By virtue of Severus' gargantuan efforts—and in spite of his father's inertia—a lease was signed in mid-February, and their free evenings and every moment of Severus' day on Wednesdays and Sundays after Mass was taken up preparing things at the shop he'd leased.
It was the same boarded up front that Harry had passed nearly every day on his way to and from school. Once upon a time, it had been known as Culpepper Motors. There was a garage door to the front of the property that Harry had never noticed before, because it had been covered by an enormous piece of plywood. Their first task had been prying it from the façade and then attempting to restore the door to working order.
Harry might have thought that an easy task, but evidently the rails that the door had been installed on had rusted out many years earlier from neglect, and Severus was made to remove the door in its entirety—without magic—and to install new brackets, rails, and a fresh pulley and cable system. It had taken him the entire first week, during which time, when Harry had the freedom to help him, he'd set the boy to painting over the old sign with a bucket of plain white primer.
For Harry's sake, Severus had removed the sign from the storefront, elsewise they may have needed to use a ladder (or, as his kuya had grumbled, a broom), and Harry was grateful he was able to do his painting inside the shop's garage, where he was mostly protected from the elements thanks to a weather charm that muggles walking by on the street wouldn't have detected by sight. Even so, with the door off, it was odd to see the curious glances in to the garage, and it was stranger still to watch Severus actually speaking to anyone who asked about what was going into the space.
"We need to advertise our services," he'd explained once asked, looking grumpy about it. "The fool had no plan for getting customers."
"Is there another auto shop in town?" Harry asked as he began to paint an angry face with a crooked zig-zag for a mouth over the big 'M' in the word 'Motors.'
"Actually," Severus paused to think, his face registering surprise, "well... I'll be damned. I suppose there isn't."
"What do people do if they break down?"
"Most of the men around here are fully capable of servicing a wide variety of small complaints on their own cars, Harry, but if they were to have significant engine trouble or damage to the body, I imagine they may have to have their car towed somewhere further afield."
"How often does that happen?" Harry asked, adding wild hair to his painting. He imagined a little gremlin of some sort, hopping around and snarling incoherently. It was a pity his painting skills didn't hold a candle to what he'd imagined in his head. Then again, there was only so much he could do with only white paint.
"More often than you'd think," Snape struggled to answer. Between his teeth was the handle of a small, flat-head screwdriver, and he was manually spinning a bolt with his callused fingers before he took a spanner to it, tightening it onto the washer.
Taking a step back, he pulled on a cable and watched as the counterweight caused the bottom of the door to lift up half a foot. He seemed satisfied with the mechanism, but cringed when the door let out an ear-piercing squeak.
"That'll need oiled."
"You should use Potion Mu," Harry suggested, dipping his brush into the pan of paint sitting beside him.
"I'm not sure I trust it out of containment," Severus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "If anyone were to touch it, it could quickly become a problem and get just about everywhere and on everything."
"What about in the cars? If we do oil changes, we could put a few drops into the new oil."
Snape seemed to be seriously considering this. He sat down with his back to the wall that separated the garage proper from the manager's office and reached for the small tin box he'd brought with them from home. Inside were a couple of cut sandwiches wrapped in paper.
"If you're not going to go wash your hands, at the least hold this by the paper and try not to eat paint," he instructed with a roll of his eyes, handing one of the sandwiches over.
Harry took it gratefully and carefully peeled the paper back, doing as Severus had suggested and holding it by the wrapping.
Snape must have come up with a response some time after he took his first bite, for he forgot to finish chewing before he answered.
"Assuming nothing bad was to come of adding the potion to the oil, how would that help our business? The potion improves regular oil, so it would seem as though it would merely make it take longer before people brought their cars in for a change, down the line."
Harry nodded along, enjoying the taste of roast beef and cheese on the buttered bread while he thought back to more of those overheard dinner conversations held between Vernon Dursley and the other directors of Grunnings.
"That could happen, but what if we tell people that ours is better, and then they tell more people? It could get us more business of other kinds, right? Then it wouldn't matter if we didn't do a lot of oil changes, 'cause we'd do other stuff."
Snape grunted, staring daggers at his portion. "And I suppose, depending on our level of exposure, it might be feasible to market our own proprietary blend of engine oil. It would be quite impossible to detect Potion Mu amongst the existing petroleum composition..." he mused.
"Who would try and pick it out?"
"It would be important that no one must know of it, Harry. It is illegal for wizards to hawk magical wares to the unsuspecting muggle public."
"It is?" Harry asked, not able to hide his disappointment.
"Of course it is! Why else do you imagine you've never seen the boys on your street riding on broomsticks, or the muggle women you know using self-propelling scrub brushes? The sale of magical objects is heavily regulated, and it is absolutely forbidden to sell such wares to the muggles. It violates our Statute of Secrecy."
Harry was grateful he didn't have to ask about what that was. Since he'd taken to reading The Prophet, he'd heard his fill about the cumbersome restrictions that bound the wizarding population and kept them away from their muggle neighbors.
"Buuuut, if they didn't know..." Harry sang, grinning at Severus with his mouth full of rye.
"Tone it down, boy. I didn't say we'd do it. This is merely hypothetical."
Snape paused, his eyes going wide and face twitching as though he'd scented trouble on the air before he relaxed once more. "Hypothetical, and confidential."
Harry shook his head with a grimace.
He didn't know the meaning of either word.
Realising this, Severus sighed impatiently and elaborated. "Imaginary and secret. Very secret, Potter, do you understand?"
"Yeah," Harry chirped, feeling his excitement return. "'Cause really, if it were imaginary, it wouldn't need to be a sec—"
A large boned hand clapped over Harry's mouth and the forbidding look on Severus' face silenced him.
"Sometimes, I think you a bit too clever, and then at other times, I wonder if you're not a bit dim."
"Hey!"
Snape shrugged and crumpled up his paper, using the wadded-up ball to brush crumbs from his hands onto the concrete floor. "I'm only drawing conclusions based on the evidence available to me."
Harry didn't much appreciate that, but he quickly stuffed the rest of his sandwich in his mouth and followed Severus' lead, throwing the refuse into the rubbish bin that was overflowing with the packaging from their recent purchases.
He spent a moment looking around the darkened space. In the furthest recesses of the garage, lining the walls, were hulking, shadowy machines. They looked monstrous in the low lighting. Some of them had a great many arms, and belts, and doodads that couldn't possibly do anything. Others promised a swift death for anyone bold enough—or stupid enough—to touch a saw blade here, or a mounted drill there.
Harry was equal parts fascinated and horrified. Truthfully, he found himself drawn to the machines in the same way he was both attracted to and repulsed by cars.
Powerful. Solid. Persistent.
Sharp. Relentless. Deadly.
As surely as he appreciated the machines (and all cars) for their mechanical beauty, and the intricacies of their engineering and design, he could not divorce the metal beasts from their claws and fangs which threatened any man fool enough to underestimate their destructive power.
"What about those, Severus? Where did they come from? Are we gonna be using them?"
Grunting in reply, Snape looked up from the list he'd been checking against a ledger, both residing on separate clipboards that he'd been rather married to in the past week. "What are you talking about? Specify."
"Those machines back there."
"Oh," he murmured, losing interest. "They were a part of the lease. We were lucky enough to find a shop where the previous occupant had need of a great many specialised tools. If we'd had to buy them out of pocket, I'm not certain we could have managed."
"What will we use them for?"
"We will be doing nothing with them," he answered, rubbing his index finger along the stubble on his top lip as he tapped with a biro next to a line item he ended up crossing out. "Da' will be managing the big machines."
"Toby!?"
"Mmm," Snape vocalised, now too distracted in his task to worry about eloquence. "He's lazier than a cat in the sun, but you'll find no one better for operating heavy machinery."
"Really?" Harry asked, unable to mask his skepticism.
"Da' was the chief tool and die engineer at Reckitt," Severus answered, still too distracted to look over. One of his yellowed fingertips skimmed the list and he brought his other hand with the pen over to write something aggressively in the margins. "The trouble came after he was made redundant."
"What's that mean?"
"It means he was sacked."
"Oh..." Harry let loose a whistling breath through his pursed lips. That sounded unpleasant.
"I'd say he never recovered, but in all honesty, I don't think he would have found employment even if he'd not been dealt that kind of blow. He's lacking in gumption, full stop. Reckitt was convenient and he managed that job by being bought up with the man he'd apprenticed to. When his old superior retired, he was the natural replacement. Not once do I think he ever had to go out and find something for himself." Severus sneered, finally looking up.
"But you think he'll do an okay job on the machines?" Harry asked, feeling skeptical at the very idea of it.
"It's all he was ever suited for," Snape replied, his voice filled with bitter irony. "He's an artist with metal. Can make just about any tiny bit or bob you'd like, fit to exacting specifications. The trouble is, you have to be very clear with him about what he ought to be doing, or else you can't expect a thing out of him."
"Is that why you're not so mad?" Harry asked, still stuck on their dust up from a week earlier. "Do you think this will turn out okay, Kuya? Be honest..."
Snape set the biro down after capping it and looked at Harry with a dispassionate expression. Despite the lack of obvious emotion, there was still something deep in his gaze. Something not dissimilar to pity. "You have doubts."
"I'm scared. I don't wanna lose the house," Harry answered. It went almost without saying that the house was not what he was actually afraid of losing.
Luckily, Snape wasn't the sort that usually needed things spelled out for him.
He sighed.
"If I get Da' running his gob about the business to all of his friends over town—don't be fooled, Harry. He knows virtually everyone—and we let him think this is all his business, and give him the credit, we just might survive. Not because he spun up a successful business, or because he leveraged our damn house for this goddamn farce—" Snape breathed in a deep breath through his nose to calm himself as his voice had begun to raise with his anger. "No... no. It'll be because we let him think he did, while I do the work of keeping a tightly run ship in the background. He'll be a valuable employee if I just let him think he's the owner.
"All he wants to do is work the machines anyway," Snape continued. "He'd be pants at bodywork, and he never cared about getting under the bonnet of the Marina enough to bother with anything routine."
"Neither did you," Harry answered under his breath.
"You'd be wrong there, Potter," Snape snarked back, which surprised Harry, as he'd not been sure if Snape would hear him. "I don't care one whit how that car looks, that's true, but I'll be damned if I haven't gone over every plug and valve in the years it's been in my ownership! There's not a damn thing I can't do for it, and there's not a damn thing I can't learn if I damn well want to! And I'll be damned if your insolent self goes claiming otherwise!"
'Damn, damn, damn, damn,' Harry wished he could mock aloud. Instead, all he said was: "Okay, Severus."
"Damn straight, 'okay.'"
Best to let the foul-tempered wizard have his own way when he got like that, Harry knew.
"We're going to keep the damn house," his kuya seethed to himself, returning to poring over the ledger with a deeply etched scowl between his black eyebrows, "or I'll be damned."
Harry blinked, nonplussed. It occurred to him that perhaps Severus had broken once more. At least, this time, it was a bit funnier than it had been in the car when his mental magic had failed.
Fifteen minutes went by wherein Harry entertained himself by painting more fantastical creatures from his imagination onto the old Culpepper sign. His concentration was broken when he realised that he'd actually heard Severus mention some of them before.
Weren't Centaurs real?
Who could keep track anymore?
"You think you can work on anything that comes in?" He asked Severus, for something to take his mind off of the possibility of half man, half horse creatures.
"I'm reasonably sure."
"Like... like a lorry?"
"They're not as difficult as you might imagine. Bigger, yes, but functionally the same."
"A race car then?"
Snape paused and frowned as he looked up. "Race cars have their own teams to service them, Harry, and I know of no federations around here that would give us business. In the unlikely event that a race car comes in for a consultation, perhaps, at that, I'd turn them down."
"Oh," Harry sighed, disappointed. It would have been cool to see inside a race car.
That inspired him to paint Formula One cars on the big C in Culpepper, using the middle part as a kind of track. He was disappointed when his painting looked more like a series of ants than actual cars.
"—too bloody quiet," Snape burst out moments later, scrubbing at his scalp with one hand. "Wait here. I'm going to grab the tape player out of the car."
"Okay, Severus."
Before Snape made it out, Harry called out to him, making him pause.
"Yes?"
"Bring AC/DC."
When Snape returned, it was with the requested tape, and he obliged Harry in playing Highway to Hell first.
For the rest of the afternoon, Harry diligently followed directions, sweeping the floor from back to front and making sure to get underneath the giant machines that Severus said his father would need. They worked together, but apart, both completing different tasks toward the ultimate end of opening the shop that neither had originally intended to open.
It was far past the time for supper when Severus called a halt to their frantic pace and sighed with weary resignation. He glanced around the garage and shook his head.
Harry came up alongside him and did his best to brush the dust from his jeans, finding that one of the knees had begun to wear at the weft and soon would tear. Neither spoke as Severus ushered him out the front door that led into the waiting area and he locked the shop up behind them, leaving a single light in the office on to discourage looters.
The snow had been mostly dispelled from the pavements, but it still stood in filthy piles up against the kerb. Backbarrow had a council that cared to plow their roads, but on the Cokeworth side of the bridge no such effort had been made. Snow accumulated where tyres and foot traffic pushed it, and that was that.
Their trek to the car was completed in silence, the darkness that came from early winter nights feeling rather oppressive, especially after the music inside had been abruptly shut off when they'd prepared to leave.
To Harry's surprise, when they turned out of the alleyway that Severus had parked in, he took a left towards the bridge into town, and didn't spare a glance to their right.
"Where are we going?" Harry asked, speaking the first words uttered since Snape had declared they were finished for the evening.
"Into town." Snape answered, appearing lachrymose and tired. Very much the same as he'd looked the week before.
After the fracas that had resulted the last time Harry had questioned the man in such a fashion, he thought better of asking for particulars, but as it turned out, Snape was in a more talkative mood than he'd anticipated.
"I believe you mentioned to me that your spider was lacking for proper snacks."
"You remembered!" Harry grinned. "He's almost out of crickets, and I could use more bedding. Maybe some meal worms..."
"A more spoilt arachnid I never did see," his kuya opined, sounding not at all upset over it. "We'll see that he gets everything he needs. Is there anything else you might want from in town?"
Harry paused. It was odd of Severus to ask such a question. Normally, they went together for food and other necessities, and Severus made the decisions regarding what they would get. Harry never had any issue with this arrangement, because his kuya generally enjoyed snacking as much as Harry did, and he didn't usually make choices for dinner foods that disagreed with him.
Money was tight, and Severus felt better when he controlled every expenditure. It wasn't as though Harry had ever been accustomed to asking for nonsense off the shelves, in any case; that had been Dudley's express privilege. With Severus, he always got more than he wanted or needed, even when they'd been living mostly off of toast and eggs.
"Er... we could get some biscuits for Curry," Harry suggested, "while we're at the pet store."
"Granted."
Harry frowned. That had been too easy. Snape didn't at all care for his father's dog, and they frequently antagonised each other. When Snape had made his shoes permanently unavailable as a convenient doggy urinal, Cur Dog had taken to sleeping in and scratching up the upholstery of Severus' favourite armchair.
It wasn't much of a loss, as it had always been threadbare, but Severus had threatened to ward the chair. Evidently he must not have done it, for Harry had seen the dog enjoying a nap on the contested chair that very morning before school.
"Erm... why didn't we go home? I need more crickets, but it can wait a bit, I think."
"I can't..." Snape's hand tightened on the wheel and his other one agitated the shifter such that it threatened to throw them out of gear. "I can't be there right now. I'm not ready to go home."
"Oh."
"So what else would you have us do for the evening?"
"Erm... well, we have enough food. I think the larder is full. I don't really need anything."
"Ah, dealer's choice," Snape snorted. "Think nothing of it, Harry."
As it turned out, 'dealer's choice' meant stopping by the pet store for far more supplies than Harry had ever needed to sustain his spider and Toby's dog, and then a leisurely walk down the pavement, looking into stores they'd never entered before. At the end of the way was a brightly lit, brilliantly painted public house, done up in the jolly colours of pine green and crimson. The sign that hung from the façade featured a ewe laying in a field of grass and golden lettering that proudly proclaimed the establishment to be The Jiggered Yow.
Severus pressed on Harry's shoulder and steered them to the door, past the large flowerboxes in the windows that must have been overflowing in warmer months.
"Are we going in?"
"No, Potter, I only decided to lurk in the doorway for my own amusement. Open the blasted door," Snape sneered, indicating the brass handle with a nod.
Harry did, pulling the door wide so that they were greeted with a warm, pungent blast of air from inside.
In all of Severus' months of working there, Harry had never actually visited The Yow. Inside, he found a cheery, low-lit space where not an inch of wall was left after the owner had fitted together a hodge-podge of mismatched frames featuring an array of subjects. Most were of locals, presumably. Old photographs from decades before.
A line of workers in boilersuits who were all a fluorescent shade of ultramarine, standing in front of the Blueworks. A farmer posing proudly beside a champion sheep dog. A picture of the ancient yew from outside Rowky Syke's yard, although from a very different angle. A stage of musicians at a fair of some sort.
Harry's eyes roved over each scene, peering closely to see if he saw anyone he recognised. Perhaps Gammy, who was a fixture in the town... or even Toby, who'd been around a long time. No one materialised, however, and in the end he merely enjoyed the scenes for their own sake.
The air was fragrant with a mixture of cigarette smoke, malty beer, and, overtop that, the scent of deep-fried batter. He couldn't help but to begin salivating, and he looked up at the older wizard who he'd preceded into the establishment with some hope that Severus planned on dining there for the evening. They'd not eaten since the sandwiches hours before.
Snape had occupied himself at the bar discussing something with his counterpart for that evening. They spoke in low voices, but in spite of that, it didn't seem as though whatever they discussed was of any pressing importance if the bland look on Severus' face was any indication.
Suddenly, Snape scowled as whoever his coworker was laughed, pounding on the top of the bar and rattling a few glasses that he'd been cleaning.
"Divn't be a poor sport, now! Ga'an," the barkeep needled loudly enough for Harry to hear. He picked up his rag and wetted it to wipe down the wood.
"She came in to give me a phone number—"
"An' then she stayed for dinner, an' a few hours past dinner," the other man said in a drawl. "An' you paid her tab personally."
"She'd done me a favour! There was nothing—nothing like you're describing! You're making it out to be something obscene!"
"Oh is that what she does now, eh?" The man made a grotesque, exaggerated kissy face. "L'al Tabby Tibbons, granting favours—?"
While the man had been speaking, Severus had begun to stride to the end of the bar and let himself behind, where he grabbed hold of the other man's shirt and towed him into a shadowy corridor that probably led to the kitchens.
Harry glanced around to see if anyone was paying them any attention, but the pub was mostly empty. No one was seated at the bar proper, and those dining at the tables by the great windows were preoccupied with their meals. If anything, whatever was taking place in the alcove downwind of the taps was likely two mates getting up to a bit of rough housing as far as they were concerned.
Only, Harry had never seen Severus pin anyone to the wall before...
The smirk hadn't left the other barman's face even with his back to the wall and Snape breathing in his face, but Harry could see the way his skin was draining of colour as Severus hissed... well... something nasty at him.
At long last, Snape released him and gave him a final shove against the wall, stalking back with no finesse whatsoever, his swinging arms catching on a broom propped up against the corner here or a spare washcloth there.
"I'm telling Henry—!"
The other barkeep emerged from the shadowed hall behind him as he nearly shouted his oath, wobbling a bit and looking disoriented.
"Tell Henry. I don't care."
"You'll lose your job, mate. Henry don't like any paggas in here—"
"I wouldn't call what just happened a fight, Griggs, would you?" Severus turned to better snipe at the man. "A man knows better than to cheapen a woman's virtue in front of her... her..."
Griggs snorted, stabilising himself against the bench with a shaking hand. "Aye, see? That's what we were talkin about, right there. And I divn't have ta cheapen nothing. Tabby ain't no maiden; whole town knows it."
Snarling now, and looking rather like a feral dog on the attack, Severus bore down as much as he could against his counterpart. Harry looked around rapidly, watching for more trouble. By that point the patrons by the window were watching with avid interest as the potential friendly fisticuffs had devolved into an unmistakable disagreement.
"I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth about Tabitha Tibbons for the rest of your stupid little life, Griggs. She's none of your damned business, do you understand?"
Severus turned away and ducked to exit under a rope partition that separated the back of the bar from the rest of the room. He motioned to Harry and the boy lost no time in scurrying to the door, wishing to be away from the row as quickly as possible.
Griggs apparently was the type to send a parting salvo, however.
"Nae, she's yer business, is that right?"
Part way out the door, Severus' grip on Harry's shoulder tightened to the point where it was nearly painful before he caught himself and released his hold. He didn't look back but did hold his hand up in a rude gesture as they pushed out into the cold February evening.
For a block or two, Snape's heavy breath spewed forth in the air like the cloud from a steam locomotive's smokestack, and Harry made haste to keep up with him, not wanting to be left behind or reprimanded for lagging.
Abruptly, Severus stopped by a lamppost and slammed his open palm against the metal casing, causing it to emit a hollow bang.
"I'm going to get sacked for that," he breathed, just loudly enough for Harry to hear, but still mostly to himself. "Bloody stupid! Stupid fool!" He slammed it again, wincing as the impact jarred from his wrist up his arm, and the frigid cold assaulted his nerves.
Harry had seemingly hundreds of questions on his mind, but he was petrified and wise enough to know not to ask them. Instead, he glanced around and noticed a bench not far away that wasn't piled with snow. Quietly, he retreated until he could perch his bottom on the wooden slats, letting his feet swing back and forth as he averted his eyes from Snape's most recent meltdown.
The only noise on the frigid, night air was Severus' heavy breathing as he attempted to cope with the possible consequences of what he'd done. Every few moments he would mutter something or spit onto the cracked pavement, next to his boot.
Finally, he straightened from his pitched over position (if Harry was being honest, he'd feared that Snape was preparing to get sick once more), and groaned like the weight of the air around him was too much for his weary frame to bear pressing down on his shoulders.
Harry lifted his head, weighing his options before he sent out a exploratory question to test the waters.
"Sev'rus?" He stammered a bit, unintentionally shortening the name as he often did when feeling uncertain. "Are you gonna sick up again?"
Breathing a heavy sigh through his nose, with his back still to the boy on the bench, Snape shook his head, raking a hand through his hair until it caught at the ponytail and pulled the elastic out. He never seemed to remember when he was wearing it tied back. Once that fell to the ground, his fingers caught on the snaggles and split ends. He seemed to give up when his fingers wouldn't give way beyond the final three inches.
"No. No, I'm fine."
Harry frowned at his back, annoyed with the bald-faced lie. For all that, he didn't question him further. Snape wasn't fine. It was obvious, so there was no need to belabour the point.
Instead, he decided to hop down from the bench and carefully approach Snape from the side, as one might a horse, so one could be certain the beast saw and anticipated the approach.
Reaching out a cautious hand as he so often did to Babs when he wished to gentle the cow enough to bring her in for her milking, Harry grabbed hold of Snape's thin upper arm, squeezing a bit when the man didn't react to his touch.
He said nothing but merely stood there with his hand gripping Snape's bicep for several minutes, eventually staring down at his soaked canvas trainers when his kuya didn't respond beyond emitting a heavy, soul-weary sigh.
"That was stupid, Harry."
Not sure what he meant, Harry looked up, his head cocked to the side.
"I fear I have cost us dearly in being so... so..."
"What did he mean when he said Ms. Tibbons was granting favours?"
Snape breathed in deeply, appearing to steady himself before his black eyes settled on Harry. He looked more gaunt than usual beneath the stark lighting from the streetlight. "He was being exceptionally rude."
"Rude? Rude how?"
"He was meaning to suggest... that Ms. Tibbons was conducting herself in a way that might have... ah," he paused as he considered his words. "Might have brought her great shame."
Harry felt a flush of anger, even though he still didn't know what it was that ought to have shamed his teacher. She was the best parts of his week at Rowky Syke... even when she was a bit daffy about how she treated her students. She was always kind and approachable. She smiled at each student in her class and was interested in every last child, even the ones Harry didn't care for like Candace and Jack.
Furthermore, she'd personally helped Severus pick out Harry's most prized possession, and it would take quite a bit of shame brought upon her head before Harry ever saw her as anything less than the bearer of his own personal relic.
"You were mad 'cause he was being rude about her," Harry stated, trying to make sure he understood.
"Yes."
Harry paused to think, his hand falling from Snape's arm as he scowled down at the concrete. "He shouldn't be rude about Ms. Tibbons."
"No, he shouldn't. But neither should I have threatened him over it," Snape sighed, rubbing at the crooked bridge of his nose. "We need this job more than Tabby needs me defending her honour when she's not even there to hear it."
"Why would it matter if she heard?"
Snape shrugged and blinked, his eyes looking bloodshot. "Perhaps you've heard the expression: 'no harm, no foul?' If what Griggs said was true, then the rumours are what they are, and me arguing with him about it does next to nothing to discourage them. Tabby—your Ms. Tibbons—wasn't there to have her feelings hurt by the accusations. My attempts to defend her did nothing to spare her and may have cost us our livelihood."
"May have," Harry reminded him. Snape began to walk again and Harry tagged along at his heel, shoving his hands deep in his pockets as he drew his borrowed scarf up to his nose and breathed through the scratchy wool.
"Your optimism is welcome, Harry, but I have a feeling it is misplaced. Henry's going to be livid."
The rubber toe of Harry's trainer caught a loose rock that was coming up from the crumbling pavement and he inadvertently kicked it so that it went flying no less than four meters, pinging against something ahead, up in the dark. He felt deflated. Of course, Severus tended towards melancholy and pessimism, but his assessment of his job prospects were likely better than Harry's own. He'd frequently spoken about his employer's standards for behaviour on the job—usually in terms of approval; Severus valued order—and Harry had no doubt that if Severus thought he'd be sacked... he'd likely be sacked.
"Is there anywhere else?" Harry ventured to ask, his brain straining to think of some sort of solution. "Maybe Dumbledore—"
"The headmaster made it clear at the beginning of the year that he would not be accommodating me if I was to assume responsibility for you. Granted, I assume that by now he may well be regretting his decision, given the pre-term scramble for a proper replacement—word on the devil's snare is that whomever he found is less than ideal—but, knowing Headmaster Dumbledore as I have since the age of eleven, and knowing him better as an adult? I would venture to guess that he would prefer to stand firm in his original position on the matter, even if for no other reason than to look as though he'd upheld faith in himself and his decision making even when all signs downwind indicated some sort of cloudburst."
"Bollocks."
Beside him, Snape snorted. "Doubtless an accurate assessment, but rude, nonetheless."
Harry wisely chose not to defend himself by saying he heard Severus say it all the time.
They strolled along and gradually, from the corner of his eye, Harry observed as Snape's posture slackened until he was no longer strung as tight as a bowstring.
He appeared far too listless for Harry's tastes, however, and it made the boy feel powerless and frustrated that he couldn't think of anything to fix Snape's problem or to improve his mood.
There was nothing to joke about or poke fun at in the cold, blustery February evening. Everyone that passed was bundled up and bent forward to try and withstand the frigid winds. Even so, it was busy out on town, and at least it didn't feel as though they were walking somewhere abandoned or forgotten by all. They were merely two in a crowd, meandering through the streets on a random Wednesday.
"Did Ms. Tibbons give you the phone number? Can we ring him tomorrow?" Harry asked, turning his head to study Snape's profile. He didn't often ask for things he wanted, but he figured that this at least served to steer the conversation away from Snape's bleak job prospects.
"I haven't had time. I'll reach out soon, provided I have enough income to pay for your lessons," Snape muttered the last bit to himself, under his breath, effectively bringing the discussion back to the original point he clearly was still struggling with.
"Maybe Lola would—"
"No."
"Why not?"
"She and Mr. Padiernos have had years to hire help and have never once done so, not even their own sons or nephews. I wouldn't ask them to share their income with an extra pair of hands they likely don't even need."
When put that way, Harry did suppose that it asked rather a lot of the aging couple.
"Well," Harry let out a huff of frustrated air. It crystalised before his mouth into a cloud of vapour. "I don't get how you thought you'd help out at the shop and keep it running smooth if you were having to work at The Yow anyways. You were acting like you were gonna have to do lots of it yourself, and you only had Wednesdays and Sundays off."
Snape's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. His eyes, however, registered a certain level of uncertainty, as though he'd not considered that himself. "I thought I'd put in a few hours each night, before returning home—"
"When, Severus?" Harry questioned, growing dogged in his pursuit of answers. "I already don't see you on Tuesdays and Fridays, so how would I get home from Gammy's if you're at the shop until that late?"
"Perhaps, on those days, I'd have gone in early—"
"And if you're working late on Monday, and Wednesday, and Thursday too, would I be with Gammy everyday? 'Cause that seems like a lot," Harry said with waning patience. "A lot to ask of her," he included, knowing that Snape was loathe to burden anyone with responsibilities he considered his and his alone.
"What would you have me do, ya l'al gowk!? Eh?" Severus turned to glare down at him as his voice exploded past the confines of his lips, bubbling with barely contained rage. "We can't bloody afford this! We can't bloody afford any of this, and don't think for one second that Da' will take it upon himself to make sure it all shakes out!"
"Well, if you lose your job, it doesn't really matter, does it?" Harry argued, frowning. Snape looked to be frantic with panic at the very idea of the shop which he'd been working so hard to realise, and it seemed a grave injustice that he was so very out of sorts over someone else's mistake he was left to paper over...
But if Harry had learnt anything in the last several weeks, it was that it didn't matter one whit whether Snape's lot in it all was unfair. He'd spent many hours with Severus complaining to him over how unjust it was that such a thing should happen when Snape had done next to nothing to invite such calamity unto himself besides taking pity on his drunken father. Just desserts indeed.
No matter how many times Harry bemoaned the very audacity of Tobias Snape, or the stupidity of the bank for allowing him to leverage the house that should have been Severus' own, no one came to save them.
Not one person appeared to take pity on their plight, or to sympathise and offer to correct the balance on the scale. They were still in the same mess as before, and all Harry got out of it was the desire to go throw things at the wall as he stewed and became angrier and angrier on Severus' behalf (and it must have been on his kuya's behalf, because he couldn't once admit to himself that he was furious that their custodianship was apparently in grave jeopardy).
Harry had never believed in fairy tales. He'd been expressly forbidden from engaging in fanciful wish making from a young age, where the refrain "Magic isn't real," was as close to a chanted mantra as the Dursleys were ever likely to have. (Rather ironically, too. As if the phrase itself was some spell that could ward off real magic). He'd never imagined that someone might come to pick him up from his relative's house, and if he ever got a reprieve, it was in the form of a cat infested house that smelt strongly of cabbage. Even then, his sojourns to Mrs. Figg's house only ever lasted an hour or two at most. Never long enough for him to properly relax or to let his hope cloud his better judgement.
Given that, it was singularly odd and out of character that he should have expected such a saviour to appear to himself and Severus. Perhaps the past six months had changed more than he'd imagined, or else he was simply angrier for Snape's sake than he'd ever been for his own. Much of the time, he'd been convinced that the way the Dursleys had treated him had been justified.
"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Snape spat, forcing Harry back to the present moment. "How can you say it doesn't matter!? Have you any idea—can you even fathom—the lengths I have gone through for the past six months to make sure you are fed and clothed?"
"Of course I know!" Harry shouted back, attracting the attention of a middle-aged couple who were strolling down the pavement going the opposite direction. They peered curiously at the pair before they decided to mind their own business and soldier on to wherever they were headed.
"My point is, it doesn't matter 'cause now you can spend all your time at the shop! I don't think it was going to work with Toby there during the day, Severus. You can't do all the work yourself after the shop closes. It needs to be running good when people show up."
"I could have worked both jobs and still lost the house," Severus murmured, his voice nearly lost in a sudden howl from the wind. "And it wouldn't have mattered..."
"It doesn't matter," Harry said again. "Now you can make sure the shop works good—"
"Well."
"Well," Harry corrected himself with impatience, "and you can make sure we can keep the house."
"Businesses don't succeed merely because whomever is at the helm works hard, Harry," Snape told him. He motioned with one hand and led Harry toward the alley that contained Rice Bowl. Apparently, the matter of supper had been decided.
"There is an element of luck. I'm not convinced that Da' chose the best option for a business located in Cokeworth. I can't see how there are even enough motorists in Backbarrow, Cokeworth, and the surrounding areas to sustain us. And that assumes they all come to us with a problem in the near future."
Harry shook his head, growing tired of Snape's pessimism. He leaned his back against the tiny door to Rice Bowl and opened it with the weight of his body, standing as a human door stop so that Snape could duck beneath the lintel into the warm embrace of Lola's domain.
(To be continued in Part II...)