Harry was on his hands and knees in the Entrance Hall, scrubbing the floor while Filch stood over him and grumbled. He didn't know why he wasn't pickling slugs like Draco had suggested Snape might make him. He had been told instead that all of his detentions would be served with Filch, and he didn't think he had much of a right to complain, especially after being put on the Quidditch team instead of being expelled like he'd expected.

And it wasn't like he was a stranger to this sort of work. In fact, it was eerily reminiscent of his life at the Dursleys, especially because of Dudley, who had found out about his detentions before they even started, and usually found some excuse to get muddy and stomp around in the finished areas and ruin all of Harry's hard work. It was almost creepily nostalgic.

"Bloody maggots," Filch muttered, watching as Harry scrubbed. "Filthy, the lot of you, stomping around like you owned the place, no respect, none at all."

Harry's sense of deja vu grew as he was forcibly reminded of Aunt Petunia's constant complaints about him.

"Mud on the floor, frog's brains on the ceilings...serves you brats right to have to clean up after yourselves every once in a while...Merlin knows I haven't the time..."

Harry paused. Filch had given him an idea.

"Mr. Filch, sir?" Harry asked, pausing in his cleaning to turn and address the old caretaker. Filch glared at him, looking rather appalled at being addressed in the middle of a rant. Harry continued before Filch decided to threaten him with the racks like he had during Harry's first detention. "I was wondering...you sounded like you'd appreciate some help outside of detentions, and I kind of need some money to...pay for going here..."

Filch's dusty old eyebrows went up in surprised bewilderment. Harry rushed to explain his proposition before he was rejected outright.

"I just thought that maybe you could give me a job, you know, helping you?" Harry asked tentatively. "I'm good at cleaning and general upkeep and stuff, I promise it'd be worth it, sir."

Filch stared down at him in consternation for several minutes, and Harry began to fidget, certain he was about to be threatened with thumbscrews and told to get back to work.

"You say you need the money?" Filch asked, his face a picture of confusion. Harry nodded. Filch considered him for a few more seconds, then shrugged and said, "Not my business. You want t'earn your keep, who am I to stop you?"

Harry grinned. "So you'll take me on, then?"

"I'll give you a trial period during your last three detentions," he said gruffly. "If you pass scruff, we'll talk about you gettin' a job."

"Thank you so much, Mr. Filch," Harry said earnestly. "You won't regret this, I promise."

And with that, Harry returned to his scrubbing with renewed vigour and a certain peace of mind that he hadn't had since he'd learned he would have to pay for school on his own. He could make this work. He really could.

Harry and Filch had a decent work schedule set up within the next week. Harry worked from seven to nine on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, and from two to five on weekends. He even got exceptions for days when he had Quidditch, and Filch said (in a strange pique of geniality that Harry thought might have come from having a willing worker and a future with more leisure time) that he'd deal with any detentions Harry might (inevitably) get by taking it on himself and simply not paying Harry that night. Harry did the math and figured out that, at the three galleons an hour they'd agreed upon, he'd be making about 1,632 galleons a year, which was around 8,160 pounds, which he thought should definitely satisfy his uncle, possibly even with some left over.

If not, he could always get a summer job.

Harry was plodding tiredly back to the Slytherin dorms after work. He'd just finished cleaning the third floor and he was exhausted. He'd had an early Quidditch practice that day, and he still had two essays to write for Potions and Transfiguration.

Most nights weren't this bad. It was only very rarely that Harry had both work and Quidditch practice on the same night, and normally he was able to finish his homework before Quidditch with Hermione's help, as she was always willing to lend him a hand.

Unfortunately, she'd had her hands full with Harry's cousin. Dudley just didn't understand the Transfiguration essay, no matter how hard Hermione tried to explain it to him. He'd even resorted to his old tactic of bullying Harry into giving him the answers, when Hermione wasn't looking. Unluckily for him, Blaise was with Harry at the time, and now Dudley had the problem of a Jelly-Legs jinx to add to his confusion, and once Hermione found out why he had been jinxed, she refused to help him reverse it.

"He got himself into this mess by being a bullying prat," she'd said. "He can get himself out of it."

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, delegating essays and bullying prats to the back of his mind while he tried to think up a suitable excuse for his absence. He hadn't told any of his friends about his job. He knew Draco and Blaise would scoff and telling Hermione meant telling Dudley, and as much as it would be a good thing for Uncle Vernon to have news that Harry was earning the money, Harry also knew this meant that the rest of the school would know as well. He wasn't keen on being looked down upon by the rest of Slytherin, so here he was, thinking up an alibi.

He couldn't very well tell them he'd been with Hermione (an excuse that had worked before), because if he had, he wouldn't have any essays to write. He couldn't say Quidditch had run long (an excuse that had never worked) because they would have to hear about it from the other team members to believe that. He'd used the detention excuse far too often for Flint's peace of mind, and his captain had already pulled him aside and told him he'd have to shape up if he wanted to be on the starting team next year.

What Harry needed was another friend, one that wouldn't mind Harry using them as an alibi. Harry had a feeling that, however well he and Filch got along these days, his friends probably wouldn't be very happy to hear Harry claim to have spent his missing hours having tea or something equally inane in Filch's office. Frankly, they wouldn't believe him, and even if they did, well, it was Filch! They wouldn't be happy anyways.

What Harry needed, then, was a believable friend, someone outside of Slytherin, who could be trusted to not ask questions and be a suitable alibi for when Harry was working. He decided to keep an eye out for someone like that, possibly a Gryffindor, as he already had ties to them. Maybe a Ravenclaw. He shuddered as he imagined the look on Draco's face at the idea of Harry having a Hufflepuff friend, then shrugged it off. If the right person happened to be in Hufflepuff, it would just ensure that Draco and Blaise didn't want to tag along when Harry went to 'hang out with his new friend.' He knew they might not be appreciative, but they had already proven that they wouldn't stop being friends with him for something like this.

Nor would they stop being his friend because he was poor, Harry knew. But they would look down on him, maybe even pity him, and he didn't want friends who pitied him.

"Hey, Anthony Goldstein, right?"

"Yes, I am Anthony," He glanced up from his book for a second and nodded. "To whom, may I ask, am I speaking?"

Harry smiled a bit and said, "My name is Harry Potter."

Anthony actually set his book down this time. "Hello. And what brings you to my little corner of the library, Harry Potter?"

Harry shifted slightly. "Call me Harry. I see you in here all the time, and you seemed nice enough, so I thought I'd say hello."

"Ah! I understand. Hello, Harry. How are you on this lovely autumn afternoon?"

"Er, fine, thanks. How are you?"

"I'm doing quite well, actually."

"Well, uhm, that's great."

Harry scratched his arm and watched as Anthony went back to his book.

"So, er, can I sit down?" Harry asked uncertainly.

Anthony started slightly, as though he'd forgotten Harry was there, and gave him a small smile. "Of course! Sit, sit, please."

Anthony nodded at Harry when he sat, and then went back to his book.

"Erm, Anthony?" Harry asked. Anthony sighed regretfully, marked his place, and closed the book.

"You're one of those talkative types, aren't you?" he asked, staring sadly at his book.

Harry's eyebrows went up. He wasn't, not really.

Anthony saw his look and immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, Harry. You seem like quite an interesting person, and I'm quite positive I'd like to pick your brain later, but this is a fascinating book."

Harry nodded in comprehension. He'd known when he approached Anthony that he was a Hermione-type, albeit a bit more absent minded. It was exactly the reason he'd approached him.

"Sorry. I guess you'd like to get back to it then?" Anthony nodded gratefully. "Well then I'll make it short. Do you want to be friends?"

"Friends?" Anthony asked, slightly bemused. "Hmmm...I suppose. What kind of things would we have to do?"

"Well," Harry said. "I suppose we could study together sometimes. I promise I'll be quiet. You won't even notice I'm there."

Anthony nodded, and opened his book again. "Okay. I can do that. I'm sure there are also a few Slytherin reasons you have for approaching me, which I'll be hearing about later. As long as you don't hurt any of my books."

Harry blinked, then reminded himself that this was a Ravenclaw he was speaking to, not an idiot. "Right then, erm...bye!"

Anthony waved him off absently, and Harry grinned as he walked away.

"What was that all about?" Hermione asked him as he returned to her table. Dudley appeared to be having some kind of fit across the table; his hands were covering his mouth and he was shaking wildly.

"Made a new friend," Harry said happily. "What's with Dudley?"

"He understands Charms," Hermione said fondly. "Some of it, anyway."

Harry nodded in understanding. He thought he could faintly hear Dudley's joyful sniggers through his fat hands. "Congratulations, Dudley," he said proudly.

Dudley took his hands away from his mouth and picked up his wand. "Watch, Harry!"

He swished and flicked, enunciating clearly. "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The book on the table in front of him hovered a few feet in the air.

Harry smiled uncertainly. "That's great, Dudley..." he glanced at Hermione and whispered, "Didn't we learn that last month?"

Hermione smiled. "He's known how to do it since then, too, haven't you Dudley?" Dudley nodded proudly and made the book go higher. "It's just the one he's best at. Show him something else, Dudley. Show him the one I taught you yesterday."

Dudley looked a little uncertain, but let the tome drop and nodded. Hermione pulled out a small book with a little lock on it.

"Hermione, do you have a diary?" Harry asked in amusement. The book was pink and had flowers all over the cover.

Hermione sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Harry. This is Lavender's."

Harry's jaw dropped as Dudley said, "Alohomora!" and the lock clicked open. Dudley looked up for Harry's reaction and saw the shocked look on his face. He swelled with pride. "Pretty brilliant, eh?" he asked happily.

Harry nodded, looking at Hermione accusingly. She only reddened a little bit. "It's not like I'm reading it," she said defensively.

Harry shook his head and grinned. "Some noble Gryffindor you are, Hermione."

"It must be your terrible Slytherin influence that's turned me," Hermione replied dryly, as Dudley locked the book and did the spell again.

They laughed and applauded Dudley when he looked up to see what was so funny.

"Where were you, Harry?" Draco asked as Harry stepped into the common room after work. "You missed Daphne and Pansy's huge fight!"

Harry frowned and answered, "Anthony and I were hanging out. What happened?"

"Pansy called Daphne a dirty wench because Daphne broke some bottle of perfume or something." Blaise answered with a grin. "All I really saw was the yelling and the hexing. It was pretty wicked."

"Wow," Harry responded, dropping down onto the couch. "Sounds it."

"Yeah, Daphne's in the hospital wing now. Pansy's spell went wrong and they're trying to figure out what she did."

"Wow," Harry repeated monotonously. "This is almost as interesting as Halloween." Someone had let a troll in at Halloween, and they'd all been ushered back to their dormitories after a professor fainted in the Great Hall over it.

"Harry, are you being sarcastic?" Draco asked suspiciously.

"No, just tired," Harry said with his eyes closed. He'd cleaned half the fifth floor tonight. "Anthony wanted to try something out he found in one of his books."

"That boy is so strange," Draco told him disapprovingly. "Why do you hang out with him?"

"He's actually kind of interesting when you can get him to talk normally," Harry said truthfully. He'd talked to Anthony quite a lot since they'd become 'friends', and Anthony really was quite interesting. He also knew that Harry had to have his 'Slytherin webs', as he called Harry's secret job, and as such, didn't bother trying to poke his nose in and backed Harry up when he said they'd been hanging out.

"You smell like lemons," Blaise said, wrinkling his nose. Harry winced slightly. That would be Mrs. Skowers Lemony Fresh Magical Mess Remover. Harry inwardly cursed Blaise and his keen sense of smell, while outwardly shrugging.

"It was a strange spell he wanted to try out," Harry explained. "It required lemons."

The portrait over the fireplace snorted at him. Blaise looked for a moment as though he was going to question Harry further, but Draco cut in. "Like I said, Harry. He's weird. I mean, lemons? Really!"

"He's not that bad, Draco," Harry said firmly. "And I promise you don't have to hang out with him. Now," he continued, standing up. "I'm going to take a shower. I don't fancy smelling like lemons all day tomorrow."

Draco and Blaise waved him off, leaning their heads together to whisper about something. Harry waved to Vince and Greg as he passed, and they nodded in return, busy with their card game.

"Go Fish! …wait, never mind."

'Strange spell requiring lemons,' Harry thought incredulously to himself as he made his way to the showers. 'I am such an idiot. I cannot believe they bought that.'

Harry sat with Hermione and Dudley in the library, trying to work on a Defense essay. 'Trying' being the key word. It just wasn't working. Eventually he gave up and threw his quill down in exasperation.

"What's wrong Harry?" Hermione asked, looking up from her book. "Normally it's Dudley who gives up first."

"I dunno," Harry said irritably. "I just really don't like Defense."

Hermione put her book down and looked at him curiously. "Why not?"

"I always get a headache in that class!" Harry complained. "And Quirrel stutters so much that even if I felt fine, I'd have trouble."

Hermione frowned at him. "Do you get headaches often?" she asked in concern.

"Seems like it's only during Defense," Harry answered. "And then when class is over, I have to borrow Blaise's notes if I want to know what went on."

"Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey," Hermione told him. "Tell her what you told me. Maybe she can make it better."

Harry nodded. "In the meantime, can you help me with this?"

Hermione nodded and he handed her his essay so that she could check over what little he'd done so far.

"Here's your first problem..."