Aspen in the Sunlight - A Year Like None Other

Harry didn't have to ask who had improved the formulation. They didn't hand out the title of Potions Master for nothing. Now, if the man could just teach as well, he might actually be suited for his job. Of course, Snape couldn't teach at all, not even something as simple as potions safety precautions. He'd just rather watch the students melt cauldrons and blow themselves up, then yell at them afterwards. As far as Harry could tell, Snape had never even bothered to try to teach them.

Frimley Park finally looming before them, Harry strolled straight up to the glass hospital doors. When they slid aside to allow him entrance, Snape looked a tad suspicious, as if he suspected Harry had muttered a quick, illegal Alohomora of his own. Did he think that Harry's wand work was that clever, that he could slide it out of his baggy sweatshirt sleeve and spell a door without Snape even seeing? Or did Snape actually suspect that Harry could do wandless magic? Of course he couldn't do any such thing, but the idea of leading Snape up the garden path was awfully tempting. Stupid, though, not to mention immature. Snape would just report the illegal magic to Dumbledore, and Harry would have to admit that he'd only pretended to have such a talent, and then he'd come off looking exactly like the attention-craving brat Snape liked to claim he was.

"It's just Muggle stuff," he admitted in a low voice as they approached the reception desk. "I told you, they can do interesting stuff, too." Snape raised an eyebrow and nodded, though he didn't appear satisfied until he glanced back and saw the doors sliding aside for several other hospital patrons.

"Petunia Dursley's ward," Harry requested of the lady in the starched white uniform, cap perched neatly on her head. "Can I have the number, please?"

The nurse swiftly tapped out something on her keyboard, then studied the computer screen. Snape was watching the whole process rather incredulously.

"She's in intensive care, and visitors are restricted. I'll have to check if you're on the list. And you are?"

"Harry Potter, her nephew." What a relief that was, to say his name to someone who didn't immediately gasp and look for his scar. Actually, she didn't react in the slightest, but just kept waiting. "Oh, yeah. And this is Remus Lupin, a friend," Harry added.

"I'll ring through while you sign in," the nurse announced, pointing out a gridded sheet of paper attached to a metal clipboard.

Harry did, and was a little startled to see Snape writing out Remus Lupin in a script that almost exactly matched the writing in the letter he'd read earlier that day. Weird.

"Yes, I understand. I'll send him up, straight away," the nurse was quietly saying. Hanging up the phone, she swivelled on her chair and regarded the pair of visitors again. "You can go through," she said to Harry as she pointed. "Take the lift. Ward 328." Her gaze snapped to Snape's. "You'll have to wait here, I'm afraid."

Snape narrowed his eyes, and Harry didn't have to be a Legilimens to know what he was thinking. He wasn't even surprised when Snape leaned over the reception desk, stared straight into the woman's face, and quietly murmured, " Obliviate minimisco. " Only one thing surprised Harry: Snape could do wandless magic. Some, at least. He wondered again why Dumbledore didn't give the Potions Master the Defence Against the Dark Arts job. Of course, maybe it was because Dumbledore knew that Snape couldn't teach to save his life, and the headmaster would prefer that the students actually acquire some real defence skills. But that didn't really tally, did it, considering the absolute clowns who'd held the coveted post year after year. At least this year he didn't have Umbridge again, but in Harry's view, Professor Aran was very nearly just as bad. He wouldn't let them do much in the way of practical magic, either. On the other hand, when he gave detention you didn't have to write lines in your own blood. That had to be worth something, even if the most useful thing they'd learned in weeks of class was that you spelled kappa with two p's.

Absolute, utter rot, that Defence class, just like every one he'd endured outside of third year.

Good thing they'd kept the D.A. running. Somebody had to try to get the students ready in case it came down to a battle with Death Eaters, let alone Voldemort himself. And if the teachers wouldn't do it, the students would do it for themselves.

Yet one more reason why Harry had lost most of his respect for Dumbledore. He could hire decent defence teachers; Harry was sure of it. Yet he didn't. He chose to expose the students to idiocy instead. No doubt he had his reasons . . . a big, undulating tangle of rationalizations for why he had to do things that way, and why he had to keep it all a secret . . . Dumbledore thought he was some great strategist or something. Well, too much strategy had ended up with Sirius falling through a veil of death at the end of last year. Harry was sick of putting up with it. He couldn't force the headmaster to reveal his little intrigues, or tell the whole truth. All he could do was what he'd been doing.

His best.

By the time Harry had reasoned all that out, the nurse was shaking her head as though coming out of a dream, her voice a low slur of sound. "Ward 328, I said. Well, off with you." That time, her languid wave encompassed them both.

They headed toward the lifts, but only got halfway there before Harry said, "Wait. I should have thought of this, sooner. Do you have any Muggle money on you? I don't."

"The headmaster thought it would be prudent," Snape murmured, fishing in a vest pocket. Really, Snape in a seersucker vest was just too much, though Lupin could carry the look rather well. "What do you need?"

"Flowers." Harry pointed at the florist-and-gift-shop they'd just passed.

"Ah. Well, here, then," Snape said, and thrust several fifty-pound notes towards him.

"Put most of that away, Remus, " Harry stressed. It was a pretty bad gaffe, but at least if any of Voldemort's supporters were lurking in the shadows, the mistake wouldn't strike them as strange. How would they know how much Muggle money would be appropriate?

Snatching a single bill off the top, Harry shoved it in his pocket, crossed over towards the shop, and quickly surveyed his choices. The lilies were lovely, he thought . . . but nah, better not. More than likely, they'd just remind Aunt Petunia of Lily Potter. Besides, they were expensive. He ended up with a half dozen posies smashed into a small glass vase. Pretty paltry, really, but he knew that if he bought anything more extravagant, Uncle Vernon would accuse him of conjuring it. As it was, he was going to have to explain how he'd afforded even these few.

"Thanks, Remus," Harry said, putting on a bright face as he extended a fistful of change towards Snape.

"Keep it," Snape growled, turning aside.

"No, really--" Harry insisted, but Snape was already walking away. "Well, fine. Thanks for the loan," he added as he caught up.

Anything Snape might have replied was cut short by the sight of the lift doors opening and people streaming out. The man looked dumbstruck again, which was fairly ludicrous considering Snape could claim with a straight face to be able to bottle fortune, brew fame, and put a stopper in death. What was so fascinating about a simple lift?

It was Muggle magic, that was what. Except that it wasn't magic, it was just machines. Harry knew that, and of course Snape did, too, but it sure seemed like he'd never seen any of those machines close up, before. Probably best not to snicker, Harry decided. He just hoped that Snape would be able to cool it in front of the Dursleys. If he gawked at the hospital equipment like a two-year-old discovering the loo, Harry's family would know he was a wizard for sure.