Harry was awoken from his sleep by a steady beeping filling the room, much like the muggle alarm clock he had fixed three summers ago at the Dursley's. He searched for the offending object with his hand, finding only air. "Silencio," he commanded, but the noise didn't stop. "Shut up," he said between clenched teeth as the noise steadily increased in tempo and sound.

"For Merlin's sake! I'm up, I'm up!" Harry yelled to the room, jumping from the warm bed he was nestled in. The sound stopped as soon as his feet touched the floor, and Harry fell face first onto the bed once more. The sound started again. He bet Snape programmed this setting into the room, it was something evil and conniving and definitely Snape-like.

Slipping on a pair of socks, he opened his door and walked into the kitchen. Slytherin looked as though he was sleeping in his canvas, but he was a Slytherin. Slytherin was a Slytherin. Harry really needed to learn not to think in the mornings.

He poured himself a small cup of milk, finding a glass in the cabinets with a few plates and bowls. A refrigerator was to the far left of the cabinetry with an oven placed right in the middle. It wasn't a bad set-up, but it was tiny. The refrigerator was stocked very well with a few meals already pre-made and wrapped up, probably the work of one of the house elves.

He picked up one of the sandwiches and grabbed his glass of milk before plodding into the front room, collapsing onto the sofa. Gulping down the milk, he hastily ate the sandwich after looking at the clock and seeing it was nine in the morning. He had to be ready to meet Snape at ten.

After finishing, he showered and shaved, brushing his teeth and combing his hair when he was finished. He looked somewhat presentable when he- his hair somewhat tamed and lying flat on his scalp. He tucked in his oxford and slipped on a jumper, tying a Gryffindor tie around his neck and tightening it. It was as good as he was going to get for the time being.

Lying back on the couch after his morning tasks were complete, Harry opened his Transfiguration book and began reading the first chapter. It was probably a good idea to get a head start on his work, especially if they were going to force him to work during the school year. He used a muggle highlighter he had found on his desk to mark up the pages, ignoring the withering glare Slytherin was throwing him from the portrait.

"What are you up to?" The older man drawled, tapping a finger on the bottom of his canvas with narrowed eyes.

"Just Transfiguration. If I'm being forced to take responsibility, I'm going to make sure I have time to relax at some point in the next year. Why not get a head start on my work." He cringed at just how much he was sounding like Hermione. Oh, Hermione. Maybe it wasn't a good thing to think about his friends right now. Especially as their friendship was probably null and void at the moment.

"Relaxation is for those without immediate responsibilities. You, Mr. Potter, will not be relaxing this year if any of the Professors have anything to say about it."

"Y'know, Professor, I don't understand why everyone is placing the sole blame with me. It doesn't matter what I say, it is my fault completely for something Ginny seems to have full memory of. Strange, isn't it? Why do I not remember a thing." He didn't say it as a question, nor was he expecting an answer. The portrait was getting pretty damn annoying though, and he was pretty sure it was going to get old pretty damn fast.

"Well, Potter, it looks like you'll have to buck up like the Gryffindor you are and get your act together. Like it or not, this baby is yours. The circumstances will come to light, eventually."

Harry rolled his eyes and continued marking up his book, hoping he was absorbing more of the material than he thought he was.

When he was finished, he eyed the syllabus and made a small mark next to that Transfiguration assignment. The reading wasn't all too different from the OWL assigned reading, but he supposed there was more theory and vocabulary than the previous year. It delved more into the magic of transfiguration, why witches and wizards were able to manipulate the magical character of an object and turn it into what they wanted for a short time.

Reading further down the syllabus, Harry reminded himself to ask McGonagall for time to complete the quiz after the reading. He would start his essay when he returned in the afternoon from his "job-hunting" as he had begun calling it unknowingly within his mind. On second thought, maybe he should owl her about a time he could meet her. Better to not ask her to her face in light of recent events.

He penned a quick letter asking her for an hour to take the quiz, and folded it. He scribbled her name onto the front and walked over to the floo. He remembered seeing Mrs. Weasley send letters via the floo a couple of years ago before he went to the World Cup, and wondered if he could do the same thing.

He took a small pinch of powder between his forefinger and thumb, and threw it into the fire. "Professor McGonagall's Office- Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Placing the letter in the flames, it vanished. If he didn't hear from her by the time he returned, he'd have to rewrite the letter and send Hedwig with it up to her office.

Coward, a voice sing-songed in the back of his mind. Harry groaned and fell back onto the couch, awaiting the arrival of his dreaded Potion's Professor.

He must have fallen back asleep because he definitely would have dodged the stream of freezing cold water drenching his clothing and face if he had been somewhat aware of his surroundings. Sitting up, he sputtered at his glowering Potion's Professor for a moment before angrily growling and stomping away into his room.

Using a dry hand towel, he moped the water off of his face and attempted to dry his clothes slightly- to no avail. He exited the bathroom still glowering, picking up his wallet and wand off of his dresser before joining Snape in the living room.

"Your first interview is in fifteen minutes. Seeing as you fell asleep," he sneered the last two words, crossing his arms and glaring now ",we will need to take the floo to the Three Broomsticks and walk the rest of the way. I'm sure you are familiar with a floo?" He then angrily threw down floo powder and shoved Harry into the flames, causing him to lose his balance and stumble out onto the other side.

A second later, Snape attempted to step out of the grate, but was unable to as Harry had yet to move. He stumbled slightly, but gracefully composed himself before glaring even harder down at the teenager.

"Up, Potter," the dark man snarled, swiftly brushing past and out into the crisp summer morning. Harry hastily caught up, only having a few experiences around the small town and not wanting to get lost.

"The man that will be interviewing you is one of the finest Potion's makers in Europe. He is in need of an assistant five days a week for up to three hours a day, 11 sickles an hour as a starting wage."

Harry glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye, and cringed. He didn't look happy at all that Harry was being associated with someone that was more than likely a colleague of some sort. Well, he'd just have to deal with it. It would beat having to work out in the yard of the Dursley's all summer, and he'd be getting paid for this!

"What sort of work," Harry then paused and added, "Sir?" as an afterthought.

"Organizing and preparing ingredients, and perhaps looking after the shop when Master Gridlock is brewing. I've only commended your skills for working with particularly vile ingredients."

Oh no, Harry all too suddenly realized. Snape was basically setting him up for a paid detention. And he doubted Snape was getting nothing out of this partnership.

"So basically I'll be the grunge worker for a man too lazy to grind his own eye of newt?" Harry hissed, crossing his arms petulantly over his chest.

"When you come to have as much experience in the art of Potion Making, Potter, maybe then grinding newt livers will be so below you as well."

"So everytime we have a detention, preparing ingredients, they're for you? Because we're lower than you?"

The all too sadistic smirk that crossed Snape's facade was enough of an answer to that question, and Harry scowled further. Great, so bascially Snape used his detentions as slave labor, wait until Hermi-shit, why did his mind always go back to his friends? The ones that were probably plotting his demise at that very minute, especially Ron.

They arrived at a small shop nestled just off of the main street in a small, dark alleyway. A wooden sign creaked in the slight breeze, boasting the words "Gridlock's Apothecary- since 1953" crudely carved into the oak. Harry shivered at the sheer eeriness of the shop, but nonetheless gripped the handle and slipped into the shop after his Professor.

The openness of the shop surprised Harry, as did the organization of every ingredient. Live animals were kept in tanks in the very center of the room, an entire section being designated for serpentine ingredients. The parseltongue in him shivered at the thought of what those ingredients might entail, what he might have to do to harvest them. It would be like doling out torture to a helpless animal.

This time he physically did shiver, and moved on to join Snape near the register. He was conversing with an older gentleman wearing robes very similar to Snape himself. There was, however, no cloak buttoned below his neck nor were his sleeves as tight to his wrists as Snape's customary outfit was.

Standing just behind Snape's right shoulder, Harry was able to see just how haggard and overworked the older man before him was. He was leaning heavily on a cane and kept the other hand on the countertop to keep balance. One hand looked permanently scarred, perhaps burned a few years prior in a potion's incident. How was this man still a Potion's Master when he didn't look physically capable of even walking down the street?

"Mr. Potter, Master Gridlock. Jameson, Mr. Potter. He is the student I talked to you about in my letter." The man, Master Gridlock, eyed Harry as if he was a particularly nasty potion, eyeing him skeptically.

"Your Professor here says you have a knack for preparing the more nasty ingredients, is that true?" Harry straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat, making eye contact with his perhaps future employer.

"Sir, I'm willing to help with just about anything," he said while attempting to reign in the small amount of pity interlaced with his words.

"And a parseltongue if I am correct? That could prove to be useful." The man was now smirking, crooked and gnarled teeth giving his face an almost monstrous look.

Harry gulped, inwardly cringing at his next words, "Yes sir."

The man's eyes narrowed now at his complacency. "What are your Potion's grades currently?"

Harry now winced, eyeing his Professor who looked all too smug. "Mediocre, at best."

Gridlock hummed to himself and moved to feed one of the snakes a live mouse. Harry had to shut his eyes as the snake swallowed the squealling mouse whole, but couldn't keep the frightened chirppings from the creature before it was eaten.

"Queasy, Potter?" Gridlock cackled, legitimently cackled. Harry was reminded of the wicked Witch of the West from the Wizard of Oz, now mentally cursing Dudley for having an obsession with that movie in the third grade.

"Some, sir."

Snape scoffed beside him, probably from the respectful means he was addressing the Potion's Master before him. Yeah, Snape, I can be respectful when I like, he mentally smirked to himself.

"Well, get used to it. The last assistant lasted two days before I had to fire him. Had an irrational fear of spiders."

Harry nodded once more, vowing to stay as quiet as possbile. He was sure he was the only sane person in the establishment at the moment, and that frightened him more than he liked.

"The shop is closed on Sundays, and you can have Mondays off. Tuesday through Saturday I expect you here at four in the afternoon and you'll leave at seven. If there is a schedule change, I'll let your Professor here know."

Harry nodded; is that all he would ever do in this man's presence?

"Pay," he hummed, drumming his fingers against a tank of live newts. Ugh. "Well, we'll start you out at eleven sickles per hour, almost two galleons a day. That should work." Snape nodded his head in agreement and put his hand into his cloak, taking out a parchment.

He scribbled down his hours in that slanted, miniscule print of his with an everlasting ink quill and his wage before folding the paper again and returning it to his pocket.

"I will have Mr. Potter here at four on the dot Tuesday afternoon. Is there a uniform?"

Was Snape being helpful? Harry was dazed for a moment as his Professor shot him a glance, causing Harry to look down at his feet in submission. He couldn't even mentally question his Potion's Professor without being chastised...

"His Hogwarts uniform, sans cloak, should work. Be sure to bring your Herbology smock in case I have you working in the garden." Harry's eyebrow quirked at the mention of a garden, but didn't comment. He nodded slowly before shuffling in place. Weren't either of them feeling uncomfortable in this situation?

Snape began conversing with Gridlock in a low voice, dismissing Harry. Harry began to walk around the tanks and habitats set up for the snakes and reptiles, gazing at a zebra striped boa in awe. He tapped the glass and hissed lowly in greeting, and both men behind him paused in their conversation, watching the teenager.

The snake lifted its head, moving so it was wrapped around the log in its enclosure, holding Harry's gaze.

"Are you a ssspeaker?" the Boa hissed, angling its head towards the human. Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets, and looked down on the creature.

"Yesss, what type are you?" Harry replied, looking for some sort of name plate around the cage.

"I am an Argentinan Zabor Boa, what are you?" Harry's eye twitched at the question, but decided to look up the species when he returned to Hogwarts. This snake may just be the only neutral friend he would have in the shop.

"I am a ssstudent. I will be nessting here." Nesting? What the fuck? Okay, maybe working didn't really translate over, but still, nesting? Really?

"You have young?" Harry gasped, taking a step back from the enclosure. Snape was at his side a moment later. "Did it bite you?" Harry shook his head silently, now glaring at the snake. Maybe it wasn't unusual for a snake to ask if another of its species has children, but really? Did he look like a father?

"It'sss not mine." Harry hissed back angrily, turning around and exiting the store without a backwards glance. How could a snake get him this angry, honestly? Okay, maybe it could have been the stress the teachers had forced upon him, oh and the fact that he was apparently going to be a father. Go figure that he was slightly angry at the world for once again screwing him over.

Taking a deep breath, Harry attempted to clear his mind. While he wasn't fabulous at occlumency, he had grasped the basic concept of holding onto an image and immersing himself in it. It wasn't a shield, persay, but rather an escape route, a way to calm his thoughts, his magic when it began to storm and build.

"Mr. Potter," the dark clad man behind him ground out, spinning the errant teenager around to face him once more. The look of sheer bliss and calm was not what he expected to find after the younger boy all but tantrumed in the entryway to his new employer's shop. "Explain."

"The snake," He calmly stated, rocking back onto his heels nonchalantly.

"Yes, and what did a reptile say to upset you so?"

Harry could tell the Professor was making an effot not to snap. The thought was almost laughable, he was trying to placate Harry.

"He said I have young," the almost ethereal voice stated, and Severus knew that if the boy was in his right mind he would not be admitting any of these details to the dour man before him.

"Young?" Might was well interrogate him if he was just going to stand there and answer so calmly, almost truthfully. Whatever the child was doing, was better than his best batch of veritaserum.

"Children, a child. I don't have a child."

"No, you do not have a child, yet. But you will in eight months time." Harry sighed and toyed with the sleeve of his jumper, continuing to rock back and forth.

"I don't want to though."

"What child wants a child of their own? This usually is not planned," the teacher voice was softer than he wanted it to be, but it couldn't be helped. He could see so much Lily in the boy at that moment- the wide green eyes, the nervous rocking, the fidgeting. It was almost surreal that he hadn't noticed it until now.

"If it is mine, I will care for it." The boy continued to speak so calmly, and Severus was now growing weary, what was happening to him? Had he finally snapped from the pressure that came with being the boy-who-lived, and perhaps one day the one to kill the Dark Lord? Perhaps this was shock finally setting in after the mutts death in the ministry two months prior.

"We are expected for lunch in the Great Hall. Come," the Professor motioned for the young man to follow behind him, pleased that the boy was respectful enough to achieve employed status after one interview. They would see how the boy prioritized his time and if he could physically handle more hours without being detrimental to his education.

He was almost happy, well he was never happy but this was a close enough comparison, that Potter hadn't found out that most of the masks the Professors were doning around him were fake. All of the women were concerned about the boy, that he would cave under the pressure. He was expected to train and become a war hero, not a father at sixteen.

They were angry, of course they had the right to be angry. The boy was barely old enough to take care of himself, and it had landed on all of the Professors and the Headmaster to make sure the boy matured enough by the end of the summer to do just that- learn to care for himself and eventually another living, breathing creature.

Snape himself was more concerned with the training and schooling of the boy. Even in the wizarding world, teenage parents normally were forced to drop out of school and leave their families. They were all but shunned from society, which explained the articles littering the front page of the Prophet. Their saviour had committed a cardinal sin in the eyes of the still conservative views on the Wizarding World.

The Professors would attempt to shield the boy from this animosity, but it would only be a matter of time before it reached the boy's ears. The Weasleys were furious that their youngest child had been impregnated at such a young age, and out of wedlock at that. The Wizengamot had already owled the Headmaster demanding for Potter's immediate expulsion, seeing as the act that impregnated Ms. Weasley took place under Hogwarts' confines.

The only reason the boy hadn't been expelled was because he had taken responsibility, or rather Dumbledore had said Harry was taking responsibility of the child. The child was also then put under guardianship of the entirety of the staff, given rooms extremely warded, and forced to a strict schedule. It was one a teenager shouldn't be put under, one that even an adult couldn't handle. But the Ministry would not take no for an answer, Potter would not have a minute of free time under the watchful eye of the Ministry.

The duo walked through Hogsmeade and up the path back to Hogwarts. The area had been secured earlier in the day to assure no photographers or reporters were there to greet them at their return. The gate to the school screeched shrilly as it was opened and then relatched, Snape casting extra wards just as a small safety precaution.

The boy was silent, more subdued than usual, on his walk back to the Great Hall. Much too calm for the Potion's Master's liking, but much more enjoyable to be around when he wasn't causing mischief.

Upon entering the rather large chamber, Severus did not see anything out of the ordinary. Only the small gasp alerted him to four extra visitors sitting around the head table, followed by the more than truthful proclamation from the teenager next to him, "Oh, shite."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter, indeed."