole body was sore, and his skin itched all over. His stomach ached particularly badly—in fact it was burning.

Oh no. I can’t be ill. Not now.

Harry had always hated getting ill at the Dursleys’. They never liked to go near him no matter what he had, and it was up to him to look after himself, and clear up after himself if he made any kind of mess.

Hic! He groaned. The hiccup had not just been painful, but sent his insides gurgling fiercely.

Harry opened his eyes, and they stung and watered. He found himself scratching his skin, and realised it was covered with unsightly blue rashes. Although he had been too weak to scratch hard, the ones he’d scratched had pinpricks of blood oozing out.

Slowly, he raised an arm and rapped on his cupboard door. Just that action drained him of energy.

“Hello?” he called hoarsely, choking as his throat felt like it was full of splinters. “Aunt Petunia? Anyone?”

“Shut up, boy,” he heard his uncle’s voice call back.

Hic! A stream of multi-coloured bubbles floated out of his mouth and popped on the ceiling.

“I’m ill,” Harry croaked. “I need a Healer.”

“I said shut up! That’s an extra day added to your punishment.”

He kept trying, and trying, until he finally got the message. Nothing he said made a blind bit of difference, not even telling them what he had might be fatal for all he knew. Harry realised they couldn’t actually hear him properly; all they heard was noise. He couldn’t shout any louder; his throat was in agony as it was.

So he stopped. He just had to make it through the weekend. Come Monday, they’d have to let him out to go to work, or Snape would come knocking on the door.

The hours passed slowly. Harry was exhausted and in pain and hungry, though he doubted he could have stomached anything if he had been allowed food. He couldn’t resist itching and kept making his poor skin bleed, and now it was swelling up as well. He longed for something soft to lie on and even those foul-tasting but wonderfully effective potions.

He longed for someone to look after him, like Molly or Madam Pomfrey, or even Snape. As much as he disliked Harry, Snape had seen to his needs, in fact beyond his needs. After a while, Harry started to imagine he was there, talking to him gently and smoothing his hair and tending to his symptoms. He knew it wasn’t real, firstly because Snape wasn’t that affectionate, and also because he kept hearing cuckoos and the ceiling looked like it was rotating.

The dreams (or deliriousness) continued. Strange shapes floated around above Harry’s head and he could hear a marching band somewhere. For a while his own mother was there, cradling him in her arms, but she disappeared. His senses were muddling up; he could taste sound and hear smells, primarily cheese. Colours started to make no sense. A miniature Gilderoy Lockhart floated above him and set a cage of Cornish pixies loose, which started dancing on his rashes and making them itch even more.

-

Severus checked his watch in irritation. Ten past nine.

“Come on, Potter, where are you?” he said impatiently.

Loath as he was to admit something good about Potter, the boy had been punctual every day. This wasn’t like him.

Maybe he was late trying to wrangle money out of the Dursleys, Severus thought suddenly. Yes, that made sense. His relatives were still trying to stall.

Well, he’d give Potter a bit longer.

Severus decided to make a start on his own, and began his own task. Although he didn’t mean to, he got absorbed in it, and only realised what the time was when the newly-fixed clock struck half past.

This was not like Potter. If he knew he would be significantly late, he would have called Mrs Figg and asked her to pass the message on. No … something was wrong.

Cursing himself for not going over there earlier, Severus Flooed to Mrs Figg’s and walked the now-very-familiar route to Number Four Privet Drive, and rang the doorbell.

Petunia opened it, looking disturbingly calm. “Hello, Snape.”

“Where’s the boy?” Severus said shortly.

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid he won’t be coming to work for you today.”

Severus frowned. “Why not? Is he ill or something?”

“He’s grounded.”

“For what?”

“Shoplifting,” Petunia said.

Severus stared at her. “Shoplifting?

A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have had trouble believing Potter could be a thief. But after seeing how hard the boy worked to be able to afford basic necessities, sacrificing his own health to do so, he now doubted very much the truth of this statement.

“Yes. So he won’t be working for you for a couple of weeks. Goodbye, Snape.”

Hold on,” Snape growled, putting his foot in the door. “Why did he not tell me this himself?”

“I told you, he’s grounded.”

Warning bells rung in Severus’ ears. “You’ve locked him up again, haven’t you?” he burst out, barely able to contain his rage. “How dare you—”

“How dare you,” Petunia snapped, her calm demeanour vanishing. “You waltz in here and threaten us, when I know you’re no better than we are—in fact you’re much worse!”

“I would never lock up or starve a child in my care!” Severus exploded.

“Well those are some interesting priorities! You’re forgetting, Snape—I know all about you; I know you’ve done far worse!” Severus stared at her, stunned. “You do not hold the moral high ground here! So you cannot dictate or lecture or threaten us anymore, or I will ensure your deepest darkest secrets get you a one-way ticket to Azkaban.”

What secrets?” Severus spluttered.

Petunia’s eyes glittered. “Back off my family,” she said, “or I will spill the beans on how you murdered your own father.”

To be continued...
Chapter 12: Fever by Alexannah

Petunia clearly thought she held the upper hand. She smiled nastily at Severus, who stood there in stunned silence, unable to believe the words that had come out of her mouth.

How on EARTH does she know???

He swallowed and forced himself to think straight. Of all the crimes he had committed, it was just his luck that that one was the only one he hadn’t been tried and acquitted for. The only person who had ever known about it had been Lily—he had never even told Albus.

Petunia must have overheard them, he realised. She’d heard him confess to Lily, and now she thought she could blackmail him with it.

The thought of defending his actions to the Wizengamot was not a pleasant one. He doubted they would be so willing to let him go free over this, not even with Albus’ testimony. As for Albus … Severus’ knees shook slightly as he imagined the disappointment on his friend’s face.

No, he told himself firmly. I will not let this stand.

“Prove it,” he said to Petunia, his voice completely calm. “My father’s body was never found.”

“I heard you confess yourself,” she said with a grim smile.

“And I’m sure the Wizengamot will take your word for it.”

“Why don’t we find out. I’m sure you won’t want to risk it. After all, I learned what Dementors are like from you. You really don’t like them, do you?”

“No,” Severus said. “I don’t. But you seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that I am more concerned with my own freedom than your nephew’s well-being.” Her smile vanished. “Do your worst. Now let me see the boy.”

For a long moment she stood frozen, staring at him as she digested that her blackmail had failed.

“Petunia, move out of the way or I swear—”

He didn’t need to finish his threat; she scurried out of the doorway, and he strode into the hallway. “He’s locked in his bedroom, I presume?”

“Er … n-no,” Petunia said with a whimper. “S-Snape … p-please …”

Where is he?

She let out a sob and buried her head in her shaking hands. Realising he wasn’t going to get anything useful out of her, Severus cast the Point Me spell.

It directed him to the cupboard under the stairs. His unease growing, Severus Alohomora-ed the door open and gasped.

Potter was lying curled up inside, dressed in the same clothes he had seen him in on Thursday, which now badly needed cleaning. His eyes were glassy, his face flushed and sweaty, his skin covered in bloody and swollen blue rashes. He hiccupped, and several bubbles floated out of his mouth.

“You left him in here SICK?” Severus snarled at Petunia, but she had disappeared. Smart move.

“Harry?” Severus pressed a hand to Potter’s forehead to see how hot he was. Very hot. He needed medical attention urgently.

Severus cast a cleaning spell—not ideal, but it was better than nothing—then fumbled in his pockets, pulled out his potions kit and dosed Potter with a Fever-Reducing Potion, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to get the boy out of this place.

But there was a small problem … he couldn’t carry him. He couldn’t very well levitate him down the street in broad daylight.

Severus bit his lip. He was still shaky from his last meeting with Voldemort—but even if he hadn’t been, trying to carry Potter would result in him being bedbound for days again, which was precisely what Potter didn’t need. He considered calling St Mungo’s, but he knew Albus would rather Severus treated Potter himself unless there was no other choice. As he tried to think of an alternative, he heard hurried footsteps down the stairs, and looked around.

Petunia was hastily dragging her son from the house, carrying a suitcase.

“Stop!”

She flinched, but Severus wasn’t interested in her right now. He eyed up Potter’s huge muscular cousin.

“You there—Dudley, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Dudley mumbled, just as Petunia said, “Don’t talk to him, Dudley!”

“Come here, I need you to carry your cousin. Petunia, you needn’t bother to run away; no matter where you go you can be sure we’ll find you.”

She dropped the suitcase. Dudley shuffled forwards. “Carry Harry where?”

“To Mrs Figg’s house.”

Dudley didn’t need any more persuading. He lifted Potter in his arms as easily as if he were a baby. Severus cast a quick glamour spell to stop any Muggles noticing the rashes or the bubbles, and they left the house, leaving a silent Petunia behind.

“What’s wrong with Harry?” Dudley asked as they walked.

“Looks like an allergic reaction to me.”

Dudley gaped. “That’s what an allergic reaction looks like?”

“Not for Muggles, but such things work a little differently on wizards—especially if it’s something magical he’s allergic to.”

They arrived at Mrs Figg’s. She was quite startled to see Harry being carried by Dudley and emitting bubbles, but allowed them through to her fireplace. Dudley’s eyes widened as Severus threw the Floo into the fire.

“It’s quite simple. Step into the fire with me. It won’t hurt you.”

Dudley whimpered a little, but glanced down at Harry and drew a deep breath. “Okay.”

He followed Severus into the fire, and they were whisked off back to Severus’ house. Dudley staggered from the fireplace the other end, almost dropping his cousin.

“Sorry, I should have warned you about that.”

“Where do you want me to put him?”

“Up here.”

Dudley followed Severus upstairs into one of the spare rooms, and laid him on the new mattress. Potter had been conscious, but clearly not lucid, through the whole time, occasionally muttering random or unintelligible words.

“There,” Dudley said, tucking Harry in.

“Thank you, Master Dursley. You can return home now. Just throw the powder in the fire and say Mrs Figg’s address—”

“If it’s okay with you, sir, I-I’d rather stay till I know Harry’s going to be okay,” Dudley said tentatively.

Severus hid a smile as he imagined Petunia’s reaction to that. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir,” Dudley said, sounding a bit more confident.

“Well … all right. If you bear with me a short while, I will see to Potter and then let Mrs Figg know to let your parents know where you are.”

“Thanks sir.” Dudley drew back and let Severus get to work.

He took a blood sample to check his own diagnosis, and find out what exactly Potter had reacted to, then removed the last traces of it from his stomach with a spell. The boy stopped hiccupping bubbles. Severus found the right potion, modified it appropriately, and then set up a drip to send it slowly into Potter’s bloodstream. Finally he gave Potter a sleeping potion, and the boy went from delirious mumbling to sleeping soundly.

“Is that it? He’ll be okay now?”

“He’ll be fine in a day or two provided he responds fully to the treatment.” Severus found himself tucking Potter in, and quickly stopped himself. “If you want to leave—”

“I’m not going anywhere till Harry’s better. Oh, er, I mean, if that’s okay with you, sir,” Dudley added quickly.

“It’s fine with me.” And might be useful. “I’d better send that message to your parents. Anything in particular you want me to tell them?”

Dudley straightened up. “Yes. Tell them to start packing up all my things, because I don’t want to live with them anymore.”

Slightly stunned, Severus relayed the message to Mrs Figg, including that Dudley would be spending the next day or two with him while his cousin recovered. He would have loved to have seen Petunia’s face when Mrs Figg told her her son wanted to move out.

Now he just had to wait for Potter to respond, he found his mind wandering back to Petunia’s attempt to blackmail him. In the shock of discovering she knew his secret, it hadn’t even occurred to him that he could have just Obliviated her.

But maybe that was a good thing. Memory Charms were not perfect, nor his forte. He’d used them before only to have something trigger a recollection on the Obliviated person. There would always be something left in the subconscious, and if she ever remembered, she could get him into trouble not just for killing his father, but for using a Memory Charm to cover up the crime as well. As it was, if Petunia notified the Ministry, with a good lawyer he could probably avoid a life sentence. The Obliviation would double whatever he got. Because of their nature, Memory Charms weren’t supposed to be used by any but the most skilled in them, and certainly not to pervert the course of justice. It also wouldn’t help his relationship with Albus.

Severus should probably prepare himself, though, for Petunia actually following through with her threat. Hopefully she would be too distracted by the neglect charges he fully intended on throwing at her and the fact that her son was taking Potter’s side to do so, but just in case … maybe it was time he came clean with his employer.

He told Dudley to watch Potter, and made another Firecall. “Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts.”

Albus was working at his desk, and looked up when he heard Severus arrive. “Morning, my boy. What can I do for you?”

“We need to talk about Potter and the Dursleys,” Severus said grimly, and Albus’ smile faded. “You’d better come over.”

Mere seconds after he had stepped back from the fireplace, Albus appeared. “What’s going on, Severus?”

They sat down. Deciding to start at the top, Severus began. “When Potter found out he was bankrupt, he assumed it was his own fault and didn’t ask anyone for help out of pride.”

“Sounds familiar,” Albus said, a twinkle in his eyes.

“Eventually he passed out while working for me, and I found out that firstly, he had been doing extra jobs all around his neighbourhood and exhausting himself in the process; secondly, that he wasn’t eating properly because his aunt and uncle weren’t leaving him dinner; and thirdly, that they’d actually started taking money off of him and stopped his meals altogether.”

Albus’ smile vanished quickly. “What?

“I had a word with Petunia and convinced her to give the money back and make sure Potter ate properly,” Severus said, “raised his salary and told him to drop the other jobs. But when he was looking for his Gringotts vault key, I made some more observations, and confronted Petunia with them.”

“Which were?”

“As far as I can tell they’ve never bought him any clothes—I don’t know if you’ve seen those rags of his cousin’s—and his bedroom would be small for a ten-year-old. I bought him some decent clothes myself and insisted they move him into their spare room. Potter told me they were trying to stall, making excuses why they couldn’t do it right away. Then this morning, he didn’t turn up for work. I went over there, and found him locked in a cupboard.”

WHAT?” Albus jumped to his feet.

“They’d left him in there sick, Albus. Allergic reaction. Another few hours and he might not have made it.”

Albus began pacing, great distress on his face. “Will Harry be all right?”

“He should be fine. He’s in the spare room upstairs.”

“Good.”

Severus bit his lip. “Um … there’s more.”

“What?”

“You should know, when I spoke to Petunia the first couple of times, I made … threats. Nothing lethal,” he added quickly. “Just the standard transfiguration of people into inanimate objects, messing up her perfectly ordered house, that sort of thing.”

“I take it you didn’t go through with these threats.”

“Didn’t have a chance. When I turned up to find out why Potter wasn’t at work … she … stood up to me. Said they weren’t going to stand for being blackmailed anymore.”

Albus raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“She tried to blackmail me.”

The Headmaster stared at Severus in surprise. “Blackmail you? With what?”

Severus took a deep breath. “There’s something I—I never told you …”

To be continued...
Chapter 13: Backup by Alexannah

“… I killed my father.”

There was a long, long silence.

“Oh,” Albus said softly. He didn’t look shocked, which surprised Severus … just sad. “I see.”

“You—you knew?”

Albus shook his head. “No, I didn’t know. But I can’t pretend the possibility never crossed my mind either.”

“You never said anything!” Severus couldn’t believe his ears. All these years he had lived in fear of Albus finding out—and he had suspected all along! “Why?”

“I hoped that, if it were true, you would tell me of your own volition,” Albus replied.

“You’re not … disappointed in me?”

“Severus, it was a long time ago, and the circumstances were … understandable.”

He had never talked to Albus about the ‘circumstances’, which was a good euphemism. Somehow, years ago, the Headmaster had figured out how much he’d suffered at his father’s hand. Too late to do anything about it—except try to help him deal with the scars.

“It wasn’t self-defence,” Severus said thickly. “I just—just did it. He was just sitting there with his back to me and I killed him.”

“Given everything he’d done to you for years, it’s no surprise you snapped. Besides, you were a different person back then. You’ve changed. I know it, and would be willing to stand up and say so in court if it came to it.”

Severus felt a huge lump in his throat, and couldn’t say a word. Albus smiled, showing he understood.

“Th-thank you.” Severus didn’t know what else to say.

Albus didn’t say anything, but drew Severus into an embrace. Severus clutched his friend tightly in return.

“Um … well, now you know about my father … there’s something else I suppose I should mention …”

-

When Harry started to regain consciousness, he still felt dizzy and nauseous, and his stomach hurt—though nowhere near as much as it had. He didn’t make any movement, just lay there, slowly processing that he wasn’t in his cupboard anymore—he could tell the bed was from somewhere else. Did that mean his dream of being taken out of Privet Drive by Snape and Dudley was real?

The memory of that wasn’t exactly clear, but he vaguely remembered snatches of conversation around him. They didn’t make much sense on their own.

There was one way to find out. He opened his eyes.

He recognised the room immediately—it was one of Snape’s spare rooms. He was tucked up in the floral bedding, the curtains closed to keep out what looked like bright sunlight. Harry gingerly turned his head, and saw Dudley sitting on a chair next to the bed.

“Hi, Harry. Are you feeling better?”

“Um …” Harry said, slowly processing that it hadn’t been a dream. “A little bit.”

“Oh, good. Mr Snape said it would take a while.”

“Right.” Harry tried to rub his eyes, but his arms were still too heavy. He did see that the rashes on his skin had improved, and they didn’t itch as much anymore. “What are you doing here, Big D?”

“I wanted to make sure you were all right.” Dudley paused. “Mr Snape said I could stay until you were better.”

“Do Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon know where you are?”

“Yeah.”

“I bet they’re not happy,” Harry said, grinning weakly.

“I don’t care,” Dudley said firmly. “Until they’re sorry for what they did to you, I’m not talking to them, and I’m not living with them anymore either.”

“You’re not?”

Dudley shook his head. “I’ve moved out.”

Harry was stunned. Dudley trying to help him was enough of a shock—but splitting with his parents over him? He could never have predicted it in a million years.

“What are you going to do?”

Dudley shrugged. “Not sure. I’ll think of something.”

There was a short silence. “Smeltings takes boarders, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“So if you boarded, you could stay at your school and you’d have somewhere to live during term time.”

“Like you,” Dudley said.

“Yeah. Then you’d only need somewhere during the holidays. I’ve got friends who I’m sure I could persuade to put you up for a few weeks.”

Dudley’s eyes widened. “Er … do you mean that red-headed family?” he asked nervously.

“Not just them, but yes. Don’t worry, I swear I can control the twins,” Harry said firmly. “If I ask them not to prank you they won’t.”

“Maybe,” Dudley said doubtfully. “Do you think you’ll live with them, then?”

“Er … sorry?”

“Well, Snape said you were going back to Mum and Dad over his dead body,” Dudley said. “He’s talking to someone about where you’re going to stay right now, I think.”

Harry took a moment to digest this. “Do you know who the ‘someone’ is?” As he said it, he guessed it was probably Dumbledore.

“I didn’t get a name. Old guy, glasses, long beard—”

“I know the one. Is he here? I’d like to have a say in this.”

“Yeah, they’re downstairs. I can go and get them if you want?”

“Yes please, Dudley.”

When his cousin had left the room, Harry closed his tired eyes, thinking though it made his head worse. His stomach was beginning to twist itself in knots, but he wasn’t sure what he was more afraid of—Dumbledore agreeing with Snape, or Dumbledore not agreeing with Snape. After all, it had been Dumbledore who had initially made the decision to send him to the Dursleys—he must have thought that keeping Harry from Voldemort was worth whatever they did to him. And Harry could see his point of view—if it was a choice between a childhood in a cupboard or death, he supposed he would choose the cupboard. Still, he would give almost anything to have a proper home with someone who actually gave a damn about him.

The question was—would Dumbledore agree to move him? It wasn’t like the Dursleys were beating him or anything. Snape may sound dead set on moving Harry, but Dumbledore was, well, Dumbledore. If he wanted to overrule Snape, he surely could.

And if he did agree to move him … where would he go? Harry knew where he wanted to go—the Burrow, though he would be happy living with anyone who actually cared about him. But what if Dumbledore had other ideas? He was the sort of person who would have a backup plan in case the Dursleys fell through, and Harry couldn’t be sure he would like that one any more than he had liked Plan A. For all he knew it might be worse.

He heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and braced himself for whatever would come. He wasn’t sure whether he planned on arguing with Dumbledore’s decision (whatever it was). He didn’t feel up to trying, but had a feeling he might have to.

Dudley re-entered the room, followed by Snape and Dumbledore. Dudley gave Harry a little smile and sat back down. Snape’s expression was unreadable. Dumbledore smiled at Harry.

“Hello, Harry. Are you feeling better?”

“Are you sending me back to the Dursleys?” Harry asked, in no mood for small talk.

The shock that spread over Dumbledore’s face looked genuine to him. “What? Good heavens, no.”

“You’re not?”

No,” Dumbledore said firmly. “I’m sorry, Harry—I clearly made a huge mistake leaving you with them in the first place.” He gently clasped Harry’s better hand in one of his. “Believe me, if I had known how it would have turned out, I would never have done it.”

Harry felt a lump in his throat as he looked Dumbledore in the eye. He could see guilt and sorrow written in those blue irises, and he felt some of his anxiety ease—but not all of it.

“So where am I going to go?” he asked in a small voice.

Dumbledore looked around at Snape.

“You’ll be staying with me,” Snape said, and Harry’s eyes widened.

“What?”

Snape nodded. “The protections I can put around this house aren’t in the same league as the blood wards at Privet Drive, but they’re still stronger than anything you would find anywhere else save for Hogwarts. And I hope you know that, no matter our history, I would not neglect your needs.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t exactly the Burrow. But somehow, after everything Snape had done for him, he wasn’t sure the thought horrified him the way it would have a few weeks ago.

All thought of arguing left his thoughts. “Okay,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome to stay as well, Dudley,” Snape said to Harry’s cousin.

“I am?” Dudley asked, sounding stunned.

“I understand you go to boarding school?”

“Well I’ve never actually boarded there, but yeah. Harry already suggested I start boarding so I only need somewhere to stay in the holidays.”

“That would be more practical, if you were to stay here, since I live at Hogwarts term time.”

“But other arrangements can be made for you if you would rather not,” Dumbledore said kindly. “Mrs Figg said she has a spare room, for instance. If you were still local you need not board. Or I can think of several people who would be happy to host you, if you were happy to use the Floo Network to get to school, or change schools.”

Dudley paused thoughtfully. “I think I’d rather stay with Harry. Even if it means boarding. Um, if you’re okay with that,” he said quickly to Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry said, strangely grateful that it wasn’t just going to be him and Snape.

“Well, that settles that,” Dumbledore said. His tone was cheerful, but Harry could tell he was still shaken up. “I will call at Privet Drive and pick up your belongings, both of you.”

“I was going to do that,” Snape said.

“I think it’s probably best you stay away from Petunia, Severus,” Dumbledore said a little darkly. “I will handle it. I have to talk with them anyway so I may as well do both at the same time.”

“All right,” Snape muttered.

Dumbledore left the room. Snape shook off whatever had been bothering him a moment ago and scrutinised Harry carefully. “How do you feel, Potter?”

“Less sore and itchy,” Harry said after a moment. “Otherwise not much change. Sir, what’s wrong with me?”

“You had an allergic reaction to one of the herbs in my tea,” Snape said.

“Oh.”

“You seem to be responding to the treatment, so you should be fine in a couple of days. In the meantime, rest—and you should have something to eat. I’ll bring you up some food, and some more cream for your rashes.” He turned and left.

There was a short silence once he had gone. “Well, that was unexpected,” Harry murmured to himself.

“What?” Dudley asked.

“Living with Snape.”

“Why?”

“He doesn’t like me,” Harry said. “At all.” He paused. “Though he’s been a lot better to me lately than your parents ever were.”

“Good,” Dudley said.

Harry wasn’t sure he understood it. Snape had not just been a decent employer, and looked out for Harry’s needs outside of work, but now he was putting him up for the rest of the summer, and presumably next summer, at least until he was of age. Why?

Of course, it was entirely possible he had slept through a ferocious argument between Snape and Dumbledore over taking Harry in—but he doubted it. Dudley would have heard it, and mentioned it, right?

The room was silent until Snape returned with rash cream and a plate of scrambled eggs.

“Thank you, Professor.”

Snape was about to return downstairs when Harry decided he had to ask. “Sir … why did you agree to take me in?”

There was a short pause. “I already told you. You’re safer here than most places.”

Harry frowned. “That’s not an answer. Didn’t Dumbledore have a backup plan in case it didn’t work out with my aunt and uncle?”

“This is the backup plan, Potter,” Snape said. “It always was, long before you started working for me.”

“It—it was?”

“Yes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to make another bedroom suitable to sleep in. Dudley, I will need a hand.”

“Yes, sir,” Dudley said, and hurried after Snape, leaving Harry alone with his very confused thoughts.
To be continued...


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