Harry pulled off his glasses for what felt like the fifteenth time in an hour and rubbed his eyes with quivering fingers. He needed to get new ones, that was for certain. These were rubbish anyways; Aunt Petunia had pulled them from a donation bin years ago and deemed them ‘good enough for the likes of him.’ They weren’t even his prescription anyways, but they allowed him to see the board and function in class.

How he managed to see and catch the snitch as well as he did was a miracle. One he could only attribute to being able to see the glint of gold against the rather matte background of the stands or ground.

But since the end of the Triwizard Tournament, he had noticed his glasses were becoming less and less effective. He still couldn’t see well, but it was as though it were a different type of bad than normal and his glasses simply weren’t doing it any more. The headaches this was causing him were horrendous and were making it difficult for him to concentrate on anything. Even if he had had access to his homework, he didn’t think he would have been able to do any of it.

But it wasn’t just his head that was hurting. His back and legs ached fiercely and he was finding it more and more difficult to climb out of bed in the morning as cramps would run the length of his spine if he hadn’t moved in a long time. His fingers would twitch almost uncontrollably at times and he couldn’t help but notice the slight tremor his hands seemed to always have. Fine motor movements such as those required for tying his shoes were a struggle as well, but that was on a good day. On a bad day, he could barely pick up a glass of water on his own without sloshing the majority of it on to his front and the cramps in his back would leave him writhing on the bed whimpering in pain.

It had gotten so bad even Aunt Petunia had given him two paracetamol. They hadn’t done anything, but the fact she had given him anything at all was shocking. She had even begun letting him off of many of the more labor intensive chores, though she still always found something for him to do for which he was grateful. The more time he had alone, the more time he had to think about Cedric’s death and the end of the Tournament.

And those were thoughts he would rather not focus on constantly.

He hadn’t slept very well last night or the night before and he hadn’t been allowed food this morning due to keeping Uncle Vernon awake last night with his nightmares, but other than that the day hadn’t been too bad. He wasn’t in too much pain this morning other than the headache caused by his glasses, his hands weren’t shaking too badly, and the weather was nice enough that doing yard work wasn’t too taxing.

“When you’ve finished weeding the garden, clean out the old mulch and replace it with fresh,” Aunt Petunia’s voice from the kitchen window cut harshly through his thoughts.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, pulling his shirt down so it better covered his torso.

That was another thing he’d noticed: he was growing finally. He had thought he had stopped growing last year after Ron suddenly shot past him in height, but now he thought he had just briefly stalled in growth. Was that even a thing? Whether it was or not, that seemed to be what had happened to him. It wasn’t as though Dudley’s old clothes had ever fit him before, but now he was finding he was having to wear the hand-me-downs more and more frequently as they were the only things he had which were long enough to compensate for his newfound height.

Maybe that was what was causing his various pains? Were they just growth pains?

He had nearly finished the garden when the distinctive hoot of a owl was heard above him. Looking up to see if Hedwig had returned from Ron’s, Harry was saddened when he realized the snowy owl was not there. Before he even got the chance to register what kind of large brown owl it was, two letters were dropped rather unceremoniously onto his head. Squinting at them briefly in confusion, Harry saw they both appeared to be written on rather aged parchment; one in green and one in standard black.

He’d have to read them later.

Shoving them into his pants pocket, he stood up and dusted himself off before going to the back shed to get a bin bag for the old mulch and the wheelbarrow to help move the new mulch around. It was a simple task but he felt odd though, as though something ominous were about to occur.

Looking around, he was mildly surprised to find nothing wrong or out of place. He had sworn he had seen shadowy figures around the neighborhood from time to time, but he couldn’t even find one of them. Perhaps his Divination lessons were finally catching up to him?

He chuckled lightly at the thought, but couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety that was building inside of him. Something was wrong, but he couldn’t place his finger on what.

Shaking himself, he grabbed the bin bag and wheelbarrow and walked back to the front yard. Wincing slightly as his back twinged with the movement, he reached down and picked up the first of many bags of mulch from the side of the garage and placed it in the wheelbarrow. Turning towards the garden, he paused once more to rub his eyes. His head was beginning to throb and he felt strange. Dizzy almost, or like his head was filled with fluff.

It was like he was moving in slow motion. Everything seemed so bright and far away, as though he were looking at it through a tunnel. A tapping on his leg brought his attention back to his own location. Looking down, he saw his left hand was rhythmically twitching, tapping on his leg.

‘That’s weird,’ he thought, trying to stop the twitch. ‘Really weird.’

Suddenly, he realized the wheelbarrow seemed much closer than before. He was falling! He tried to move anything to prevent the fall, but couldn’t control anything!

Then, without warning, everything went black.

---

Severus Snape was not a happy man. He hadn’t been in years, but today even more so than usual.

It had barely even been four weeks since the return of the Dark Lord and already he had been called to three ‘meetings.’ Thankfully, he hadn’t been on the receiving end of his former master’s wrath, but with every ‘meeting,’ the list of tasks he was to do grew. After every ‘meeting’ he was given a list of potions the Dark Lord wanted him to complete. Often these were simple healing potions but still the list would be lengthy and he was required to get them to his Lord within a few days lest he face the same repercussions his colleagues did.

In addition to his work for the Dark Lord, he was required to inform Dumbledore of which potions the Dark Lord was requesting, if any plans for raids were being made, and make antidotes for some of the more nefarious poisons requested by the Dark Lord. He had to attend meetings for the Order of the Phoenix, ‘meetings’ with the Dark Lord, and the occasional Death Eater revel. Each of these were taking hours of his time and every day he hoped the ritual Wormtail had performed to bring the Dark Lord back would suddenly fail, if only so he would have his free time back.

He was exhausted, he ached from hours of brewing, and he felt as though he hadn’t showered in days despite showering as often as possible as the fumes from the potions he made permeated his hair and clothing. He was keeping up with demand, but only just. If either side suddenly increased their demand for his potions, he ran the risk of failing on one end or another.

In short, he needed an assistant.

While he would have preferred to choose one of his older Slytherins as an assistant, or even hire one in, he ran into two very large and obvious problems. First, few of his older Slytherins had the desire to join either side of the war, preferring to remain neutral instead. While he would normally have been thankful for this, feeling as though he had assisted in influencing them not to make the same mistakes he had at their age, this did not suit his needs at all. Hiring an assistant would not work either as he was routinely required to make very obviously dark potions. Frequently these were listed as Class One poisons which carried the obvious risk of losing one’s ability to practice as a potioneer as well as a prison sentence of up to 10 years in Azkaban.

No, it wasn’t worth it for anyone to even want to be hired on. Even if he could find someone he deemed capable enough to be his assistant, the risk of them turning him in was too great.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, whoever it was he chose to be an assistant had to be someone neutral or at least able to be seen as easily swayed towards the side of the dark. If he could have chosen anyone to be his assistant, he would have likely chosen one of the 7th year Ravenclaws, but they were too neutral and leaned too far to the side of the light to be safe to ask to join him. Granger was another option, loathe as he was to admit it, but requesting one of Harry Potter’s best friends was out of the question. That request could get her and her family killed simply because she was a muggleborn.

He had tried reaching out to Dumbledore for assistance in finding one, only to have his letter remain unopened and likely still sitting on the man’s desk. Had the man actually opened it, he would have been met with the typical reassurances that he would do fine and wouldn’t need any additional help, followed by a refusal to assist him in finding anyone. He may be a spy, but he was not superhuman and brewing this many potions was a herculean effort even without school in session.

That left only a handful of choices and of those there was only one obvious option: Draco Malfoy.

Capping his inkwell and quickly drying his quill, he sighed and rubbed the side of his nose in frustration as he sealed the letter in an envelope. He really didn’t want to send this letter, but if he were going to get any sleep at all in the next week he needed an extra set of hands to help him. He wasn’t as big of a fan of the boy as what he let on at school. Draco reminded him far too much of Potter Sr. in his arrogant attitude and way he strutted around the school, throwing his money and influence at those who dared question him. Even Potter Jr. wasn’t as bad, but the sight of the boy still angered him greatly.

There was one potential benefit to having Draco working under him, however. There was certainly a possibility his own initiation into the Death Eaters could be postponed as he was already working under Severus and working ‘for’ the Dark Lord. He may not be Severus’s favorite student, but anything to prevent another soul from getting sucked into the Death Eaters prematurely would be good. And some time away from the influence of his father would do the boy some good.

A rapping on his kitchen window startled him from his thoughts as he waited for the wax to dry.

“Perfect timing,” he muttered to himself, opening the window for the two waiting owls.

Taking the small parcel of ingredients from one of the owls, he sent it on its way before turning his attention to the ingredients. It would be such a shame if something had happened to them en route as some of these items had rather… hefty price tags. Finding nothing wrong with the ingredients, he turned his attention to the other owl which carried three letters in its talons, bound together with a simple piece of twine.

Placing the bundle on his kitchen table, he handed the waiting owl his letter for Lucius and dug through his pockets in search of a few knuts to pay for the usage of the mail owl. As he was slipping the knuts into the pouch on the bird’s leg, a sudden wave of fire crashed over his left arm, causing him to gasp and nearly drop the coins on the floor.

“Alright, you’ve been paid!” he said, waving his hand at the owl as he summoned his Death Eater robe and mask. “Get out of here!”

With a huff, the owl fluttered out of the window seconds before Severus slammed the window shut and locked it.

Just as he was preparing to apparate to the summon’s location, a phoenix patronus burst into flames in the middle of his living room.

“Harry Potter has left the wards. Repeat: Harry Potter has left the wards. Repeat: Harry Potter has left the wards,” the headmaster’s voice said calmly from the mouth of the patronus before the bird vanished as quickly as it came.

“Dammit, Potter!” Severus cursed as he spun on his heel and pulled his mask over his face. “Can you not follow instructions for once in your life?”