Snape sat on one side of the chessboard, contemplating his next move.
Harry scratched his head, wincing as his fingers became entangled in long, dirty locks. He looked up and snorted. No matter how bad his hair, Snape's was always worse.
"Your move," Snape said, pulling the filthy shreds of a blanket over his shoulders.
Dark shapes flittered past their cell. The bars keeping them in shone momentarily with ice.
"I wonder what we'll see this time," Harry mused.
Snape coughed. "I'm more interested in what we'll be thinking of to counteract their effects," he said, with a sly grin.
