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!”