Hey all! Here's the third chapter, hope you enjoy it! Thank you's at the
bottom—This is testing week so you're lucky you got another chapter at all…
Enjoy!
Summary so far: Harry has begun his summer at the Dursleys right before 5th year. He has taken up swimming and running to improve his muscles and tan. The Dursleys have been uncharacteristically kind to Harry—is it just a fluke or is it something serious? Harry has also decided that he needs a job…
The next morning, Harry got up and headed outside, dressed in his trunks a tshirt, and running shoes, holding his towel. As usual, Petunia was up again, cooking breakfast, which was pancakes, judging by the griddle on the counter. He took a place setting from the cupboard, and got out the peanut butter and syrup to eat them with. When he was done, Petunia was setting a plate of steaming cakes on the table. They sat down together, without saying anything, and proceeded to eat.
"So…" Harry said, trying to keep things friendly. "What are you planning on doing today?"
"Why should you care?" His aunt snapped back. It seemed that the friendly bout from the night before had abruptly ended. Harry didn't completely mind. He was much more experienced on dealing with animosity rather than friendliness from the Dursleys. They continued eating in silence. Harry finally broke it.
"Erm… these are really good pancakes." They were sourdough, which were really quite tasty. Harry was enjoying them, although not quite as much with the current company. Petunia seemed to be struggling within herself, finally coming out with a short,
"Thank you." It was something, anyway, Harry thought. He stood up from the table.
"I'll be back later tonight because I'm going to be looking for a job, just so you won't be wondering. I should be home around seven." His aunt acknowledged this statement with a curt nod. Harry scraped off his plate and loaded it into the dishwasher, then left.
After swimming that day, he turned right instead of left, taking him into the small town nearby. He wasn't quite sure how to go about finding a job, but it shouldn't be too hard. He stopped at the video store first. He stepped up to the front counter. To his relief, the man behind it was wearing a tag that read "Manager."
"Excuse me," Harry said politely, disrupting the man from the videos he was sorting through. The man looked up. He seemed friendly enough, and Harry took heart.
"I was looking around for a summer job. Do you have one I could take- or do you know anyone who does?" The man appraised him for a minute. He seemed to approve, because his next words were good.
"Wall, ah hain't rightly thought 'bout ait, but now that ah do—ah spose ah could use same haylp. Ah run this here place by mahself, and ait's doin darn way-ull lately, and ait'd be nice ta have some tahm at home wi' the family. How old did ya say ya were?" He was very obviously not from England, more like Texas or Lousiana. Some kind of southern accent. It wasn't altogether unpleasant to listen to, and was actually a nice change from the droll British accent everyone around this place had. Harry came back to earth abruptly, noticing that the man was looking at him curiously.
"Oh, excuse me. I'm 15 next month. Is that too young?" He said, starting to get anxious. He'd never thought about age requirements.
"Nah, ah spose ait'll do ah-ight. Don't thank thare's much o' any law round herebouts on that." (A/N Sorry, I have NO idea of the legal status of my state on that, much less a country overseas.) "Say, sonny, wot's yer name?"
"I'm Harry- Harry Potter. I live on Privet Drive."
"Way-ull, glad ter meet ya, Hay Po'er. The name's Bud. Just Bud. Don't hold any with last nay-ums although this here gov'ment seems ta like 'em right way-ull." Harry grinned. This guy would be easy to work for, and fun to be around.
"Now that way've got all thay-at figgered out—what're ya looking for in terms o' payin'?" Harry was caught off guard again. He had virtually nothing figured out. He hoped this guy would be honest about paying him because he had no idea what the going rate was for kids his age.
"Well—frankly, I have no idea." Harry said hesitantly. (A/N Once again, we're going with American money here— trying to get me to figure out how to convert pounds and all that correctly to money here is like trying to get a dog to figure out the solution to world peace.)
"Minimum rate round here's 'bout $5.75 an hour, but ah thank ah'll round ait up ta an aven six. How's thay-at?" (A/N again: I'm going to stop doing the Lweezianna accent, k? It's a lot of work. Just imagine it from now on. ()
"That sounds great sir, thanks a million! When do you want me to start?"
"Well, today's Friday… why don't you start Monday? You can work evenings, so I can have supper with the wife and family. Got lots of them. Even got one your age you should meet sometime. Two, actually. Twins. Real nice kids they are. I'll bring em round some time. So- do evenings suit you?"
"Yeah, that works great," Harry answered quickly. "I do exercising during the day- running and swimming- and then I have evenings free. So—what hours and what days?"
"Well—as often as you can work, I guess. Six days a week OK?"
"Mmm… yeah. That works."
"OK, so Monday through Saturday, say- 6 to 11? That's when it closes. That's 30 bucks a day which is…" he did some fast mental arithmetic, "Hunnert and eighty a week. Minus taxes, that is since I do have to keep track of that stuff. I'll take care of that before I pay you though. Deal?"
"Deal!" Harry said happily. A hundred and eighty bucks a week was a fortune compared to his usual earnings—zero. That was around seven hundred a month.
"OK, well see ya Monday then. If you can, get here early and I'll show you the ropes. They're not too bad, but they take a little learning."
"Right. Thanks a lot, Mister—Bud?"
"Just Bud, boy."
"Right," said Harry, grinning. "Thanks a lot, Bud. I'll see you Monday." He waved good-bye as he left, smiling to himself. He had a job! And a good paying one with a great boss. He couldn't wait to start work. He started thinking—what to do with all that money. Well, some new clothes would be nice, some that didn't sag on him like Dudley's old ones did. And he could probably buy several odds and ends that he'd like—but there was bound to still be some left over. Harry thought back… what was that, he knew he'd heard something… oh! At the Weasleys during his second summer. Mr. Weasley had mentioned to Mrs. Weasley that the goblins had recently upped the prices on exchanging muggle money for wizard money.
"Of course," Harry thought out loud. "I could just trade it in at the end of the summer, what's left." Satisfied, and thoroughly tired after his long day, he jogged slowly the rest of the way home.
When he got home, it was seven, just like he'd predicted. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were all in the den, watching the evening news and munching on popcorn. Harry quietly served himself a large serving of the leftover supper (lasagna) and carried it upstairs. He wasn't really in the mood to sit in a hard wooden chair, eating all alone. If he had to eat alone, he'd much rather it was on a comfortable bed.
He flopped onto his bed, just barely missing the miniature owl that lay on his pillow. It let out a tiny squawk that actually sounded more like a *squick*, and gave Harry a most disrespectful look.
"Now Pig," Harry scolded. "Is that any way to talk to your elders and betters?" In truth Harry had zero idea how old this little owl was, but he was fairly sure it wasn't nearly fifteen years old. The idea of a miniscule creature like this being on the earth for fifteen years was ludicrous, and Harry cracked a grin thinking about it.
"All right…" he muttered, half to himself, and half to the clowning owl, which was hopping around the pillow with one leg out in front of him, emitting another *squick* with each hop. Harry chuckled and grabbed the tiny owl in mid-jump, effectively paralyzing him until the letter he was holding was out of his grasp. Mission accomplished, Harry dumped the owl on the bed and sat back to read his letter, lasagna forgotten and growing cold.
Dear Harry, (the letter read)
You know, it's really too bad that Dumbledore decided you can't visit us this summer. Despite my missing you, Hermione's coming after her trip to Bulgaria. Speaking of which—what'd you think about that? Is Krum going to try something, d'ya think? If he does, he'll be dead the minute I get my hands on him. BeWARE!!! ( Just kidding. Well, to an extent anyway. OK, enough prattling on about nonsense. Anyway, hope you survive the summer with the muggles, and I'll see you in Diagon Alley before school. We'll plan a day, K?
TTYL-
Ron
"Well," Harry said, putting the letter down, and speaking to Pig without looking at him, "Looks like Ron has his summer planned. Hermione's visiting, is she?" He smirked. "Maybe it's better anyway that I couldn't go. Maybe those two'll finally get it together. They sure argue enough—they'd be a great married cou-- PIG!!! Get away from that!" Pig, bored with the musings, had ceased his hopping and had sauntered- as only an owl can- over to Harry's plate, and had consumed nearly a fourth of what lay there on it.
"You OWL!" Harry exclaimed. He wasn't mad, just a little disgusted that an owl had actually been eating his food, and now he had to go replenish it.
"Shoo, get lost," Harry said, throwing the owl out the window. Pig still had a beak full of lasagna, so it took him a second, but he got the wind under his wings and started flying. Soon he was a speck in the distance. Harry went back downstairs to fill up his plate.
An hour later, he was in bed, dead to the world.
So whadja think? This actually didn't take me too long to do—I just got started and it kept rolling out—so lucky for you, you can expect the next chapter sometime before the week is over! To all you British people out there--- sorry, I haven't the faintest idea how to work with pounds and pence and all that- and I know even less about your government and how it runs—so bear with me!! I'm doing the best I can! Review review!!!
Thanks to:
Merlins wing—I don't know exactly how Harry's relationship with Parvarti will turn out. I'm a little tired of all the cliché pairings, which is why I'm trying this new angle.
Leeva—OK, it's continued! Hope you like it.
Bubby—Here's your third chapter!
NYC Girl—it's here, chapter three! Hope you enjoy it!
Summary so far: Harry has begun his summer at the Dursleys right before 5th year. He has taken up swimming and running to improve his muscles and tan. The Dursleys have been uncharacteristically kind to Harry—is it just a fluke or is it something serious? Harry has also decided that he needs a job…
The next morning, Harry got up and headed outside, dressed in his trunks a tshirt, and running shoes, holding his towel. As usual, Petunia was up again, cooking breakfast, which was pancakes, judging by the griddle on the counter. He took a place setting from the cupboard, and got out the peanut butter and syrup to eat them with. When he was done, Petunia was setting a plate of steaming cakes on the table. They sat down together, without saying anything, and proceeded to eat.
"So…" Harry said, trying to keep things friendly. "What are you planning on doing today?"
"Why should you care?" His aunt snapped back. It seemed that the friendly bout from the night before had abruptly ended. Harry didn't completely mind. He was much more experienced on dealing with animosity rather than friendliness from the Dursleys. They continued eating in silence. Harry finally broke it.
"Erm… these are really good pancakes." They were sourdough, which were really quite tasty. Harry was enjoying them, although not quite as much with the current company. Petunia seemed to be struggling within herself, finally coming out with a short,
"Thank you." It was something, anyway, Harry thought. He stood up from the table.
"I'll be back later tonight because I'm going to be looking for a job, just so you won't be wondering. I should be home around seven." His aunt acknowledged this statement with a curt nod. Harry scraped off his plate and loaded it into the dishwasher, then left.
After swimming that day, he turned right instead of left, taking him into the small town nearby. He wasn't quite sure how to go about finding a job, but it shouldn't be too hard. He stopped at the video store first. He stepped up to the front counter. To his relief, the man behind it was wearing a tag that read "Manager."
"Excuse me," Harry said politely, disrupting the man from the videos he was sorting through. The man looked up. He seemed friendly enough, and Harry took heart.
"I was looking around for a summer job. Do you have one I could take- or do you know anyone who does?" The man appraised him for a minute. He seemed to approve, because his next words were good.
"Wall, ah hain't rightly thought 'bout ait, but now that ah do—ah spose ah could use same haylp. Ah run this here place by mahself, and ait's doin darn way-ull lately, and ait'd be nice ta have some tahm at home wi' the family. How old did ya say ya were?" He was very obviously not from England, more like Texas or Lousiana. Some kind of southern accent. It wasn't altogether unpleasant to listen to, and was actually a nice change from the droll British accent everyone around this place had. Harry came back to earth abruptly, noticing that the man was looking at him curiously.
"Oh, excuse me. I'm 15 next month. Is that too young?" He said, starting to get anxious. He'd never thought about age requirements.
"Nah, ah spose ait'll do ah-ight. Don't thank thare's much o' any law round herebouts on that." (A/N Sorry, I have NO idea of the legal status of my state on that, much less a country overseas.) "Say, sonny, wot's yer name?"
"I'm Harry- Harry Potter. I live on Privet Drive."
"Way-ull, glad ter meet ya, Hay Po'er. The name's Bud. Just Bud. Don't hold any with last nay-ums although this here gov'ment seems ta like 'em right way-ull." Harry grinned. This guy would be easy to work for, and fun to be around.
"Now that way've got all thay-at figgered out—what're ya looking for in terms o' payin'?" Harry was caught off guard again. He had virtually nothing figured out. He hoped this guy would be honest about paying him because he had no idea what the going rate was for kids his age.
"Well—frankly, I have no idea." Harry said hesitantly. (A/N Once again, we're going with American money here— trying to get me to figure out how to convert pounds and all that correctly to money here is like trying to get a dog to figure out the solution to world peace.)
"Minimum rate round here's 'bout $5.75 an hour, but ah thank ah'll round ait up ta an aven six. How's thay-at?" (A/N again: I'm going to stop doing the Lweezianna accent, k? It's a lot of work. Just imagine it from now on. ()
"That sounds great sir, thanks a million! When do you want me to start?"
"Well, today's Friday… why don't you start Monday? You can work evenings, so I can have supper with the wife and family. Got lots of them. Even got one your age you should meet sometime. Two, actually. Twins. Real nice kids they are. I'll bring em round some time. So- do evenings suit you?"
"Yeah, that works great," Harry answered quickly. "I do exercising during the day- running and swimming- and then I have evenings free. So—what hours and what days?"
"Well—as often as you can work, I guess. Six days a week OK?"
"Mmm… yeah. That works."
"OK, so Monday through Saturday, say- 6 to 11? That's when it closes. That's 30 bucks a day which is…" he did some fast mental arithmetic, "Hunnert and eighty a week. Minus taxes, that is since I do have to keep track of that stuff. I'll take care of that before I pay you though. Deal?"
"Deal!" Harry said happily. A hundred and eighty bucks a week was a fortune compared to his usual earnings—zero. That was around seven hundred a month.
"OK, well see ya Monday then. If you can, get here early and I'll show you the ropes. They're not too bad, but they take a little learning."
"Right. Thanks a lot, Mister—Bud?"
"Just Bud, boy."
"Right," said Harry, grinning. "Thanks a lot, Bud. I'll see you Monday." He waved good-bye as he left, smiling to himself. He had a job! And a good paying one with a great boss. He couldn't wait to start work. He started thinking—what to do with all that money. Well, some new clothes would be nice, some that didn't sag on him like Dudley's old ones did. And he could probably buy several odds and ends that he'd like—but there was bound to still be some left over. Harry thought back… what was that, he knew he'd heard something… oh! At the Weasleys during his second summer. Mr. Weasley had mentioned to Mrs. Weasley that the goblins had recently upped the prices on exchanging muggle money for wizard money.
"Of course," Harry thought out loud. "I could just trade it in at the end of the summer, what's left." Satisfied, and thoroughly tired after his long day, he jogged slowly the rest of the way home.
When he got home, it was seven, just like he'd predicted. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley were all in the den, watching the evening news and munching on popcorn. Harry quietly served himself a large serving of the leftover supper (lasagna) and carried it upstairs. He wasn't really in the mood to sit in a hard wooden chair, eating all alone. If he had to eat alone, he'd much rather it was on a comfortable bed.
He flopped onto his bed, just barely missing the miniature owl that lay on his pillow. It let out a tiny squawk that actually sounded more like a *squick*, and gave Harry a most disrespectful look.
"Now Pig," Harry scolded. "Is that any way to talk to your elders and betters?" In truth Harry had zero idea how old this little owl was, but he was fairly sure it wasn't nearly fifteen years old. The idea of a miniscule creature like this being on the earth for fifteen years was ludicrous, and Harry cracked a grin thinking about it.
"All right…" he muttered, half to himself, and half to the clowning owl, which was hopping around the pillow with one leg out in front of him, emitting another *squick* with each hop. Harry chuckled and grabbed the tiny owl in mid-jump, effectively paralyzing him until the letter he was holding was out of his grasp. Mission accomplished, Harry dumped the owl on the bed and sat back to read his letter, lasagna forgotten and growing cold.
Dear Harry, (the letter read)
You know, it's really too bad that Dumbledore decided you can't visit us this summer. Despite my missing you, Hermione's coming after her trip to Bulgaria. Speaking of which—what'd you think about that? Is Krum going to try something, d'ya think? If he does, he'll be dead the minute I get my hands on him. BeWARE!!! ( Just kidding. Well, to an extent anyway. OK, enough prattling on about nonsense. Anyway, hope you survive the summer with the muggles, and I'll see you in Diagon Alley before school. We'll plan a day, K?
TTYL-
Ron
"Well," Harry said, putting the letter down, and speaking to Pig without looking at him, "Looks like Ron has his summer planned. Hermione's visiting, is she?" He smirked. "Maybe it's better anyway that I couldn't go. Maybe those two'll finally get it together. They sure argue enough—they'd be a great married cou-- PIG!!! Get away from that!" Pig, bored with the musings, had ceased his hopping and had sauntered- as only an owl can- over to Harry's plate, and had consumed nearly a fourth of what lay there on it.
"You OWL!" Harry exclaimed. He wasn't mad, just a little disgusted that an owl had actually been eating his food, and now he had to go replenish it.
"Shoo, get lost," Harry said, throwing the owl out the window. Pig still had a beak full of lasagna, so it took him a second, but he got the wind under his wings and started flying. Soon he was a speck in the distance. Harry went back downstairs to fill up his plate.
An hour later, he was in bed, dead to the world.
So whadja think? This actually didn't take me too long to do—I just got started and it kept rolling out—so lucky for you, you can expect the next chapter sometime before the week is over! To all you British people out there--- sorry, I haven't the faintest idea how to work with pounds and pence and all that- and I know even less about your government and how it runs—so bear with me!! I'm doing the best I can! Review review!!!
Thanks to:
Merlins wing—I don't know exactly how Harry's relationship with Parvarti will turn out. I'm a little tired of all the cliché pairings, which is why I'm trying this new angle.
Leeva—OK, it's continued! Hope you like it.
Bubby—Here's your third chapter!
NYC Girl—it's here, chapter three! Hope you enjoy it!