Chapter Six: Another Summer Day

All right. Fess up. How did you do it?

Severus arched an eyebrow at her and took a long sip of juice. Beg your pardon?

Amalthea leaned forward, a lock of her hair straying dangerously close to the butter dish. How did you do it?

Do what? he repeated, tucking the curl back behind her ear. She coloured slightly, and ran her hand over her hair. He sighed irritably. Forgive the intrusion, but I would prefer to ingest butter without your hair in it.

Well, it's not as if-- she caught herself and straightened back up. You're not changing the subject, Severus! Tell me how you did it!

I haven't the faintest idea what you are talking about, he said innocently.

Yes, you do! Amalthea insisted, her elbows sliding forward as she leaned closer. He sniffed the air, an odd look crossing his face. She wrinkled her nose at him and tugged at his sleeve. Come on, Harry's upstairs. Tell me how you made the toast!

You put on too much perfume, he said snidely, turning away to stack the plates.

I did not, Amalthea snapped, affronted by the suggestion. It says two sprays on the bottle, and that's what I put on! I did not put on too much!

Yes, you did.

I don't care, Severus, tell me how you made the toast!

He sighed dramatically and swept the dishes off the table. With the toaster, Amalthea.

She sat back and folded her arms across her chest. Her eyes narrowed. His narrowed as well. Then, most unexpectedly, her lower lip slipped out, pouting at him. Pouting? The rest of his mind caught up with him. Was Sinistra pouting at him?

Surely she had to know that just wasn't done.

So she wasn't pouting at him?

There had to be a logical fallacy in there somewhere.

Please tell me? she coaxed him.

He eyed her doubtfully. Amalthea, you're not a first year.



Oh, for heaven's sake, he snapped.

If you don't tell me, I'll never know how to cook, she said pleadingly.

Just put it in the toaster!

Amalthea grated out, gathering together the leftover bits of toast and piling them onto a plate. If you don't want to tell me, then-- fine. Be that way.

Could you possibly be any less-- don't do that! He cried as she headed for the rubbish bin. Amalthea paused, plate in hand, staring quizzically at him.

Don't do what? she asked, wrinkling her brow in a way anyone but Severus Snape would consider endearing. She lifted the lid off. . .

And started to laugh. Hysterically.

Stop that, he growled, marching over and jamming the lid back on the bin. He folded his arms, looking down her nose at her in a way that probably would have been more effective had she not been giggling madly.

Oh. . . Severus. . . she wheezed, nearly dropping the plate as she laughed. And here I was-- she sucked in air rapidly. Thinking that you actually knew what you were doing!

he growled.

How much of the bread did you burn trying to get it to work? she asked, finally calming down enough to pry the lid off and look down at the pile of blackened toast. Sweet stars, I'm surprised there was enough left over for breakfast!

And I suppose the puddle of melted plastic you concocted last night was any superior, he snapped, pointedly fingering the the ruined plate. Amalthea, predictably, coloured and mumbled something under her breath.

What was that?

she said quickly. Dear me, is that an owl outside?

They both glanced up to see a bundle of grey feathers collide with the window, let out a horrifying shriek, and slide down into the glass. Severus shook his head. Amalthea sighed.

"Oh, dear," she said, unhooking the window and lifting the bird inside. "They just don't make owls like they used to, do they?"

"I wasn't aware they made owls," Severus said sharply. She made a face at him and gingerly picked up the owl.

"Poor dear," she said, fetching a dishcloth and lying the creature across from it. "Who's the letter for?" she called back as she dipped her fingertips in some cold water. Severus shrugged and turned the envelope over, his lip curling as he noted the bright red heart affixed to the back. Evidently the Muggle attempt at sealing wax. If he didn't know better, he would say that the revolting woman from across the street was the source of this mistaken beauty. His eyebrows shot up as he caught sight of the address.

"Potter," he said slowly, a thin smile crossing his lips as he took in the girlish scrawl. Miss Ginny Weasley was exercising her penmanship out of class, was she? It seemed she spent a good deal more effort on her fan mail to Potter than her Potions assignments. . . after all, she never dotted her i's with a heart when struggling through an essay on unicorn tail. Smirking, he rubbed his fingertips together, thinking of the best way to handle this interesting little piece of information. He could call Potter down and ever-so-kindly read the letter to him, but that would ruin the risk of inflaming Amalthea. And he wasn't inclined towards a shouting match right now, especially after the debacle of the toast.

No, he reluctantly conceded, the only thing to do was to wring plenty of embarrassment out of a hand delivery of this epistle. Which he was sure to do. Potter needn't think that just because Amalthea had taken an unfortunate liking to him, that he could waltz around the house as he pleased.

"Oh. Will you give it to him, please?" Amalthea asked absently. She was now carefully dabbing cold water onto the unconscious owl's wingtips.

"Yes, I– Amalthea, what are you doing to that owl?" She straightened and shot him a full-fledged "Idiot" gaze. He raised his eyebrow, slightly impressed. Where in Merlin's name had she learned to do that? From what he knew of her teaching methods, she preferred to pat children on the head if they so much as spelled star' right. Of course, she followed up on the glare by opening her mouth and speaking, which rather ruined the effect.

Pity.

That glare had almost introduced intelligence into her expression.

"Do you not know anything about owls, Severus?" she inquired grumpily, easing her hand underneath the owl's head as the creature's eyes fluttered open. "I suppose it does grant you a bit much, supposing you understand basic care of creatures, seeing how you can't even wash your own hair." She sent a pointed look at his hair, which shone brightly underneath the kitchen lights.

"Thank you," he snapped. Twit. It probably would shock her to learn that he had washed his hair.

Yesterday.

"Your confidence is certainly overwhelming. I can certainly see why you're widely considered to be the most competent teacher on the faculty."

"Oh, was that sarcasm?" Amalthea bit back frigidly. Two red spots burned on her cheeks and her dark eyes flashed black. Some disobedient part of his mind logged it as a slight improvement over her normally pale self, but he quickly pushed that idea out of his head. "I certainly wouldn't recognize it coming out of your mouth, would I?"

"Would you prefer a sugarcoated version of events?" he said, snatching Potter's letter and heading for the door. "Then again, you might, since you're not capable of accepting some criticism about your rather. . . " his lip twisted. "Interesting teaching techniques." Amalthea's mouth tightened and she whirled back to the owl, who was fluttering to an unsteady hover. Hmm. She was obviously angry.

Good. Served her right. Perhaps he'd even receive the benediction of her silence for the rest of the day.

"Tact, Severus," she said coolly as he marched out of the room. "Look it up."

Impossible woman. Reasons why he was thankful this was a mere charade and not the everyday state of events, he thought grimly as he ascended the stairs to Potter's room. He winced as he passed a window, the gust of hot air blowing over his skin. Surely the temperature wasn't supposed this intolerable in June? He slid a finger underneath his collar, mentally cursing the entire escapade to hell. Clearly, there was only one thing left for him to do.

"Potter?" he gritted out, rapping the door before him. "Owl for you."

The door swung open to reveal Potter, looking slightly puzzled. "For me?"
he asked, extending his hand for the letter. Snape allowed himself a very small smirk.

"Yes. . . from one," he cast a careless glance at the envelope. "Virginia Weasley, I believe. My, she has lovely penmanship. I particularly admire those. . . hearts that she utilizes so lavishly." He rested a finger on the garish sticker. "It's such a good thing that she extends the theme to the whole of the epistle, isn't it?" Potter wet his lips and turned a very faint pink.

"Uh. . . " the boy swallowed. "Ron must have hurt his wrist and can't write. I mean, Ginny and I hardly know each other. She wouldn't write me
just for the sake of it."

"Indeed?" Snape asked softly, his eyebrow arching. "I'll just open this, then. . . I'm sure you and Mr. Weasley have no secrets that I need not be privy to?"

"No, that's all right," Harry said hastily, reaching for the letter again. "I'll just read this on my own."

"Oh, no." Snape's eyes positively glittered. "I couldn't possibly let you do such a thing on your own. Amalthea is so adamant about our appearing a credible family, we couldn't possibly let her down here. . . could we, Potter?" Without waiting for an answer, he slid a fingernail under the envelope and tore it open to reveal a pale pink piece of stationary decorated with rotating daisies. Harry closed his eyes and awaited the worst.

Please, Ginny, please, please, please. . . please don't have written anything that Snape can use.

"Dear Harry," Snape read with a sneer. Harry quaked inwardly. His life was over. He forced his eyes open, only to see Snape scanning the letter with a slight frown on his face. "Ron says to keep this short, so I'll wait for the next letter to tell you all the news. Ron and I are going to visit our cousin Wilbur in America for a fortnight, so send all your letters to him. His full name is Wilbur Moad Toslan, and he lives in some place called– Ron's being a prat, he says– one minute– sorry, Harry– Florida. Mum's yelling at us, so I'd better send this off. Hope you're doing okay." Snape looked visibly put out by the benign contents of the letter. He tossed the letter at Harry, who caught it with a renewed belief in the kindness of life.

"Charming, Potter," he snapped, whirling to leave. "Gods, is it always this hot here?"

"Well, we could go–" his brain caught up with him even as Snape was storming back to his room. Swimming. Of course they could go swimming.

"Hey– Amalthea!" he shouted down the stairs. Amalthea appeared, Errol floating gratefully behind her.

"Yes?" she asked, wiping her hands down on her jeans and looking quizzically up at him. "What's the matter? Severus didn't give you any trouble about the letter, did he?" Her face darkened slightly, and he hid a grin. So Amalthea was annoyed with Snape, too. All the better for what he had planned.

"No," Harry lied, leaning over the banister. "But it's really hot today, what do you say we go swimming?"

Amalthea brightened considerably. "Ooh, that sounds lovely," she said, scratching a spot on Errol's head. "I think it's going to be dreadfully hot today. . . and I do like to swim. Perhaps even Severus will agree to leave the house!"

Oh, I'm sure we can talk him into it, Harry called down, a malicious grin crossing his face. So this was why the Weasley twins loved what they did.

~--------------------------------~

"I still can't believe you were so clumsy with the water," Snape growled at him as they entered the changing room. "I won't be able to wear these horrifying clothes until they're dry. Why did they design these things–" he winced and scratched his neck. "To chafe so much?" He fixed a glare at Harry. "You did remember my swimming clothes, didn't you?"

"Course," Harry threw back nonchalantly as he pulled off his shirt. He'd elected to wear his tightest shirt, the one that barely fit him. . . it was really nice to have clothes that fit for the change. . . especially when insuring Snape wouldn't fit into him. "They're in the bag," he called back, running a lazy hand through his hair. "I'm going out into the pool, okay?"

"I have no idea what makes you think I'm interested," Snape sniped at him as he left. Harry allowed himself a self-satisfied smile. This was probably taking his life in too much danger, but he just couldn't resist. Maybe next time Snape would think twice before mucking around with Harry's letters. And then. . . maybe he could get some letters from Ginny.

Just because he wanted to hear about America.

And Ron was really a terrible correspondent.
"Harry!" Amalthea was waving at him from her perch on the edge of the pool. She smiled at him, and he noticed that she was wearing a navy blue suit. A little old-fashioned, yeah, but he thought she looked nice. It was too bad that it was only Snape to notice her here, he thought, settling down by her to wait for the entrance of his hapless She had to meet Sirius, he decided.

"What are you smirking at?" she asked, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Nothing," he said innocently.

"Right," Amalthea said skeptically. "And I'm Rowena Ravenclaw. Come on, what are you up to?"

"Nothing," he grinned over at her. "Nothing that I didn't do earlier, anyway." Amalthea smiled lightly over at him.

"What are you doing to him? Nothing too permanent, I hope. He's already pretty upset over that little incident with the water."

"I don't know why," Harry pointed out, miffed. "He knew we were going swimming then. He does know that water is involved in swimming, right?"

"You never know," Amalthea said resignedly. "He's an interesting person, that's for certain. It's strange, because he'll be tolerable for a minute, and then the next he's being snarky and just. . . " she shuddered delicately. "Really intolerable." She dipped a toe in the water. "You put lotion on at the house, didn't you?"

"I did," Harry confirmed, craning his next to look at the door. He should be coming out any minute now. . . he grabbed Amalthea's arm. "You might want to come into the pool now."

"Why?" Amalthea asked, sliding into the water and holding onto the edge. She looked at him, her eyes narrowing. "Harry. . . what exactly do
you have planned?"

She was answered by Snape's first appearance in The Speedo. Harry grinned. He hadn't been sure, up till now, that he would put it on. The jeans must have really chafed. He let out a whoop of laughter, which he quickly contained by pressing his hands over his mouth. Snape looked to be really irate, and Harry preferred to be out of his way as much as possible before the inevitably violent confrontation occurred. Amalthea's mouth fell open and she turned bone white.

"Harry. . .?" she whispered hoarsely. "Harry. . . what is he wearing?"

"A Speedo," Harry said blithely, swinging around to float on his back.

"And. . ." she sounded faint. Harry could hardly blame her. The sight was disgusting, to say the least. Snape began to wrap his arms about himself, then seemed to remember where he was, and resolutely placed them down at his side again. Harry turned faintly green at the picture before him. There were apparently reasons why Snape wore high-collared, sweeping black robes. Amalthea caught Harry's eye, flushed, and turned away. "That isn't. . .illegal?" she asked, a strange choke coming into her voice.

"Nope." Harry cast a curious look over at her. Surely seeing him wasn't that bad, was it?

Amalthea swallowed, hard, and sent him a nervous smile. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

"Oh, I'd never do it to you," he hastened to assure her. "He's another matter entirely."

"Thanks," Amalthea said dryly. "I think." She pressed her hands to her cheeks and shook her head, then floated lazily to join him. "He's going to kill you as soon as he finds out, you know."

"I know," Harry agreed. "But it was worth it."

They stared over at Snape for a long moment until Amalthea spoke again. "I still can't believe he put it on. And you've had it since Debenhams?

"I was afraid he wouldn't," Harry confessed, treading water as he moved out behind the comforting shelter of a large woman. "I guess he must have been really uncomfortable. And yeah, I did buy it then. It was after--"

"He sent the bottles down on your head, she finished. Mmm." She looked over at him and her mouth twitched, caught between disapproving and bursting into laughter. "You do have to live with him, you know. You can't hide forever."

"Nope," he admitted. He peeked over the water and flinched. "He's spotted me."

Amalthea was veritably giggling. She splashed the water happily with her hands, sending choppy waves towards Harry. "He's going to murder you. You're going to have detention for the rest of your natural life." Harry glared over at her.

"There's no need to sound quite so happy about it."

"Sorry," she said quickly. "He's, uh, coming over here. So I'm going. . . over. . . there, all right? Cheers, Harry."

"Oh, no." Harry scrambled onto her back, piggy back style. "I need your help."

"My help!" Amalthea squeaked. "Oh, no. . .you got yourself into this situation, you get yourself out of it! Harry! Off!" She swatted at his wrists and began to laugh helplessly.

"Think it's funny, Amalthea?" Snape was standing at the edge of the pool, his arms folded, glaring down at both of them.

That was the turning point for Amalthea. Her sides shaking with laughter, she managed to fall back into the water, sending Harry down with her. Sputtering, he pushed his way up, only to be tackled by Snape's assault in the form of a dive. He kicked out his legs, noticing with not inconsiderable satisfaction that he managed to get Snape in the stomach. Snape managed to wind his bony fingers in Harry's hair and hold Amalthea back, so that battle was quickly brought back to an equal playing field. She aimed a splash of water at Snape's head, evidently trying to get his hair as clean as possible before he got out.

That at least made sense, if nothing else about this afternoon did.

All right, Sever-- Amalthea's protest was caught off when Snape took hold of her ankle and pulled her down to the bottom. She scrambled for the rim, looking something like a drowned rat.

Well, a bespectacled drowned rat.

Harry lunged for the side, managing to splash enough water to throw Snape off. Amalthea managed to extricate herself from the water long enough to run for the safety of the grass, and Harry figured after catching the homicidal glare in Snape's eye that he really out to do the same. He was vaguely conscious that Snape was following them doggedly, but Amalthea was too busy wringing her hair out do anything about it, and Harry was occupied in thanking God, Merlin, and other important beings that he was still alive. They settled down on the grass after a minute, stretching out in the sun.

There they stared at each other for a long moment before beginning to laugh. At least, Amalthea giggled, and Snape let out a snort that might have been a puff of laughter, while Harry lost complete control until Snape poured an entire bucket of ice water over his head.

If this was what families did, Harry reflected as he sucked on an ice lolly, listening to Amalthea scold Snape over the whole affair, he could get used to it.