Part Time Persuasion

"That looks a bit lumpy," Harry said, staring into the photo development chemicals before him. In his mind's eye, he had imagined photo chemicals to look a bit less...alive. The liquid before him bubbled and seethed with fairly animalistic vigour, sometimes spitting right at him. Which was probably why he was currently dressed in strangely Ghostbuster-esque garb, complete with goggles, overalls and spooky backpack thing, the purpose of which he was yet to discover.

When he'd taken the job at the Photo Development Lab in Hogsmeade he hadn't expected it to be this complicated; it was really just something to do temporarily over Christmas while Ron was off at his brothers' shop and Hermione was working as a stripper down the road most nights-. It wasn't even as if he needed the money. However, Harry was beginning to realise he'd got more than he bargained for.

"Yes, it's that sort of texture because the silver oxide's actually cursed," the manager said quickly. Mr Sadler was a quick and quietly spoken man with receding hair whose fingers seemed as long as the wand he continually fiddled with in his left hand. Harry liked him, despite his enigmatic appearance.

"You don't say," said Harry. He was trying to pay attention but found the long scientific vocab the man used reminded him too much of Professor Sprout, and Professor Sprout too much of complete and total boredom to stay interested for long.

"Yes... the mixture can get extremely volatile sometimes..." the man said. Just then, the silvery mixture rose out of the tray it was in to form a gigantic wave. The wave took on features, mainly of the sharp and pointy kind. Harry quickly drew his wand to prepare for the danger heading his way...

"Oh put it away, boy!" the manager, thawpping it down. He took off the backpack he wore and promptly walloped the creature over the head with it. It fell with a quiet splosh back into its previous state. "Now, you need to top it up frequently with the spell "Devixtopera" if it the colour goes too silver, and "Fistopdevia" if it goes too orange or unfortunate things like that happen. Doesn't like being cursed, you see," he finished, almost to himself.

Just then, the shop door jingled and Mr Sadler looked towards its source. A young wizard had entered, his hands shaking as he held the film canister out before him. He had the air of someone incredibly guilty and the look on his spotty adolescent face put it across even more. It wasn't even as if the room was at all imposing; it was all fine oak panelling with pictures of smiling, happy people in expensive gold frames.

"Film processing?" Mr Sadler asked, advancing towards the boy.

"Uhm...yes," the boy replied, a little too quickly. It was like he was being interrogated.

"If you could just touch the tip of your wand to this form? There. Thank you. Normal size?"

"Yes."

"Matt or glossy?"

"Yes...um.....matt."

" That'll be ready for collection tomorrow then."

The wizard went as if to run for the door. "Okaythanksbye," he shot back, and the door jingled once more before Mr Sadler could get out his "Merry Christmas!"

Mr Sadler left the canister on the counter and turned to face his protégé. "That would be an amateur porn photographer, Harry. You can nearly always tell, though there are exceptions." He picked up the film and regarded it not without some enjoyment. "I would be very surprised if this didn't have at least some form of genitalia on it."

The door jingled again as another customer entered and Mr Sadler looked very seriously at Harry. "I can trust you to develop the negatives by yourself, can't I, Harry?"

Harry nodded quickly, even though most of what the manager had said had passed in a haze of Spout-induced boredom. The man threw the canister deftly at the boy and turned to his customer.

Harry made his way to the back of the shop, trying not to touch the canister too much. He knew he had to put the film down one of the chutes in the back wall - but which one? He'd gotten the gist of the demonstration, that being moving images the negatives were developed mainly through a process which involved using the actual memories of the photographer and it went down one chute into some sort of abyss and came out the other side....but which chute?

"Bugger," he said, under his breath.

He had a one in three chance of getting the right one, and two had always been a nice sounding number, so he chose that one and deposited the film into the hole. All at once came a terrible roaring, crunching sound. The chute began wobbling and shaking, and smoke started coming out. There was a large bang....and then silence.

He was suddenly aware of Mr Sadler and the customer both staring at him. He then heard Mr Sadler say, "Terribly sorry, you just can't get the staff these days, can you?" There was a swift murmur, and he continued, "Yes, it is the Boy Who Lived, but, you know, Voldemort addled his brain and I'm afraid he's quite, quite stupid. Terribly sorry. Please excuse me a moment."

Mr Sadler was soon looming over his shoulder. "Potter!" he said with some impatience. "What in blazes have you done to the system? Weren't you listening? Undeveloped negatives go in the first chute and come out the third!" Mr Sadler seemed so seethe for a few moments before saying irritably. "Go over there and pack up the processed film. I'll talk to you about this later."

It was with some guilt that Harry trudged his way round the corner, trying for a quiet "Reparo!" as he passed the kaput chute. The spell fizzled into nothing and he continued his way to the packing table.

Trust him to break something important on his first day. It was really completely bloody typical, really. Nothing ever seemed to just...work for him. Being Harry Potter made life very difficult. He'd probably lose his job, now. Be a laughing stock because it was him out of the entire year who would be sacked first. He folded the cardboard pamplets that held the developed photos viciously, developing a paper cut in the process. Bloody folder. Bloody photo lab. It was then, while internally contemplating whether to stamp his foot and howl in indignation, that he heard a familiar voice drift over from the counter.

"No, Mr Sadler," the silky voice said, all at once managing to be quiet and yet distinguishable from the clacking hum of the machines. "I'd actually like them five by seven this time. And matt."

Harry's hand had frozen mid-fold. It was Professor Snape. He sunk immediately from annoyance and indignance to a strange sort of prepared calmness. He didn't notice he was holding his breath.

"Of course, Mr Snap."

"It's Snape," he said in a tone which automatically added a 'you idiot' to the end of the sentence. It was one Harry knew well.

"Terribly sorry, Mr Snape. I should know, really. You've been using us for quite some time."

There was a quiet hmm, also familiar to Harry. He'd never noticed before how effortlessly Snape managed to be patronising. He could even do it with one syllable.

"Well, I shall be expecting them ready for collection tomorrow," he said, and there was a jingle as the shop door shut, leaving Mr Sadler's "Merry Christmas!" floating in empty air.