"Indeed, indeed, that was a given. Since it was a sanatorium established by the Ministry, it couldn't possibly serve only the wealthy. They had to take into account people who had rendered exceptional service."
Slughorn perked up and said with a beaming smile, "So, how much does it cost?"
"Oh, that depended on the circumstances, Horace—"
Amosta rested an elbow on the arm of the sofa and propped up his cheek. His eyes seemed somewhat unfocused.
"Those who owned property in the wealthy district automatically qualified to stay there, provided they paid the annual fees on time. But for those with outstanding merits, the Ministry believed they ought to receive care free of charge—"
"Oh, free!"
Light shone in Horace's little eyes, and his breathing gradually grew heavier.
"That truly was wonderful. I've worked hard all my life; it would be perfect for recuperating there. But an Order of Merlin, First Class—that wasn't easy to obtain. If we were talking about contributions..."
Horace rubbed his palms together with a smile on his face.
"My dear Amosta, what do you think? Did I qualify?"
"Oh, Horace, you had such plans too?"
The drowsy-looking Amosta opened his eyes. He studied Horace and hesitated for two seconds.
"I really couldn't say, Horace. Of course, I knew you held an eminent position in the Potions academic world and had trained many outstanding young wizards, but... I'll be frank, please don't take offense—"
"Where did I fall short?" Horace asked anxiously.
"The Ministry couldn't possibly admit every retired old Hogwarts professor, or every academic authority in some branch of magic. What they were planning was a world-class sanatorium, not a refugee camp—"
Amosta said awkwardly, "Even at Hogwarts today, I'm afraid only Dumbledore qualified for that. Perhaps me as well."
Horace opened his mouth, then