CHAPTER 1

~GREENER PASTURES~

The grey clouds that covered London and the light rain that came down upon its streets as uncle Vernon drove towards number 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging seemed to be a reflection of Harry's inner self at the moment. He kept his lethargic stare fixed on the outside world as it slowly passed by, the London traffic not helped by the weather.

His uncle, thinking Harry might enjoy some background noise from the car radio, purposefully kept it off; the only sound in the car coming from the pitter-patter of the rain, other vehicles driving by, and the occasional yell or honk of an irate driver whose mood was no doubt helped along by the miserable weather. Harry wasn't sure if his uncle wasn't speaking to him simply because he hated doing so, or because he had noticed his solemn mood, but was glad that uncle Vernon was ignoring him so diligently.

Harry normally tried to get some sleep on these trips home from King's Cross, but remained awake for the same reason he'd refused to sleep for the past couple of days since coming back from the graveyard in Little Hangleton. The dreams he slipped into for the brief moments he lost his vigilance against his tiredness were so vivid that he'd almost convinced himself they were visions and not some product of his own mind. Professor Trelawney would be proud indeed, both of his new-found ability and the disturbing images he always gleaned from it.

Harry glanced enviously over at his snowy owl, Hedwig, who didn't seem to be having any issues falling asleep or staying that way, if her tucked head was any indication. After a moment, however, his scowl of jealousy morphed into the closest thing to a smile his face had managed in a week, perhaps even longer. Harry couldn't stay mad at the one entity that remained with him through thick and thin since coming into the magical world.

Ron and Hermione were great. In fact, Harry could unequivocally call them the best friends he'd ever had. But this year highlighted the fact that they were virtually the only friends he had. Neville, a boy Harry hadn't thought very much of in the past had proved to him how help could come from unexpected places when he'd come through with a solution for the second task the night before it had taken place. What could Harry have done if Neville had been as close a friend to him as Ron and Hermione were?

Harry suddenly felt uneasy. Thinking of his friends in terms of how useful they were to him… was that something he'd thought of, or was it the influence of the newly reincarnated Voldemort?

He hadn't said anything to any of his professors or the headmaster, their sombre attitudes and pitying looks had made Harry wary of approaching them with more possible issues, but ever since his encounter with Voldemort, Harry had felt that his mind wasn't completely his own anymore. When he was the most tired, when his eyelids felt heavier than the foundations of Hogwarts, Harry heard whispers. Nothing coherent enough to understand, but they were insistent and constant, following him until he suddenly awoke from one of his nightmarish visions.

Harry shook himself, realizing he'd been slowly drifting off towards sleep again. Hedwig seemed to be alert enough to open her eyes at Harry's sudden spasm, even uncle Vernon noticed the movement enough to glance in his rear view mirror at Harry with critical, squinted eyes.

"What's wrong with you, boy?" his uncle asked, his long moustache shaking with each word spoken like the overgrown tail of some woodland creature. "Pick up the mange at that freak school?"

"No," Harry said moodily, taking to staring back out the car's back-seat window.

"What did you say, boy?!" his uncle demanded, perceiving Harry's current attitude as a slight against him.

Putting up with his aunt, uncle and their whale of a son was a full time job for Harry. Literally. He cooked for them, cleaned for them, did their laundry, made sure their garden was the envy of Privet Drive. And all he'd been given for his efforts had been a cupboard under their stairs. He now resided in what until a few years prior had been a storage room for Dudley, but was still expected to 'pull his weight' and do everything he'd been doing since he'd been dropped off on their doorstep like a delivery from the milkman.

Harry wasn't sure if it was again the influence of the recently revived Dark Lord or his own personal grievance with his uncle, but suddenly found himself speaking regardless.

"Drop me off here."

There was a long stretch of silence in the car as the rain outside continued to ping off the car's exterior. Traffic had long ago gotten so bad that there hadn't been any movement for the last few minutes, and the clouds outside were only getting thicker, darkening the sky so much that street lights were beginning to flicker on despite it only being a few hours past noon.

"What?"

Uncle Vernon was so lost in what Harry had just said; he couldn't even manage to make his statement sound like a question. Harry, for his part, was just as surprised as his uncle, but repeated his request, this time with some forcefully tacked on pleasantries.

"Drop me off here, please, uncle Vernon."

Harry wasn't sure if what he was doing would work. But, right now, he was feeling more alive than he'd felt since the third task. In fact, it was beginning to rival his exchange with Voldemort in some ways. His heart was beating erratically, his palms were feeling cold and clammy, and despite his seemingly calm countenance, he was scared that at any moment, his uncle would snap out of his sudden surprised daze and turn around with a sharp smack to remind Harry just how freaky he was.

But none of that happened. Almost as if he were in some surreal dream, uncle Vernon reached down to the boot release of the car and with a dull click, the back of the car opened.

Wordlessly, Harry took off his coat, placed it over Hedwig's cage, and opened his door to get out. The entire process was filled with an atmosphere of suspense for Harry, waiting for the moment where he'd wake up, and be thankful that for once, one of his dreams wasn't about Cedric Diggory's death.

But as he got out of the car and immediately got wet from the rain that was only increasing in intensity, he began to realize this was real and was actually happening. Harry looked back inside the car and saw that his uncle seemed to be incapable of moving, his hand still next to the release for the boot and his head locked forward.

Not wanting to shatter this new reality, Harry simply said, 'Thanks,' shut his door, walked around the back of the car, lugged out his trunk and closed the back of the car.

Traffic still hadn't moved, but Harry felt rightly awkward in the middle of the road with his trunk and covered owl. He quickly made his way to the pavement only having mild trouble with squeezing between the cars with his hands full of his possessions. Still scarcely believing the scenario he found himself in, Harry once again glanced back towards his uncle's car, just barely making out the man sitting in the driver's seat, his head still facing forward rigidly.

Hedwig let out an indignant hoot, starting him out of his momentary stare. The rain was really coming down now and with his coat protecting Hedwig, he was beginning to feel his body cool despite the warm rain. Harry had never really explored London before, his only familiarity with the city being its magical area that he had no idea how to get to.

"The Knight Bus…" Harry reminded himself. However, summoning the triple decked purple bus in the middle of a muggle traffic jam didn't seem a good idea to Harry at the moment. Taking a quick look around, Harry spotted an entrance for the Tube and began to slosh through the puddles forming on the pavement towards the stairs leading under the streets.

Once out of the rain, Harry shook his head to at least get his wet hair to stay out of his eyes.

"Nice scar there, mate," a voice called from further down the stairs, echoing off the walls a little. Harry looked over at a man with a brown bag around a bottle he was holding and wearing a thick jacket and hat that looked like it had been soaked in twelve different fluids, none of which Harry wanted to take a guess at naming.

"Thanks," Harry said back reservedly. "Nice jacket."

Harry wasn't exactly lying; despite the mysterious stains, the man's jacket certainly looked comfortable and was probably the nicest piece of clothing he currently wore. The man looked surprised that Harry had even spoken back for a moment before a wide grin broke across his face, showcasing a surprisingly clean and complete set of teeth. Harry caught the man looking at his own coat covering Hedwig's cage in curiosity.

"Yours's ain't too shabby either," the man said, inclining his bottle towards Hedwig's cage. "What'cha doin' not wearin' it?"

Harry had calmed down a bit since leaving uncle Vernon's car, but suddenly felt the return of adrenalin to his system. He may not have been raised by loving parents, but he was raised by people who very much cared about appearances, and nothing appeared worse than guardians who couldn't take care of their charges. He knew that talking to strangers was generally not a good idea. To talk to a stranger dressed in clothes that had stains of questionable origins and drinking questionable fluids was even less so. To do all that in a Tube entrance on a rainy day…

But Harry wasn't quite himself today. He'd already disregarded Dumbledore's advice and wasn't returning 'home' to the Dursleys. What was ignoring some half-hearted slop from his aunt and uncle about the dangers of strangers?

"I couldn't let this beauty get wet."

Harry showed the man Hedwig who seemed to have known she'd be debuted and had her chest puffed out proudly, even giving a regal sounding hoot as Harry showed her off.

"What a lovely bird," the man said, clearly in awe of Hedwig's little performance. "She your familiar, then?"

"Familiar?" Harry parroted back, somewhat surprised by the man's unsurprised attitude that a 14 year old boy was carrying around an owl in down-town London.

"Well, she's a bit closer than plain ole' pet, yeah? Some folk might disagree, but I'd say that makes 'er a familiar."

"Oh," Harry said smartly, looking down at Hedwig to see her bobbing up and down as if to agree with the man.

"So," the man began, drawing Harry's gaze away from Hedwig and back to his surprisingly full smile. "What's the great Harry Potter doin' down 'ere?"

"I was- wait!" Harry nearly dropped his trunk to grab his wand only to realize his wand was still in said trunk and that he wouldn't be able to get to it nearly as quickly as he needed. "How do you-!"

"Whoa, there!" the jacketed man held up placating hands at seeing Harry panic. "Nothin' to worry about, I don't plan on doin' nuthin."

"So… you plan on doing something, then?" Harry said with a confused scowl, mentally beginning to prepare himself for a fight.

Back in primary school, double negative questions were always the questions he got wrong on tests, even before purposefully sabotaging his grades. He wouldn't be done in by one now.

"Huh?" the man with the bottle said, his eyes squinting as he too became confused by his previous statement. "No, no, I meant that I wouldn't do nuthin' to you or your bird!"

"You just did it again!"

Harry fully dropped his trunk now and pointed a finger at the man causing him to flinch a little as if he expected something to come from it.

"Quit'cha pointin now! Don't need none of that!" the man said with enough fear to actually make Harry feel bad. Slowly, he lowered his hand, and Harry saw the man relax a little before he slowly put his bottle down.

"Look, how about we just do it this way then," the man said as he reached into his coat causing Harry's heart to sky rocket again.

"I do solemnly swear ta not hurt Harry Potter," the man said, pulling a well worn wand from his jacket that was taking on a slight yellow tint before dulling back to normal. Hedwig suddenly gave another indignant hoot after having been quiet during the two's altercation. "Oh, right, and his familiar, too," the man hastily added, his wand once again glowed a quick yellow before once again returning to its normal hue.

"You're a wizard?" Harry was surprised he had met one outside of Hogwarts or Diagon Alley.

"What sort of muggle's you know that give oaths like that?" the man asked with a nervous but still somewhat cheeky, grin.

"Sorry," Harry quickly apologized, the man's roguish smile reminding him of his godfather somewhat, "I'm just a little… tightly wound, right now."

"Ain't nuthin' ta be sorry bout, little bit of caution is healthy, specially round here. Specially fur you."

As if prompted to do so, the two of them looked around their surroundings. This particular Tube entrance was perhaps the seediest Harry had seen; not that he'd seen too many or anything, but if he had to guess where a mugging would likely take place, at least a couple different features present in their current location would make their way into Harry's imaginary crime scene.

"Anyway, you don't strike me as the type ta be visitin' these particular kinds of places, Mr. Potter. You're not plannin' on doin' anythin' that'd get you in trouble, are you?"

Harry felt strange to be called 'Mr. Potter' by someone he'd just met and still didn't know the name of. He was also pretty sure he'd be getting in trouble for whatever he did at this point, but was fairly certain that the man in front of him was making sure he didn't plan on doing more conventional illicit activities that 'normal' disgruntled teenagers might try.

Harry almost let lose an amused grunt at the thought that even he didn't consider himself normal.

"No sir," he shook his head, "I'm actually trying to make my way to Diagon Alley. I was going to call a Knight Bus, but there are too many cars and muggles up top to do it right now. Not to mention the rain," Harry said, pulling at his wet clothes that were beginning to make him shiver a bit.

"Right," the man nodded sagely. "Well, if you're alright wit' it, I can get'cha dried off and to Diagon Alley right fast, if you want?" the man offered, taking a final swig of his bottle before pointing his wand at it and making it disappear to who knew where.

Harry felt conflicted for a moment. Sure, the man had given what looked to be a magical oath not to harm him or his owl, but Harry had learned over the course of the previous year that looks could be very misleading at times. Seeming to catch Harry's conflicted emotions dance across his face, the yet nameless wizard hastily spoke up again.

"Or maybe I'll just point ya toward Diagon Alley? Actually not too far from 'ere…"

Harry was grateful the wizard had caught his discomfort and offered an easy out. He gave the man a lopsided smile as he picked up his trunk once more.

"I'd very much appreciate that."

"Right," and Harry was once again flashed a remarkably white set of teeth. "Well, right now, you's about here," the man explained, waving his wand and creating a map of the local area, the place the man had just indicated pulsing a light blue colour while the rest of the surprisingly detailed three dimensional illusion of local London was a dull orange. Harry was impressed with the magic on display and almost didn't pay attention as the man began to trace out a glowing blue line from where they were to another point.

"Now, if you follow that path 'ere, you'll reach the Leaky right quick," the man finished with a self-satisfied smile and small nod, glancing over at Harry's face as he tried memorizing the rights and lefts he'd have to make. The man had been telling the truth, the Leaky Cauldron seemed to only be a few streets away.

"Thank you, er…"

"You can call me Clyde," the man said, putting out his hand to shake. Harry put his trunk down again and shook the man's hand, not surprised by the rough calluses he felt along the man's fingers.

"Thank you Clyde."

"Ah, but it's been my pleasure. Ain't 'ery day you get to meet and 'elp a Potter. Now, before you'sa get to leaving," the man glanced back towards where Harry had come in from and saw the rain still coming down, "how's bout a parting gift?"

"Oh, I couldn't-" Harry tried but was cut off by Clyde as he swatted the air as if knocking Harry's protests out of his ears.

"Nonsense, won't have any O' it," Clyde said as he pulled his wand out once more, quickly swishing it and conjuring an umbrella. Harry was about to remind the man about his full arms, but before he could open his mouth again, Clyde had waved his wand at the umbrella and it began to float over to Harry's head, hovering right above him. Finally, the man gave one final wave of his wand and made the umbrella disappear.

"There we are, right as rain. Ha!" the man laughed loudly to himself. "Right as rain! And it be rainin'!" Clyde shook his head as he calmed himself down from his own joke. "Ah, you'd best be goin' 'fore I make myself seem any more loony than needed, yeah?"

"Thank you again, Mr. Clyde," Harry said sincerely.

"Oi! That'd be plain olé Clyde, thank ye very much. Mr. Clyde was me father, and I ain't that old yet."

"Er… then thank you, Clyde."

"Ah, I just be pullin' yer leg. You be safe now, Mr. Potter." With that, Clyde spun and disappeared with a loud crack that reverberated in the concrete entrance.

"What a strange man," Harry muttered before he began to ascend the steps back up to the streets outside.

The weather certainly hadn't improved in the time he'd been underground, but, perhaps his mood had. It was a short walk to the Leaky Cauldron, and without the worry of getting wet from the rain, he found he rather enjoyed the stroll. With the weather being as foul as it was, there was hardly anyone to try and share the pavement with and the moisture in the warm air seemed to strangely invigorate him.

When he finally made it to the Leaky Cauldron, he felt the umbrella Clyde had conjured vanish. He wasn't sure how the invisible piece of magic had known to vanish when it did, but summed it up to the whimsical nature of magic he was gradually becoming very familiar with.

"Harry Potter?" Tom the barman asked, sounding very much surprised to have the wizarding world's celebrity walk into his establishment so soon after the end of the school year. Harry quickly made a shushing motion with his hand, not wanting his presence to cause something like what had happened the very first time he had walked into the Leaky Cauldron back before his first year with Hagrid. Tom seemed to catch on quite quickly and returned to cleaning his mugs and wiping the counter nonchalantly, only occasionally sending his eyes flicking towards Harry as he tried to discreetly make his way to the counter. However, doing anything with a jacket covered owl cage and over-sized trunk tended to draw attention, negating some of Harry's efforts at being subtle.

"How can I help you Mr. Pott- er… Sir?"

Tom tried to do his part to keep his new customers identity hidden, but Harry let out a heavy sigh regardless as he surveyed the room, noticing that everyone was looking at him but quickly turned away when his eyes passed over them.

"I think it's too late for that now." There was a beat of silence between the two before Harry decided to get down to business. "I'd like a room."

Tom looked conflicted as he too glanced around the room before speaking to Harry.

"Mr. Potter," the man began in a tone that Harry had heard before and already didn't like, "it would be my pride to have your patronage, but…"

"But?" Harry interrupted a little impatiently, confused and mildly frustrated with what would stop the older man from giving him a room.

"Well… usually, people must be of a certain age to rent out a room, you see. Legal matters and what not," Tom said with an uneasy yet hopeful tone, probably wishing for Harry to pick up on the predicament.

Harry frowned, not at Tom necessarily, but at his general situation. To have successfully left the Dursleys but not find a place to stay seemed like a big slap in the face. As the silence continued between the two, Tom began to look progressively more worried at the boy.

"I see," Harry finally said, picking up on the concerned glances he was getting all around. He knew those looks well from the times he'd been close to and actually had lashed out at his friends the previous year. Were his emotions really so easily read? "I see," he repeated more softly.

"Well then, perhaps a drink?" Harry began anew, looking up at the relieved yet apologetic face of Tom.

"Now that, I can do. What'll it be?"

Harry spent the next few hours just sitting around the Leaky Cauldron and occasionally speaking with Tom. The barman was naturally curious about the Triwizard tournament, and despite the grief and trouble the event had caused him, Harry felt a weight begin to come off his shoulders as he spoke about the more general aspects of the tournament. He certainly didn't feel comfortable telling the relative stranger about the moments of hurt and loss he had endured throughout the year, and Dumbledore had advised him against proclaiming to every witch and wizard he saw about Voldemort's return, but even just talking about the craziness of facing a dragon or the awkwardness of a Yule dance took a load off of Harry's shoulders and the barman was very easy to talk to.

As the hours became later and later, Tom began to send more concerned glances towards Harry. As much as the barman wished he could board the amazing young man Harry Potter proved to be, there was a whole web of legality he had to think of. But despite the litigation of everything looming over his head, Tom began to think of ways he might be able to help out the young Potter.

Tom had never seen the lad come in with any guardian he could think of; sure, the Weasley's had been spotted with him more often than not, but someone would have to be a fool to think the impoverished family had taken on yet another child to support. And of course, who could forget Hagrid coming into his establishment not so many years ago, pulling an eleven year old Harry Potter alongside him. But then, Hagrid could scarcely be trusted with a few sickles, let alone the boy who'd saved magical Britain. Tom suddenly remembered with a start the sorry state Harry had arrived in almost two years ago, when the Minister himself had been at his establishment to receive the young lad.

A thought suddenly struck Tom like a well-aimed bludger. Pulling out his pocket watch, Tom took a glance at the time. Nodding to himself, he told his assistant, a young witch who would be working for him part time this summer, that he'd be back and to keep an eye on Harry Potter.

Harry, for his part, was gazing dejectedly out the Leaky Cauldron's window. His particular view was the overcast dark skies of muggle London. For the second time that day, he thought about how the skies were, again, an accurate reflection of his mood. After making his daring move to escape the Dursleys it looked like he'd have to somehow return to them. What a joyous reunion that would surely be.

Harry was suddenly pulled from his dark thoughts by Tom clearing his throat off to the side. Realizing he'd been sitting in the Leaky Cauldron for quite a while, Harry assumed the affable barman was finally kicking him out.

"Thanks for keeping me, at least for a little while. Do you know if the Knight Bus does pick-ups from just outside?" Harry asked as he stood up and began to walk towards the front entrance of the mostly abandoned pub.

"Whatever for?" Tom asked, causing Harry to stop and give the barman a raised eye. "I mean, I'm quite sure the Knight Bus does pick-ups just as it does drop-offs right outside my establishment, as much as I wish it wouldn't with as much of a racket as it makes coming and going… but that's beside the point."

Harry was now giving Tom quite the sceptical look. Had the barman changed his mind about giving him a room?

"No," Tom continued more to himself than Harry with a mild shake of his head before addressing him once more, "if you wouldn't mind, I was hoping you might come with me for a moment, Mr. Potter."

Harry wasn't sure what Tom had in mind, but literally anything sounded better than returning to the Dursleys at this point. Giving a hesitant nod, Harry began to follow after Tom as they made their way to the bricks that separated the Leaky Cauldron from the rest of Diagon Alley.

After Tom had opened the entry way to the darkened alley, he cast a quick water repelling charm for the both of them and they began to walk a little ways, finally stopping in front of a store Harry had passed many times during his excursions for supplies for Hogwarts. However, if he was recalling correctly, he'd never been inside this particular establishment.

The most remarkable thing about the place was a simple blackboard sign that was just outside the door and on the street, charmed to have its chalk written message to change colours and make eye catching movements.

NOW HIRING!

SEASONAL HELP WANTED!

NO PRIOR EXPERIENCE NEEDED!

FLEXIBLE HOURS!

EXCELLENT LEARNING OPPORTUNITY!

WORK WHERE THE GRASS IS ALWAYS GREENER!

Harry raised his eyebrow at the flashy messages that came and went across the board, slowly looking up at Tom who had been watching Harry's reaction. Upon seeing the boys questioning look, Tom decided to key Harry into his thoughts.

"It's not exactly what you might've had in mind," the barman admitted, a small chuckle in his voice, "but I know the manager, and he might be able to work out a solution for your current living accommodations."

If Harry hadn't been confused before, he certainly was now.

"Wait, let me get this straight. I can't get a room because I'm too young."

Tom gave a strong affirmative nod.

"But I can work part-time and board in store as payment?"

Tom gave a somewhat weaker nod, seeming to begin to understand why the young man had been confused.

"Yes, well, sometimes the Ministry is a little selective about which laws it chooses to modernize. Minors renting rooms had been a major problem a few years back, but cheap labour during the summer… well, there was hardly anyone complaining about that."

"Right…" Harry processed.

"Anyway," Tom tried to break Harry from his contemplation, "I do believe Mr. Greengrass is waiting to see us. Let's do our best not to keep him waiting."

"Right," Harry repeated a little more firmly before suddenly seeming to catch up with just what Tom had said. "Wait, what?"

"Well, you said you had wanted a place to board, correct?"

"Well, yes…"

"And since I'm unable to provide the service myself, I took it upon myself to try and find a solution for you. I hope you don't mind…"

Tom wasn't sure what kind of place would make a young man want to spend money to stay at a dingy pub for the entire summer, but wherever it was, he'd help the young Potter stay away from it if that's what he wanted. After all, what self-respecting adult wouldn't do what they could to help a young person, let alone one who had saved the whole of wizarding Britain?

"Well, I mean, I very much appreciate the thought," Harry began, surprised that the barman he'd hardly ever interacted with before had gone out of his way for him, "but, well… I mean, why?"

"Why, what, Mr. Potter?"

"Why help me, I guess?"

Tom was momentarily taken back by Harry's question. Did the boy seriously expect so little?

"Well, Mr. Potter-"

"Harry."

"… Pardon?"

"You can just call me Harry. Hearing 'Mr. Potter' all the time makes me feel… well… just Harry, is fine."

"Well, Harry," Tom began anew, somewhat surprised by the young man's request, "I guess you could say it's in my character to help people." Seeing Harry's questioning eyebrow, he continued.

"I'm a barman, Mr. Pot- Harry. You could say it's a part of my profession to listen to people and their problems. And sometimes, if it's in my power to help them, I'll do just that. Sometimes it's with a strong drink, other times, with a bit of advice, and today, for you it was, well…"

Tom made a gesture to the store they stood outside. Harry raised his eyebrows yet again, but this time in surprise, as he looked at the store front. After a moment, he turned towards the barman again.

"Not that I'm ungrateful," Harry began, failing to keep his surprise out of his voice, "but this seems to be a bit more than a drink or bit of advice."

"Well," Tom said with a kind smile, glad he hadn't misjudged Harry's sense of humbleness, "you could say you're a bit more than the normal customer."

The barman let the statement sink in for the youth before he began again.

"Now, while Mr. Greengrass is usually a genial man, he doesn't like to be kept waiting longer than necessary. Let's head in, shall we?"

Harry gave a silent nod and the two walked into the store.

The outside of the store had been fairly nondescript, its muted colours not doing much to pull attention towards it. The inside of the store, however, had much more to look at.

Shelves lined the walls of the store, upon them glass jars of various substances and items. Harry though he recognized a few from his four years of potions education and quickly determined that the store he was currently in was an ingredients store for the subject he loathed. However before Harry could think too much on that, a booming voice that wasn't quite on Hagrid's level, but still louder than called for, broke him from his thoughts.

"Ah, I had begun to think you'd changed your mind, Tom," an older man with a large belly and well-manicured grey goatee boomed from behind a counter, beginning to eye Harry critically.

"So, is this the one? How old are you, boy?"

Harry returned the man's critical stare, taking in his large frame. He was only a couple inches taller than Harry, probably just under six feet tall himself, but was much stockier, though it wasn't too difficult for anyone to outmatch him in that regard, Harry mused. Guessing the age of witches and wizards was difficult for Harry, but if he had to, he'd guess that Mr. Greengrass was just a tad younger than Tom. Deciding not to give the man any reason to dislike him, Harry promptly answered the question he'd been asked.

"I'll be fifteen before the start of next year's term, sir."

Harry didn't want to say his age outright as he hadn't asked Tom what the age limit had been for 'cheap labour' and really didn't want to return to the Dursleys. Even formal, part time work over the summer would probably be preferable to anything the Dursleys could throw at him.

"Fourteen, then," Mr. Greengrass grinned as Harry paled slightly. "Ha!" the burly man laughed as he clapped Tom's back who was sporting a small smile of his own.

"Only a young lad would try to pull a fast one like that, boy. But I like it!" Mr. Greengrass suddenly got a serious look on his face.

"Are you willing to work hard this summer?"

"Yes sir."

Harry recognized the sudden gravity of the situation. This was the moment that would determine if he'd spend the summer away from a family that loathed him or remained in a world he'd felt more a part of than anything else since entering it four years ago.

Mr. Greengrass' eyes bored into Harry's for a few more tense moments, each unwilling to flinch away from each other. Finally, the man's grin came back along with a growl of a laugh.

"I like him!" Mr. Greengrass declared, turning to Tom and giving the barman another clap on the back. Harry felt a weight come off his shoulders and released the breath he'd been holding.

"Work day starts at eight in the morning and ends when I say it does, got it, boy?" Harry immediately straightened up and gave a sharp nod to Mr. Greengrass.

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now, Tom's told me you need a place to lay your head. Is that true?"

"Yes sir."

Harry ducked his head, feeling like he was already being a burden on his boss without having even started working.

"Chin up, boy! Where's that defiance I saw a moment ago? Striking it out on your own is something to be proud of! The mark of a real man! Now, you need a bed, right?"

"Yes sir."

This time, Harry said it more firmly, holding his head up despite the bright red embarrassment showing on his face from being lectured by the man.

"That's more like it!" Mr. Greengrass said with a wild grin. At least someone was having fun, Harry thought.

"Hinkey!" Mr. Greengrass called out sternly. For a split second, Harry thought someone had sneezed before a house elf suddenly popped to Mr. Greengrass' side.

"Master called for Hinkey?" the creature dipped their head respectfully to Mr. Greengrass.

"Yes, fetch some linens for Mr…"

Mr. Greengrass scowled to himself for a moment before gazing down to Harry again.

"Excuse my rudeness, but what did you say your name was again, boy?"

Harry was certain he'd never exchanged names with the man before, but decided not to remind him of that fact and instead replied, once again, promptly.

"Harry. Harry Potter."

Mr. Greengrass' eyebrow twitched up, but the man quickly returned his attention to his house elf as if Harry's name had been of little consequence. Harry was actually quite happy about that, if he was honest with himself. For once, someone in the wizarding world hadn't reacted to his name as if it were something more than just a name.

"Right then, fetch Mr. Potter some linens for the spare room upstairs. He'll be staying there for the time being, so see to it that his stay is a comfortable one. Now, Mr. Potter, I'll have Hinkey take your trunk up while we have a quick tour of the shop, get you familiar with the layout. Tom," Mr Greengrass smiled and turned to the man, "thanks for finding me a hard worker. I was worried that I'd have to lower my standards again this year, but I can tell you've brought me a good one."

Once the two had exchanged a few hushed words that Harry wisely picked up weren't for him to listen in on, Tom departed with a simple farewell to Harry.

"Well then," Mr. Greengrass came back to Harry after shutting the door behind Tom, "I'm Zacharias Greengrass, owner of this establishment. Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you know what kind of shop I run?"

"A shop for Potion ingredients, sir?" Harry provided, giving his surroundings another once over.

"Ha!" Mr. Greengrass suddenly laughed, startling Harry. "'Potion ingredient's store', he says!" Mr. Greengrass continued to laugh to himself for another moment before getting a hold of himself and shaking his head as the last of his chuckles subsided.

"No, no, but I suppose it's a fair guess for someone who isn't all that invested in the business. This, my boy, is an apothecary."

Harry had heard the term before, back when he'd been with the Dursleys, in fact, and was surprised that anything a muggle knew about was in Diagon Alley. Seeming to pick up on to Harry's confusion, Zacharias Greengrass began to explain.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, are you by any chance muggle raised?" Seeing Harry's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, Mr. Greengrass gave himself a satisfied smile and nod.

"Yes, I thought so, though it's quite interesting… but I digress. You've no doubt had to take medicine, yes? Perhaps even been to Madam Pomfrey before?" Harry kept himself from snorting at the man's question. The Dursleys giving him anything that could improve his welfare was laughable, but Harry was certainly familiar with Madam Pomfrey's particular brand of care.

"She's threatened to give me my own bed, sir," Harry told the man, mindful to keep up his respectful address. He really didn't want to blow this chance. The man smiled genially at Harry.

"Yes, she's a bit fussy with repeat visitors, isn't she? My son, Adrian, he was a beater for Slytherin back in his day. I think he helped that medi-witch perfect her treatment of Quidditch related injuries. Anyway, in the wizarding world, healers of all kinds come to apothecaries to get their medical supplies. Whether it's ingredients for various medical potions, ready-made potions of the very same or any other kind of medical supplies you may think of, an apothecary will probably have it. I pride myself on being the most thoroughly stocked apothecary this side of the English Channel, and now, so do you!" Despite himself, Harry couldn't help but puff his chest a little. Mr. Greengrass certainly knew how to give a motivating speech.

"That's the spirit!" the man shouted happily, clapping Harry's back as he had done with Tom. Harry was jostled by the man's strength and wondered how Tom had taken the hit without so much as blinking.

"My, what are we, a bag of bones?" Mr. Greengrass asked as Harry straightened himself out from the impact. "Let's see if we can't fix that over the summer, eh? A little bit of muscle never hurt anyone and the ladies certainly don't mind either," the man finished with a suggestive eyebrow wag that reminded Harry of Sirius somewhat and had him blushing.

The rest of the evening was a blur to Harry, as he was led around the store and shown what would need to be done tomorrow. It was fairly late by the time Mr. Greengrass had sent Harry off to bed, but Harry wasn't all that upset about the late hour as he climbed into the bed that Hinkey had made. The boisterous man reminded Harry of both Hagrid and his godfather Sirius, oddly enough, and was something he didn't mind in the least.

Where he might have just have started bemoaning the start of the summer holidays had he stayed in uncle Vernon's car, Harry found himself, for the first time, happy about the start of summer.

AN: Thanks for sticking around long enough to get to the bottom of all that! I hope you enjoyed my first foray into Harry Potter Fan-Fiction! This is the culmination of a desire to write something I've sorely been wanting to read, the bored mind of someone who's been out to sea for months, and an outstanding Beta I found on Reddit by the name of MoleOfWar who's been instrumental in making this work something I can proudly show the virtual light of day. Feel free to drop a comment and I'll be looking forward to having you all read the next chapter soon!