The chains above their heads went tapped rhythmically as they plunged forwards and backwards. They weren't in time. He saw her move in flashes of red, green and white as she rose and fell. Her light green cotton summer dress ballooned out around her spindly legs at the front and at the back. Her long red hair flew about her head. It had fallen loose from its toggle so that, instead of its equine elegance, it looked wild and untamed. He loved her like that. Each swing sent her higher and higher, while he was fixed at the same level. They never crossed at the same point. At the top of the arch she launched herself into the air. She seemed to fall for eternity just spinning and spinning and spinning until suddenly she stopped.

Snape leapt from the swing, the chains continued their tap, tap, tapping. She stayed in the air. Her green eyes were staring at nothing, a smile across her face. She looked so peaceful. That red hair was splayed out in front of him. He reached out his hand and pulled it towards his face.

Tap, tap, TAP…

Burning red light flooded Snape's vision. His eyes weren't open; they seemed to be stuck shut. He squeezed his eyes tightly pushing himself into a maroon darkness trying to recapture the fleeting images. It couldn't be done. His mouth relaxed from the slight smile he had been holding. He released his eyes from their struggle and returned to the burning red. Gradually, he drew his mind away from kinder reveries and towards a more focused reality.

Tap, tap, TAP.

Concentrating on the muscles in his left eyebrow he slowly raised his eyelid. A bright yellow light poured through the narrow slit. Snape closed his eye again with a groan and rubbed his face against the hard surface beneath him. He felt rough. His tongue appeared to have been replaced by sandpaper. His second attempt was less of a shock. His retina having adjusted slightly more to the morning sun, Snape ripped his left eye open in one movement. Winking, flooding his eye with a saline fluid that melted away the gunk in it, Snape surveyed his surroundings. Before he turned his attention to opening his right eye, he recognised a sideways view of his kitchen from table height.

Tap, TAP, TAP.

Putting his hands on either side of his head, Snape pushed off pealing his face away from the wooden table. There was a soft flumph on the floor. He slackened his mouth before rubbing his jaw line. He could do with a shave: he must have been out for hours. What had happened to him? Had he been drinking? No, he couldn't have. He didn't keep any Firewhisky or anything of the sort in the house. He looked down at his front. Here was a strange white-ish stain on his chest. Slowly memories began to emerge out of the ether swimming into mental focus just as his kitchen had moments before. Potter crying … accidental magic … healing potion...chocolate. That would have done it.

TAP, TAP, TAP.

"Hmm," he groaned and running his fingers through his hair before placing them back onto the table and turning his attention to his immediate concerns.

Since he had revived, Snape had heard three noises: his groan, the flumph, and the tapping. The first needed no explanation. Swivelling his head downwards he located the second. The source of the flumph had been a duvet. His duvet. It had fallen from his body onto the floor when he moved. He didn't remember having gotten it. Now all he had to do was locate the third, and increasingly persistent, noise.

TAP, TAP… TAP.

Window. Owl. Third found.

Snape walked over to the window, opened it. A giant of an owl cocked its head, twitched its tufty eye crests and stuck out its leg impatiently. Tied to it was a crisp new copy of the Daily Prophet. If the paper was here it must be around 8 am, Snape thought as he rooted in his pocket for a Knut. Luckily he found one, and agilely dropped it into a pouch on the owl's other leg, narrowly avoiding an annoyed nip from the owl's beak. Such birds did not like to be kept waiting. He untied the paper, surveyed the cover and scowled, both at the owl and at the contents of the paper. The owl took this as its signal to depart.

As expected, the photograph in the centre of paper moved. Nothing unusual there. What was unusual was what it depicted. There, with an identification card clasped in his spidery fingers and clad in the uniform of the infamous prison Azkaban, was Bertrum Sligh. The headline read: Sligh Apprehended, Victims Rejoice. This would definitely increase the Prophet's circulation.

Snape knew Sligh well from his days as a Death Eater. When Snape had last encountered him, which was more than ten years ago now, the man wore his nut-coloured hair closely cropped to his scalp and had healthily tanned skin. He was now a changed man. His hair had withered to grey and was raggedy. His skin looked drawn and had a waxy quality to it, the monochrome not showing its yellow twinge. His outward appearance seemed to at last reflect the withered soul within.

Sligh was responsible for a slew of muggle killings in the early eighties eventually graduating to a brace of wizard tortures and executions at the end of that decade. A skilled Legilimens, though unfortunately, for his sake that is, not a talented Occlumens, he had specialised in extracting secrets from "significantly positioned people," as they had been delicately termed. He had never been caught, his gift as Legilimency allowing him to stay one step ahead of his captors. He had gone to ground following the fall of He Who Must Not Be Named. While Sligh had not attended the periodic Death Eater reunions, Snape had heard mention of his name on several occasions through Lucius. Snape's frown deepened. This was something he was going to have to deal with himself, no doubt.

Snape refolded the paper and placed it on the sideboard before turned his attention to a final noise that was conspicuous by its absence: the ambient noise produced by Harry Potter. As, even at 8 am, the boy normally produced such a racket doing "nothing at all", the undisturbed morning peace was eerie. Snape set out round the house, considering his current attitude to the boy. .

As he walked down the hallway Snape placed a hand on the cellar door. It swung open on its hinges – normally it was locked. Ah, that would have been Potter, he ruminated as he went down and looked around. His healing potions had been disturbed. Instead of running weakest to strongest now ran strongest to weakest: evidence of Potter's presence. Potter's action last night, though overzealous, had been the right one. Perhaps his own decision to add chocolate to a heavy dose of potion was not. Potter had needed it though. As there was no Potter down there, Snape left the cellar

Next, he went into the front room. No Potter, but everything appeared strangely…neat. The chair and table which he had repaired the previous evening had been moved back into place. A cushion had been placed on the chintz. Snape went to the cushion and lifted it up, expecting to find a concealed stain. Nothing.

Snape sighed inwardly. He would have to deal with Harry somehow. Last night had ended well for no one. Hopefully he'd find him soon.

Finally, Snape went up the stairs and stood on the small landing. He could not hear any noise from the bathroom. No Potter there then. He could see through the open door into his bedroom, his duvet gone from his bed. No Potter there either. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Pleeeease let him be in his room, Snape mentally begged whoever may be listening.

Slowly he approached the door. He raised his hand letting it wait suspended in the air. He rapped on it twice and paused for a moment that felt like an eternity.

"Come in, Sir."

Snape was gobsmacked.

Snape opened the door and looked to where Harry sat at his desk: he was dressed in fresh clothes; his hair was damp from a shower and appeared to have been combed to a degree, though it was still a mess; and, he had a pen in his hand, paper on the desk and a his crumpled letter from the previous evening in front of him. Harry stood and looked up at Snape shamefaced and nervous. Perhaps because of the news in the morning's paper Snape, or the manner of his waking, Snape appeared even more foreboding than usual and did not smile.

"Potter… I do not remember last night with the greatest clarity. However…"

"Sir, please. I'm sorry sir," Harry interrupted. "Please don't have me expelled, sir. Please!"

Harry had been stewing on the events of the previous evening. Despite what Snape had said last night, he was in serious trouble. You couldn't trust what a man said when he was chasing the healing potion dragon! He'd invaded Snape's privacy, destroyed his property and nearly killed him! What was it that Malfalda Hopkirk had written?: further spell work on your part may lead to expulsion and something about a serious offenceunder some law or other. He'd broken the law and would be "going down" (another phase he'd picked up from the television) if Snape told anyone. If he could just be good enough when Snape came round then maybe, just maybe, Snape wouldn't have him expelled from Hogwarts, put in prison, or sent back to the Dursleys. All three scenarios appeared to be a fate worse than death to Harry.

Following Snape's … accident… Harry had become very busy. He'd gone upstairs and brought Snape's bedding down of him to make sure that he didn't get cold. He'd then gone to the cellar and put the bottles back in their place from where he'd left them, even making sure that they were neatly ordered. Finally, he straightened the living room before returning to the scene of the crime, his bedroom. There was not any more evidence of the previous night's events to blot out.

"Do not interrupt me Potter!"

Harry hanged his head. He'd blown it. His efforts in the house, his combed hair, it had all been for nothing. Tears welled-up in his eyes.

"As I was saying, I do not remember last night with the greatest clarity. However, I do recall you acting with great prescience of mind. While you might have been overzealous in SOME regards," Snape placed special emphasis on SOME alluding to not only the healing potion but also Harry's temper. "You were not … wholly to blame."

Now Harry was gobsmacked. He jaw dangled down.

"Do close your mouth, Potter, before something nests in there."

Harry closed his mouth with a snap. "So, I'm not going to be sent away anywhere."

"No, Potter."

"Not away from school?"

"No. Potter."

"And…" said Harry softly, "Not from here."

"No. Not from here," for an instance, Snape was tender.

There was a rare comfortable silence between the pair of them. It was only broken by a sudden rumble from Harry's stomach.

"Err…Can I have some breakfast, please Sir?"

"Potter you are not an extra on the set from Oliver! Stop looking like some half-starved waif and get down to the kitchen," admonished Snape, though only lightly.

"Yes, sir."

Hearing the fromp, fromp, fromp, of Harry's feet down the stairs, Snape looked up to the ceiling. It was going to be a long day. Still, the school term started in 2 weeks what more could happen!

Snape took a final look at Harry's room and noticed the letters on the desk: the new and the old. This time he restrained himself from reading. However, it did remind him of his own letter that he must attend to. With that thought on his mind he turned on his heal and went to retrieve and read Dumbledore's letter.