I don't own HP. Enjoy!

Harry Potter lay in his bed at Number Four, Privet Drive, happily asleep, and dreaming of distant castles and riding broomsticks. His room was entirely dark, save the silver moonlight drifting through his window. It cast off the glass pane on his bedside clock, it's copper hands reading one thirty-seven in the morning, and off the bars of an owl cage, in which rested an owl. It's eyes were closed, it's feathers white as snow, herself dreaming of soaring above moonlit clouds, and diving down to pluck scurrying rats out of the illuminated grass. Together, the pair lay quiet, peaceful, and uninterrupted.

A small breeze billowed the dark curtains hanging from the window. The owl woke up, her eyes a golden amber. She glanced at Harry, who shifted a bit in his sleep, pulling his thin blanket a bit more up his shoulders, and then glanced to his bedside table. Laying atop Harry's glasses was a cream-yellow letter, not unsimilar to the ones she herself often carried. Sharp black cursive, just barely visible in the dark, read "H. Potter", and under that were the ornate letters "GB" stamped in crimson wax.

The owl glanced over to the open window, and then back to the letter, and then back to Harry. She bit a little at the padlock on her cage, abandoned that idea, and then gave a small trill, fluttering her wings. Harry's own eyes slowly opened. He sat up on his arm, glancing over to his owl with squinting eyes.

"Hedwig..." He whispered, "If Uncle Vernon wakes up again..."

Hedwig's amber eyes flicked to Harry's desk. He closed his eyes again, laying back in bed, only for Hedwig to give another trill. Harry sighed. Perhaps he still had some of Eeylops Premium Owl Treats under his bed. He sat up again, reaching over to his desk for his glasses, stopping short as he spotted, even with his vision blurred, a small envelope. He blinked, pulling his glasses from under them, the dark wood of his desk softly scraping as he did so. Sliding his glasses on, he picked up the letter, holding it up to the moonlight.

"Gringotts?" He muttered as he spotted the "GB" logo. He glanced around the room. Not an owl in sight, save his own. He did note, however, his open window. He gave it a brief look of confusion, trying to remember when he'd opened it, before reaching over, and slowly sliding it down, and latching it shut. He flipped the letter over, the back of it blank, before turning it right again. Fingers to it's seal, he slowly peeled back, careful not to make a single noise as he kept his eyes on the crack under his door, waiting for a yellow light to spring up beyond it, or the sound of footsteps. Neither came. He opened it, a simple, small paragraph meeting his gaze

Harry James Potter

It is with the utmost shame to which the goblins of Gringotts Bank write to you to inform you of a breach of vault six hundred and eighty-seven. On the night of May 18th, your vault was unknowingly breached by a thus unidentified person, or persons, and has been drained of it's 62,255 galleons, 114,281 sickles, and 9,155,872 knuts. As stipulated in all Gringotts contracts, your money is ensured and will be reimbursed to your bank vault no sooner than October 11th, save in the event that your lost funds have been relocated, in which case it will be returned to your account. The goblins of Gringotts bank are sparing no expense in the investigation, and will inform you of any progress on the identification and capture of the perpetrator. Once captured, rest assured that, as also stipulated in all Gringotts contracts, the head of the perpetrator will be sent to you via method of your choosing.

Have a pleasant day

-Morlock, Head of Vault Safety

Harry laid back in his bed with a small sigh.

"Uncle Vernon?"

His plump, pink-faced uncle glanced up from his newspaper. Behind him, a pencil-like man on the television droned on about the weather, his glasses barely balanced on the tip of his nose as he read off a paper on the desk below him. Harry looked back to his uncle, the man's fork paused at his mouth with egg yolk dripping off it, the lines around his eyes scrunched up like something unpleasant was currently sticking to the bottom of his shoe.

"What is it, boy?" He said. Harry took a breath, feeling his nerves settle like pouring water on a fire.

"Well... I've found myself needing to pay for my... school supplies for my next year at... school" Harry said, dodging each word that might sound less than perfectly natural and normal. He noticed his Uncle's face starting to turn pink as a glare sharpened his gaze.

"I'm not asking for money!" Harry said quickly, "I was, um... wondering if you minded me getting a job?" His Uncle stared at him, pausing a moment.

"Your too young. Nobody'd be allowed to take you" He said.

"Well, um..." Harry said, "In... my kind's shops... they allow assistants..." The pink on his Uncle's face was now turning red. He noticed Aunt Petunia, who was in the kitchen with her back faced towards them, had gone still. "A-and!" Harry continued, "Any of the money I have left over... I thought... I could give to you!". His Uncle paused again. Harry thought it was a better sign then yelling. Dudley's plump face had been dehypnotized from television, and he was now looking to Harry and his dad, eager to see if Harry would get in trouble.

"No", he said. "We don't have much use for... your kind's money!" He said.

"They have a bank" Harry followed, taking a moment afterwards to slow down his thoughts and catch up to his tongue. He'd almost included the word "goblin" in that. "where you can transfer over to mug... regular money. After I'm done buying school supplies, I promise to give the rest of whatever I make to you". His Uncle's brow was furrowed. Harry could see the conflict in his small eyes.

"I'd be gone most the time" Harry followed. "you wouldn't have to see me, or make extra food for me each day". Uncle Vernon was actually stroking his chin. The silence was interrupted by Aunt Petunia turning the faucet on, as she scrubbed the dishes, but Harry had seen her eavesdropping on neighbors enough to know when she was listening.

"What kind of... job... would you be getting?" His Uncle finally said. Harry imagined himself demonstrating the latest Nimbus models to young children at Quality Quidditch Supplies, followed by another image of Uncle Vernon, red faced, snapping his own broom over his knee.

"...Maybe a bookstore, or something..." He said.

"And how would you get there each day?"

"Well..." Harry hadn't actually considered that. He thought over his words carefully "I... would need money for a bus the first time, b-but! After that, once I get my first payment, I can pay myself!" He thought of the brick wall leading into Diagon Alley. "..and... I'd need some... things... from my trunk in the attic to get there..." Vernon was glowering at him. A moment passed. Then another. Finally, his Uncle spoke.

"It... might get you some discipline... teach you manners if you had a job. Even if it is one of... those... Certainly help to start paying back all that money we've spent on you..." Harry didn't say anything, but simply waited.

"I'll... think about it... off to your room". Harry didn't mind at all that there wasn't much reason to be sent to his room, or that he'd barely started in on his breakfast. As emptied his plate in the garbage, and set it in the sink, he turned into the hallway, having a hard time keeping the smile off his face.

Harry glanced up at the dark wooden building in front of him. It reminded Harry of a Halloween attraction, though many shops in Diagon Alley did as well. It's pointed roof was topped with three different chimneys, each giving off a different color smoke. It had an old sign with faded black ink that read "Dastin's Drafts and Alchemia". Running through the "D' in Dastin was a crack in the wood not too different from the shape of Harry's scar. The windowpanes were blackened by candle smoke, a few frozen streams of wax running down the sills from the currently unlit candlesticks. On the window itself was two signs reading "Antimony unavailable", and under that, "help wanted".

Harry sighed. He originally tried to get a job at either Broomstix or Quality Quidditch Supplies, where he noticed that a number of Nimbus 2001s had just hit the shelves, but he was refused. Flourish and Blotts was under construction for the next month, as they had got in a dozen copies of "The History of Exploding Jinxes and Hexes". Madame Malkin's only accepted female workers. He wasn't old enough for the Leaky Cauldron. Even Olivander had refused him, stating that it was a family business, though he encouraged him to pursue wand making in his free time.

This was absolutely the last shop Harry wanted to work in. Snape had seen to it that he was almost entirely uninterested in the craft of potion making last year, and considering the fact that every time he had stepped foot into an Apothecary his nose was assaulted by a cascade of scents, hardly any pleasant, he considered himself less than pleased with his current choices. But it was either this, or sitting out the next year of Hogwarts to stay with the Dursleys, and while his nose disagreed with an Apothecary, it disagreed with Dudley far more.

So with a bit of apprehension, he stepped into the shop, the brass bell above him ringing a surprisingly gentle chime. He took a glance around. He first noticed that the store did not house ingredients. Harry, and his nose's, opinion of the shop went up a bit. Instead, the place was a library of potions, with thousands of small glass vials and bottles tucked behind display cases on tall wooden shelves, a rolling ladder in each isle. Some were a mundane grey, but others sparkled brilliant shades of red, blue, and glowing white. Further in the back, he could see a number of interesting objects. He had originally mistaken them for potion appliances, but upon further inspection, realized it must be something else. There were metal shavings, blocks of chalky substances, magnets, minerals, powders, and rows of glass alembics, each more strange and unique than the last. A creaky wooden staircase curved to his left to an unoccupied loft, as well as down to a dark cobblestone cellar.

A few thumps of leather shoes on wood came from said staircase below, as a man carrying, or rather balancing, a comically large stack of boxes came slowly up to the store proper. Harry moved to help him.

"Oh, no son. Quite fine! You just find what you're looking for, and I'll take care of this! Be at the counter in a moment" Harry got a better look at him. His voice matched his old age, though he wasn't quite old enough to have lost the speckles of black in his grey hair.

"Actually sir, I was looking for you" Harry replied. The man's eyebrow's rose.

"Ah, then I take it back. Go on and take half! Not this half, these need care or we'll be getting another Flourish and Blotts, though it's been a moment since I've been in the care of St. Mungo's!". Harry followed the man up the steps to the loft, careful not to drop the lighter-than-expected boxes. He didn't want to make a bad first impression in terms of his balance, especially if he would be moving glassware. The loft was dusty, but not unused, a small kitchen quaintly tucked in it's corner, and a table in the middle of the space.

"Now" He said, setting his stack on the floor next to a table. "What can I do..." His eyes fixed on Harry's forehead. "Godric's godfather... Harry Potter!" Harry blinked. He still wasn't quite used to his fame.

"Yes sir". The man broke into a grin, grabbing his hand and shaking it like he would win a prize if he could dislocate Harry's shoulder.

"My my, I cannot thank you enough for what you did a decade ago, my lad! Being so close to Knocturn, I had so many of his followers coming in for things I just wasn't comfortable providing! You know how hard it is to convince someone that even though you have concoctions involving powdered unicorn horn, hair, and saliva, that doesn't mean you have unicorn blood?"

"Umm..."

"Quite difficult indeed!" The man let go of Harry's hand with a grin. He looked him over, his gaze settling on Harry's eyes. "...where are my manners! My name is Jonathan Dastin, great-great-great-great-great grandson of famous alchemist John Dastin! Please, have a seat! I'll get some tea!" Harry tentatively sat at the table, which came up to the bottom of his neck, idly wondering if other potential employees got the same hospitality.

"Now..." He said, head sticking into a dusty cabinet as he retrieved some cups "What brings you to my shop, Mr. Potter?"

"Well..." Harry said, regathering himself, "I understand you had a job opening..."

"Job opening?" He asked.

"Um... yes. It said so in the window?" Harry asked, feeling less confident.

"In the... oh my! Why, it's been years since I put that up!" Jonathan said.

"Oh... I don't suspect you're hiring then?"

"Ehh..." The man stroked his beard, not as silky and impressive as Professor Dumbledore's, but respectable, "Suppose I could take on an assistant... Business has been a bit better, and I've been finding myself needing an extra pair of hands... How long could you work for?"

"A summer. I've been needing to get enough money to pay for supplies for my next year of Hogwarts".

"Ah! A Hogwarts student! What year are you?"

"I'll be going into second, Gryffindor..." Harry hoped his inexperience wouldn't deter the man's decision.

"What was your grade in your potions class, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Acceptable...". Mr. Dastin gave a "hmm..." at this, and Harry figured if he was going to be truthful, he might as well add "and... I've also never taken an alchemy class..." To Harry's surprise, the man waved a hand at this, taking the now-whistling kettle off the burner.

"Oh, wouldn't expect you to. Most schools don't even offer classes in it! Advanced stuff, it is. Is Horace still a professor down there at Hogwarts?"

"Horace?"

"Portly man, potion master?" He said, setting a cup of steaming tea in front of Harry. He took a sip, noting and enjoying the hint of cinnamon in it.

"Erm, no. I had professor Snape".

"Ah, young Severus! Been watching his career! Quite a talent! Didn't think he had a mind for teaching...".

"Neither do I..." Harry muttered.

"What was that, son?" he asked with his own cup to his mouth, steam twirling around his nose.

"Nothing, sir".

"Ah. But yes, he comes in here from time to time to check my stock. Often seems more interested in my alchemy supplies than potions, though. I don't suspect there's anything in here he couldn't brew himself! When you're the pioneer of the fire-walking potion, I wouldn't expect much else! Set the potioneer community 'on fire' with that one, or should I say he didn't! Ha!" Harry blinked at that, remembering back to the riddle he and Hermione had to solve before his encounter with Quirrell.

"I... didn't know he was well known..."

"Ah, many Hogwarts professors are! But back on track! This your first job in potions?"

"Yes sir, first job in anything actually".

"Well," Mr. Dastin said, appearing to have finally come to a decision "I do suppose I can take you. I can offer you an assistants job for three days a week! That's the most the ministry allows anyone under the age of seventeen. We'll need all of them for me to get you up to snuff with what I'll have you doing. That alright?"

"Perfect!" Harry said.

"Excellent! You'll start tomorrow!"

Harry clicked the silver knob atop his alarm clock, it's clattering ring pausing it's assault on his ears. He glanced out the window. Dim blue twilight cast down through his blinds as he set his glasses on his nose. He sighed, sliding out of bed, dressing himself (he had the forethought to dress in muggle cloths when leaving his house, and change to robes when he got to Dastin's), plucking a single mouse-shaped owl treat out from the box under his bed, and placing it in Hedwig's cage for her to wake up to. He slid out of the room, carrying his shoes, careful not to wake anyone as he pulled the string to the upstairs attic and letting down the ladder.

It was almost entirely dark in the attic, save for the blue light drifting through the round window slot at it's end. Harry spotted his trunk at the far end under said window, and he carefully made his way over on tip toes. He retrieved his wand, a spare travel robe, and on an impulse, last year's potion book and a spare role of parchment. He hadn't been able to do any of his essays, as his textbooks and quills had been stuffed up here. Underneath his potion book, folded in a neat triangle was the thin, wispy fabric of his father's invisibility cloak. He held it up, slowly brushing his thumb across its patterns, his eyes softly flickering across it's surface. He smiled a bit, setting it back inside.

As he descended back down the ladder, Uncle Vernon was there waiting for him in a bath robe. Harry slid his robe over his textbook as he met Vernon's eyes. He usually woke up at this time in a vain attempt to beat the traffic. Never worked.

"Now" Vernon whispered, pointing a bulbous finger in Harry's face, "Don't you go thinking that you're gonna be using any of..." He gestured to the wand sticking out of Harry's pocket "that nonsense under our roof. If I so much as catch a glimpse of anything unnatural, this whole agreement is done. No 'ifs', 'ands', or 'buts'. Understand?"

"Yes sir" Harry whispered back.

"As soon as your back, all this is going right back in the attic"

"Yes sir"

"When you get your first... payment... you'll be counting it out in front of me. I'll be writing it down, so there's no funny business about stealing any of my money when this is through!" The thought hadn't actually crossed Harry's mind to even attempt such a thing.

"Yes sir"

"Good... what uh... job... did you say you got again?"

"Sort of a tonic shop" Harry replied. Vernon eyed him up and down.

"Well... alright then... off you go. And if I hear one squawk from that ruddy bird of yours while I'm home, it's in the attic with him!" Vernon whispered, voice hoarse. Harry nodded, not bothering to correct him on Hedwig's gender.

Harry stepped outside the house, the air wet, the overcast clouds blue with morning twilight. He stepped down the street, putting as much distance from him and number four as possible, before reaching a playground. He glanced around. Nobody in sight. His hand dipped in his pocket, pulling out a small bag with a bit of pocket lint on it. Harry idly brushed it off, opened it, and steadied his hand over it. He looked at his watch, the second hand inching closer and closer to twelve. Just before it reached there, he took a steadying breath, plunged his hand in, and grabbed the object inside.

An invisible pair of pliers grabbed him by the navel, yanking his head backwards as his entire world turned into a tunnel of swishing color. His oxygen was being pushed out his lungs as he felt like he was being forced through a small tube, hair whipping wildly around, and just as he felt he was about to suffocate, he toppled onto the wooden floor of Mr. Dastin's loft with the feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach.

"Ah, Harry!" Mr. Dastin said behind a cup of tea. "Right on time! How are you?"

"Awake" Harry said, getting up to his feet, his eyes a bit teary, holding a small pendant in the shape of a bottle. He dropped it back in the little bag. "What'd you say that was called? A 'portable key'?"

"Close enough. Get's more comfortable the more you do it, if that helps." Mr. Dastin replied, helping him to his feet. Harry glanced around. An empty bowl sat in front of Mr. Dastin's empty seat, and in the seat beside that was a full bowl of steaming porridge, topped with cinnamon, and with two golden pieces of toast sticking out of it. Harry looked back up to Mr. Dastin.

"Well? Tuck in!" He said. Harry smiled, pulling up a chair as Mr. Dastin got up to the sink, washing his bowl out. Harry took a spoonful, blew on it, and popped it in his mouth. Good. Quite good in fact. Not as good as Hogwarts' porridge, but very nice. Mr. Dastin hummed a tune as he worked, before looked over to Harry's attire, spotting the robe.

"Ah, don't have a bathroom to change in" He said. "There's a storage room down in the basement, though. You can use that." Harry nodded through a mouthful of toast, before swallowing.

"Where do you go if you need to..."

"Next door" Mr. Dastin replied "Old Ms. Parpington is kindly enough to lend her facilities". Harry glanced out the window. He'd never seen Diagon Alley empty before, though he'd never been down this early. The sun was just rising in the distance, but many candles and street lamps were still lit from last night. Harry pulled out his potions textbook, which seemed to catch Mr. Dastin's eye.

"Ah! You came prepared! Is that Magical Drafts and Potions'?" Mr. Dastin asked.

"Yes, I was wondering, sir, um... my Aunt and Uncle don't much care for magic. I was wondering, if... when I had some free time... or when I was on lunch, if I could do my summer homework here?"

"Of course!" Mr. Dastin replied. Harry slowly let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "I'll be checking your potion essay though! No assistant of mine is getting anything other than an 'Outstanding' on his essays! Oh, finished?" Harry nodded, a smile on his face, as Mr. Dastin took his empty bowl.

"Well," he said "I suppose we should start on with the tour!"

Where Mr. Dastin might seemed a little unorganized on first impression, the store proved the opposite. The front half was devoted to potions, the back to alchemy. Each potion and appliance was carefully alphabetized and labeled with a small gold plaque on the wood shelf beneath them. Harry was quite overwhelmed by the sea of names, from shrinking solutions, to souring solvents. He was also almost floored by the prices. A hundred and seventy five galleons for a "draught of volancy"? Two hundred and twenty for a "phial of exspiravita"? Harry nearly fainted when seeing the price for "felix felicis". That cost more than his nimbus 2000! And the two vials of it were only about as big as his thumb!

The basement was the more interesting room, as it stood at the bottom of about fifty feet of stairs. Upon entering, he was unexpectedly assailed by a hundred different scents as Mr. Dastin opened the door. Inside was a dimly lit, cobblestone room, or at least Harry would call it just a "room" if it wasn't large enough to comfortably fit the Dursley's house, with space to spare. Rows upon rows of tables sat between six large stone columns, three on either side, each table with cauldrons of various sizes and metals, happily stewing away. Multicolored fumes circled the ceiling, swiping up into three different pipes that Harry assumed must have been the chimneys. Along the back wall was a number of alphabetized boxes, the left half with potion ingredients, the right with alchemical supplies.

"You have all this space under Diagon Alley?" Harry asked.

"Quite! My great grandfather payed good money for it as well! Most stores have a similar underground, but theirs simply use the interius enchantment to make it bigger than it actually is! You see the same thing on those trunks down the street at Alstrad's! This, however, is quite real." Mr. Dastin made no attempt to keep the pride from his voice.

"Why not use the interius enchantment, then, save the money?"

"Same reason Severus likely stresses not to use wands in his classroom!". Harry nodded. Snape had made mention that there was "no foolish wand waving" in the class quite a few times over. When poor Neville plucked up the courage to ask why, Snape explained, with plenty of insults laced in, that outside magic often affected the brews, and it was best to make them in an insulated environment. Apparently large-scale room enchantments did the same.

Mr. Dastin took him through the rows of soon-to-be potions, showing him the various things he was brewing like a proud father introducing his many, many children. Harry's respect for the man's organizational skills went even higher. He had a hard time even remembering the torrent of different potions Mr. Dastin was explaining, and yet the man in front of them not only remembered them all, but was brewing some over the course of multiple months, naming them all offhandedly as they walked down the isle as well.

That feeling of being impressed slowly melted to panic, as Harry realized he hadn't the faintest clue on how to brew any of these, and he just accepted a job in potion making. What if he asked him to make a draught of volancy, and some customer ended up demanding a hundred and seventy-five galleon refund for his "shoddy potion"? Mr. Dastin must have seen the look on Harry's face, as he spoke up.

"Of course, you'll only be starting with ingredient work and basic solutions! Don't expect you to be brewing most of these in your first few weeks on the job! If you return down the road, and once you've gotten your feet wet in some upper-level potions classes, then we can talk about making some of these!"

"Ah..." Harry said, a bit more relieved "...You mentioned I won't be dealing with alchemy either?"

"No, wouldn't let anyone touch that until I've had them a couple of years, and after I'd seen to the perfecting of their potioncraft."

"Are the two related?"

"Quite a bit in many ways" He said as they both walked down the isle, "A good alchemist always has a good foundation in potions. I imagine you've heard of the great Nicholas Flamel?" Harry nodded, noting the tone of reverence in Mr. Dastin's voice,

"He created the philosopher's stone"

"Indeed. And that wondrous work's offspring, the elixir of life, is a potion. One that involves an alchemical process with the stone, if I had to guess, but a potion nonetheless. And if Nicholas Flamel wasn't half the potioneer he is, then he would have never been able to craft it, stone or not... well, especially if not, but you know what I mean". Harry nodded at this. He briefly contemplated telling the man about last year's adventure, but he didn't think Mr. Dastin would believe he had ever even seen the stone, let alone prevented the darkest wizard in existence from obtaining it.

"You look to be mulling something over, Harry!" Mr. Dastin said. It jolted Harry out of his thoughts.

"Yes sir, where's that door lead?" Harry asked, pointing over to the wall. The door in question was eye catching, even in this room. It was a little under ten feet tall, had swirling carvings in the stone around it's archway, and had an intricate metal torc over it's ebony wood.

"Oh, that's the old storage room I was telling you about" Mr. Dastin said with a wave. "use it to keep old shelves, and bottles and the like." Harry hadn't had much interest in what the door actually led to, but he was surprised when he heard the answer, given the door looked more like it belonged to the entrance to the headmaster's quarters at Hogwarts than an apothecary's basement.

"All that for a storage room?" Harry thought.

"Well, back on the tour! Here are all my ingredients!" He gestured to the wall of boxes and cubby holes that reached the ceiling thirty feet above, each one filled with a variety of substances, metals, plants, powders, and organs. Like on the shelves in the store above them, there was a rolling ladder that reached all the way up to the ceiling, complete with a grey streak on the cobblestone floor where it had been scooted back and forth.

"These ones" Mr. Dastin said "You will be memorizing, as I'll often have you fetching them when making a potion. It get's easier over time, no worries! And I'll never have you doing anything time sensitive either!" Harry relaxed a little bit at that.

"I was wondering sir, what will I be doing on this job?"

"A fair amount of different things! First and foremost, signing this!" He produced a parchment, at least three feet long, filled with small, neat script. At the bottom was a ministry of magic seal. Harry took it, laying it flat on the nearest table.

"What is it?"

"Employment form for the ministry. Mostly legal stuff. Helps me not get in trouble for underage employment, helps you not get in trouble for underage magic..."

"Not get in trouble?" Harry asked.

"A standard thing. many assistants need to use magic for their jobs. The form lets you cast spells only-" and he put extra emphasis on the word only, with a finger towards Harry "-under the roof of this store, and with my assent."

"So... I'll be able to-"

"Afraid not" Mr. Dastin said, "That's just part of the standard form. I won't have you casting anything around a brewing potion, or upstairs. Don't want any adverse effects on them, especially if they've been finished. That'd be good ingredient money out the window." Harry's spirits deflated quite a bit at that.

"So" Harry said, signing the form as Mr. Dastin passed him a quill, "if I won't be doing any magic, what will I be doing?"

"A lot! You'll be grabbing ingredients for me when I'm down here working on potions, helping make some of the quick brews that go off the shelves rather easily, stocking, sweeping, delivering, and studying! Need you knowing how to whip up a good potion so you can start helping me with the bigger stuff! Some other things as well, but to start..." He gestured towards the storage room, "you should change and grab the broom out of there".

Harry opened the tall door to the storage room. He didn't know quite why he was expecting more than simply a room for storage, but that was indeed what met his gaze when he opened it. Spare dust-covered shelves were stacked neatly in the corner, boxes of bottles and bits of things all around the room. A long purple carpet stretched the length of the room like a column, almost covered by the row of boxes atop it, but Harry could still make out what looked like phases of the moon running down it's length. Two extra rolling ladders were up against the back wall, and in the corner, harry indeed spotted a yellow-straw broom.

Harry quickly slipped on his robes, noting with a slight bit of satisfaction that they were a tiny bit smaller on him than he remembered. He'd done some growing, apparently. He folded his muggle clothes, setting them beside a box by the door, as he made his way over to the broom. As he did so, he passed a line of trophies sitting in glass boxes, each one reading John's name and the names of various events and locations, such as "Jonathan Dastin - United Midlands Champion - 1959". Two in particular caught Harry's eyes. They were a translucent silver, filled to the brim with glowing gemstones that gave off multicolored light. Each one read "Jonathan Dastin - British Isle Dueling Championships 1967 - Second Place", and "Jonathan Dastin - British Isle Dueling Championships 1969 - Second Place".

Harry grabbed the broom, thinking of his would-be duel with Malfoy last year, and headed out the door.

"Sir?" Harry asked, setting the broom aside as he finished swiping the last bit of dirt out the front door, "Would you like me to take down this sign?"

"Oh, the help sign?" Mr. Dastin replied from atop a ladder as he restocked the shelves "Yes, I suppose you should, though if your the first one that's come knocking in the last decade or so, I don't imagine it must have caught many people's eye!"

"It's been a decade since your last assistant?"

"Yes! A decade and... oh, three years? Something like that! I put that up after my last assistant, Heller Bobbery, left the store! He went on to open a shop himself! Good man!"

"His own shop? Wouldn't that be... competing business or something?"

"Oh, no. He went up north and settled in Hogsmeade. More local area, and all that!" Harry had heard of the town from some of the older students. He'd be able to visit it, come third year.

"Must have been talented to open his own shop!" Harry replied.

"He took his time to grow into it! Was an assistant for six years, and his final year here was as my apprentice!"

"Apprentice?"

"Indeed! Can't have any old chap running around calling themselves a potion master! Most go through an apprenticeship before they can become certified potioneers!"

"Have you had others?"

"No, just the one. None of the other assistants showed the interest or potential. Well, that is, except one bright young witch who stayed with me the summer before I hired Heller! Young Lily Evans, though, I imagine you'd know her better as Lily Potter!" Harry jolted at that.

"My mom worked here?"

"Nearly two decades ago, yes!" he said, climbing down the ladder "But only for a summer, the summer before she would go into her last year at Hogwarts, in fact! She was always a bright witch! Especially with potions! I'll be satisfied with you as an assistant if you have even half her talent! Tried to convince her to become an apprentice her last week here. She almost agreed, as well. Went into an organization instead, bent of fighting... you-know-who...".

"What... what was she like?" The man's eyes softened at this.

"Ah... Always smiling. Had a way of lighting up the room... quite a charming girl. Could see the best in everyone! Always thought her and that other lad would get together, but it seemed that James caught her eye instead. Nearly knocked me out of my socks when I found out as well! She gave not a small amount of rants about the boy every time he sent her a letter! Funny, how things like that work out..." A bit of silence passed between them. He pointed to Harry's face.

"Recognized your eyes when you first came in..." He said, "...Didn't know quite where I knew them from, but it clicked when I saw the scar on your forehead... they're her eyes, through and through... though I imagine you knew that"

"I... don't know much about her..." Harry admitted, "She... she liked potions?" Dastin gave him a warm smile.

"More than any other I've had." He replied. Harry smiled a bit at that, looking around the store. He imagined a red-headed girl, not much older than himself, putting an armful of potions on a shelf, sleeves still rolled up from the brew she just made, a gentle smile on her face, a strand of hair tucked behind her ear.

"You know..." He said under his breath, thinking back to his own hesitancy when he first entered the store "...I think I might learn to like them as well..."

Hope you enjoyed! Thanks.