“Oops?” Snape snarled through gritted teeth. “Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”

“Can’t you get out?”

Snape strained to pull each of his legs out of the mess in turn, but it had turned rock solid and he nearly overbalanced. Harry grabbed his arm, and Snape pulled it out of his grip a moment later with a glare.

“I hope you’re satisfied, Potter. I knew you’d do something like this. The Bundimun secretion reacted with the salted rat spleens and created the Child Containment Potion.”

“The what?”

“It was in your summer reading! It keeps a person in one place indefinitely!”

“Don’t panic,” Harry said.

“I’m not panicking!” Snape shouted.

“Do you have an antidote, or something to—”

“Of course not! What would I need with a Child Containment Potion? Though now you mention it, it would be a fine way to keep you out of trouble. I would have said if I had it and sent you to get it. So no I do not bloody have one!”

“Just ‘no’ would have been sufficient,” Harry muttered under his breath. In his normal voice, he said, “So how do you make one?”

“Absolutely not!” Snape exploded. “I’m not letting anything you concocted within a hundred feet of me!”

“Fine. Tell me where you keep the Floo powder, then.”

Snape grimaced. “In the jar on the mantelpiece, but it won’t do any good. I disconnected the fireplace when you started spending time here.”

“What did you do that for?”

“So no-one could Floo in and grab you, foolish boy!”

“Why would anybody—”

“Never mind that, you’re going to have to write to the Headmaster. Open the desk.”

Harry did so and took out some parchment and a self-inking quill.

“You write, ‘Dear Professor Dumbledore …’”

“I know how to write a letter, sir,” Harry said, scribbling Dear Professor Dumbledore at the top of the parchment.

Snape ignored him and continued dictating.

Professor Snape is in trouble. Because of my carelessness and ineptitude he has become stuck to the floor and requires assistance from someone competent. Please come or send help as soon as possible. Harry Potter

“And the address is here.” Snape pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it over.

“He’s in Cyprus?” Harry said, momentarily side-tracked, and grinned as he pictured Dumbledore stretched out on a beach in his full wizard’s clothes, rubbing suntan lotion into his long crooked nose.

“He was the last time I spoke to him. Then again he might be back now. Try the phone first.”

“You have a phone? Dumbledore has a phone?”

Snape directed Harry to the phone and recited a very long phone number. Harry hit the green button and waited.

“No-one’s picking up.”

Snape sighed. “Then he’s probably not back. Did you get all the letter?”

Harry scribbled the last line hastily. “Got it. Where’s your owl?”

“Six feet under,” Snape muttered. “Has been for three years. Where is yours?”

“Um, probably around Somerset by now. I sent a letter to the Weasleys …”

“Oh, perfect. So I am expected to just stand here waiting for your owl to finish delivering teen gossip and return, then fly all the way to Cyprus?”

“It’s not my fault,” Harry insisted. “If I’d known you’d get rooted to the floor I’d never have sent her away.”

“It’s your fault I’m in this mess!” Snape snapped.

“I’m sorry!”

“And that makes everything better, doesn’t it Potter?”

Harry wanted to snap back but took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, then spoke again.

“Sir, if Professor Dumbledore is in Cyprus, wouldn’t it be better to write to someone else? Someone in this country?”

Snape muttered something inaudible. “Not many people are familiar with where I live, Potter.”

“But I could just put the address on—”

“No!” Snape snapped. “I like my privacy, Potter.”

Harry stared at him, trying to quell the urge to tell Snape he was being ridiculous. “But Cyprus is such a long way—”

“Yes, Potter, I am aware of that. However I have my reasons for preferring anyone but the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall knowing where I live.”

“Well why not write to her?”

“It will still take just as long to get to her.”

“Why?”

“She is ... abroad ... as well.”

“Oh.”

Harry hesitated, trying to think of something else, but Snape suddenly inhaled. “Something’s burning. Potter! Get the food out of the oven!”

He hurried into the kitchen and retrieved the somewhat crispy lasagne, then turned the oven off.

“I think it’s still edible. Just a bit black around the edges, but the middle looks fine.”

“Good,” Snape said in relief. “You’re going to have to dish it up, and ...” he faltered, and scowled. “And find a way for me to eat it standing up.”

Harry had to cut Snape’s potion up into bite-size pieces and then give it to him in a bowl with a spoon. “There. Only one pair of hands needed.”

Snape grumbled, but took the food and began eating. Harry sat down and ate his at the table as usual.

The meal was silent, but it was a much more awkward silence than normal. Harry found he was bolting his food so he could end it. After he had finished, he took a still-grumbling Snape’s crockery and washed up.

“Do you need anything else?” he asked, re-entering the room afterwards.

Snape had summoned a book and was reading it where he stood. He scowled at Harry over the top of it.

“No, thank you Potter. You’ve done quite enough. Just try and keep yourself out of trouble until eight o’clock.”

Harry sighed and flopped down on the sofa, wondering what to do with himself. His eye was drawn to the black substance keeping Snape rooted to the spot, and stared at it for a few minutes. He couldn’t believe it was supposed to be for keeping children in line.

“Who in their right mind would use this stuff on their kids?” he muttered.

He hadn’t expected Snape to answer, and jumped when the man spoke without looking up from his book. “The wizard who invented it did. He discovered it much the same way as you did, and accidentally glued his children to the floor. They were apparently quite unruly brats and he decided not to bother trying to free them. But what he didn’t know was that the potion is toxic, so after several months they all died.”

Harry blanched. “That’s horrible.”

“If you think that’s horrible, consider that it was over a year after their deaths that anyone found a way to unstick the bodies from the floor.”

Harry shuddered, trying not to visualise.

“Anyway the potion is called that because that was its first use, not because that is why people brew it today. It’s a controlled substance now, only used for specific types of seals. It was all in your summer reading,” Snape said pointedly, then fell silent again.

Harry sighed and retrieved a copy of his fourth-year potions book from Snape’s shelves. He had done the reading, but since he had been starving and drying up at the time it obviously hadn’t gone in very well. He opened it up and began reading again.

It was almost eight o’clock before either of them spoke again. Harry put down his book when he saw the minute hand getting close to the hour, and then realised something.

“Professor, how are you going to sleep tonight?”

Snape actually looked worried for a moment. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If I managed to fall asleep I would probably fall backwards and could break my legs. I suppose I could drink a lot of coffee ...”

“You mean stay awake until Hedwig manages to return and take the letter to Cyprus?” Harry said.

“Point taken. That might not be a very good idea. But do you have a better one?”

Harry thought hard, and looked up. “What about some kind of harness? I’m sure you could rig something to hang from the ceiling and keep you upright if you passed out. I guess it wouldn’t be the most comfortable thing, but it would be safer than trying to stay awake for days on end.”

“Or,” Snape said drily, “you could just fetch me a chair.”

Harry went red. “Oh. Yeah. that would be better.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “That one, Potter.” He pointed to one of the sofa chairs in the room. Harry grunted as he pushed the heavy chair until it was right behind Snape, but there was a problem. Snape’s legs were sunk several inches into the ground.

“It’s too high,” Harry said.

Snape twisted around, and pointed his wand at the seat. It sank lower until it was just the right height, and Snape fell heavily backwards into it.

“Ah. Much better than standing,” he said in relief.

“Do you want me to get you anything before I go? A pillow and stuff?” Harry asked.

“No matter Potter, I can do it.” Snape raised his wand again. “Accio bedclothes!”

Harry had to duck as a green quilt and pillow came flying at him through the doorway. Snape caught them and put them down before summoning his toothbrush and a book.

“Okay then, sir. Goodnight.”

“Night, Potter.” Snape hesitated, as if he really didn’t want to say this. “You’ll have to take the spare keys with you. They’re on the hook in the hall cupboard.”

“Got them.”

Harry let himself out and returned over the road. The Dursleys were engrossed in a film, and didn’t take much notice of the fact that Snape hadn’t walked him over this time.

He hoped Snape would be all right sleeping like that. It wouldn’t have been his choice, and that poisonous black potion looked painful.

He’ll be fine, Harry told himself. He’ll probably just be a little grumpier tomorrow, that’s all ...