It was hot. And still. The air was like a blanket, wet and tinged with salt, the sun hung above the cottage as immovable as a boulder. It seemed as though the afternoon would never end.

   Harry sighed and slammed the dusty cover of the book he was reading. The shower was hissing monotonously upstairs, which would have flooded the house with even more wet heat, had Snape not cast a steam dispersal spell. The man the Griffyndors called the Greasy Git was actually one of the cleanest people Harry knew—he showered at least three times every day, and cleaned the house with a devotion that approached religious.

  He had assumed that when Snape wanted him to study, he would be stuck reading Potions texts for an hour a day for the rest of the summer. While he had been reading a fair amount of purely academic work, Snape had been giving him a surprising amount of less traditional texts as well.

  Right now he was stuck slogging his way through an old book Snape had dug from Merlin knew where. The cover was a mud colored brown, the spine cracking, and the whole thing stank of mold, with a slight undertone of mouse and silverfish. On close inspection, Harry had found a name, written in faded brown ink: "T. Snape".

  He wondered who this mysterious Snape was, and why he had passed on his book so Snape the Younger could torment innocent teenagers with it. Whoever he was, Harry hated him. Passionately. He heard a squeak on the steps, and quickly opened the book and tried to look interested. Snape poked his head in and sneered at his ward's strangely shorn, clearly faking head.

  "Taking a little nap, are you, Potter?" Snape shook his damp head firmly and fixed the little monster with a jaundiced eye. He'd been plotting mischief, no doubt. Granted, he had been good for the past few days ( more or less- Snape was determined to break him of his fidgeting, but was thus far unsuccessful). To Snape, this didn't mean the boy was being good—quite on the contrary, it simply meant the boy was getting more clever about hiding his tomfoolery.

  "No, sir. I was reading the, uh, the Iliad you gave me." Snape snorted. "Were you? Then perhaps you can tell me who it is Diomedes wounds in book five?" Potter squirmed. He cleared his throat and got the panicked look of a deer caught in the path of a speeding magic carpet. "Ummmm, Aga—Ag-- " Snape made a contemptuous noise. "Agamemnon? Why would he fight Agamemnon, Potter, when they were on the same side?"

  Potter turned a dark pink. He wouldn't look Snape in the eye, and Snape felt a moment of elemental satisfaction, having caught the little liar out. He debated a number of things he could do to the boy, but he had a batch of Pepper Up potion going and he had to make sure it didn’t get too much heat—otherwise, the unlucky recipient could have his entrails boiled.

  Not, of course, that Snape would have much minded boiling the spleens of several acquaintances to shriveled nubs, but he was moderately sure Dumbledore would tick him off if that happened. Might be worth the risk…..

   “Please, sir, may I go outside?” “So you can soap windows and throw stones and whatever else you plan on doing?” Potter stood straighter and squared his bony shoulders. “I would never. I just want some fresh air. It’s ruddy hot in here.” Snape felt a tug of indecision. On the one hand, he didn’t want to reward the boy’s lackadaisical behavior by letting him play. On the other hand, he certainly wasn’t getting anything done in the house, and if he gave one more martyred sigh Snape thought he might snap and hex his mouth shut ( a definite ticking off, that).

  “Alright, then. If you think you can stay out of trouble. Can you?”

Potter gave him a hurt look. “I haven’t been in trouble once since I’ve been here. Not once, and you still don’t--”

“Because I know you, Potter. You get a look about you and one can almost see you itching for mischief. Thank the stars your little cohorts aren’t here, else you’d already have fallen down a well or been attacked by magpies or something equally improbable.”

   Potter muttered under his breath. “I didn’t quite catch that, Potter. Would you care to repeat it?”

“No sir. Thank you, sir.”

“I mean it, boy: I’d better not find you up to trouble or you’ll be sorry. Go on, now. Be back at dusk, and don’t go so far you can’t shout if there’s a problem.”

   Potter scarpered off so fast it was like he was made of smoke. Snape watched him speculatively a long moment, winced when he heard the door bang open and then went downstairs. It was nearly time for the powered beetle eyes, and perhaps he would start that snoring cure he’d been meaning to explore…

  Harry walked a short ways away. It felt good to be outside, away from the smothering heat and silence of the house. He found a comfortable stone and sat, content to let the sun play on his face a moment. Mmm, summer hols were heaven when you didn’t work like a dray horse. He heard a slithering behind him and lazily opened his eyes.

 A little green snake was busily moving by his foot, mumbling to herself about everything she needed to do before the winter.

“Hello.” “Hello. Must find that mouse’s nest, the hay in the meadow is—Did you talk to me?”

“Uh huh.”

“ Fancy that. I’d love to chat, but there’s just so much to do. Good day.”

Harry had thought he’d never want to talk to a snake again after last year, but these one seemed nice. Maybe a little distracted, but nice. He wondered where she was going.

  He could follow her a little way, right? Snape said as long as he could yell, he was fine. He got up and walked behind her, following her down a path. The smell of the sea was stronger, a grey salty smell. Harry had never seen the sea up close and was rather keen. He could hear a distant whooshing, like birds.

   The snake had led him to the edge of a small rocky outcrop. She vanished into a hole in the rock and was gone. Harry looked at the small patch of ocean below him. He had read all kinds of books about the sea and sailing. He had liked to pretend he was Bluebeard when he was younger, which was sort of embarrassing now but gave him hours of amusement as a kid.

 The heaving of the waves was almost hypnotic, enticing. He watched it a long moment and shifted gently to ease his tired leg. His foot kicked an unstable rock, and to his horror, he felt himself begin to slip.