Hi! This is one of the very few Author's Notes in the story. Just some formalities and stuff. This is predominantly a story about Snape and my original character, Raphaela. It was insanely fun to write because Raphaela is an insanely fun character, and I hope it's insanely fun to read. It's set in the year 2000, and Raphaela went to Hogwarts between 1983 and 1990, so we won't be seeing Harry and co. in this story. It's mostly HBP and DH compliant, except obviously, Snape isn't dead. Sorry if you haven't read DH and I ruined the ending for you, but come on, it's been out for over a year. I'm sure other people died in DH that I can't remember and who will be appearing in this story, so don't bother calling me out on it 'cause I'll probably ignore you. Dumbledore, however, has remained deceased and McGonagall is the headmistress of Hogwarts. I'm sure you can figure this stuff out for yourselves though.

Disclaimer: None of this Harry Potter junk belongs to me, so anything you recognize isn't mine. Raphaela, however, is, and I like her enough to claim her for myself. So don't steal! And if I did have the rights to Harry Potter, I wouldn't be spending my time writing this. I'd be changing the script of the new HP movies to include MWPP-era make-out competitions. Because I am a sick, sick girl.

This is rated the way it is for the swears and the references. So if you don't like the swears or the references, that shit is not my problem, 'cause I did your mum.

Chapter One: Introduction and Philosophy

The chair wasn't too comfortable, but it was something to sit on while I sipped my coffee. It was a typical staff-room chair, two squares of vinyl-covered foam and scrubbed wood armrests. These chairs were scattered around the room in either black or brown, though sometimes you would find the odd navy-coloured seat. I sat on a navy seat whenever I could. It was my favourite colour – nobody else seemed to like navy too much, so I thought I might. Everyone else liked pink, or green, or purple. Nice colours. I rested my feet upon the desk in front of me, only to have them kicked off with a jerk from the table, which seemed to take offence at being rested on. It raised one leg to shake it angrily at me, but got imbalanced and tipped over. I laughed.

"What's so funny?" The voice was coming from the doorway. I swiveled around in my chair only to see the Potions Master, Severus Snape, glaring back at me. He stood rigidly in the doorway, as though my being here had disrupted his carefully-laid plans.

"The table… it fell over." It sounded stupid now that I'd said it. His gaze shifted slightly, from suspicion to disdain.

"Lovely. Who are you?" he asked. Well, what a question. If one were to truly consider who we are, I expect we'd have to draw from various schools of philosophy, such as – oh. Right. He actually has no idea who I am. Well, I suppose that's to be expected. I only arrived at this place yesterday. McGonagall owled me yesterday morning, August thirtieth, to ask if I'd consider returning to the school for a teaching internship. I'd talked to her often when I attended this fine establishment; she knew that I'd always wanted to be a teacher. She told me that I'd have to wait a few years after graduating, get some professional experience, and then return to Hogwarts. I'd just been fired from my job working in an old magical bookshop in London because I wasn't the right 'material' for bookstore work. In other words, the proprietor loathed me. Well, she would. Back in the present, I sipped my coffee and realized it was bitter.

"I wish I had tea!" I cried.

"Er… what? Who are you?" The man in the doorway repeated. I stared. Oh. Of course. I was too busy going off on a tangent to realize that there was a question to be answered.

"I'm Raphaela."

"…Raphaela," he repeated. I nodded. "What are you doing in the teacher's lounge?"

"Oh! Sorry, I'm a bit of an idiot," I said with a laugh, hoping to break the tension. It didn't work. Not in the slightest. "Raphaela Vialle. I'm interning here for a while." He continued to stare at me as if I was some sort of freak.

"I was not informed of this," he finally said. I was grateful; the silence had been so thick you could have cut it with a knife. I was almost about to try when he began to speak. "I expect if I were to call on McGonagall, she would back up your story?"

"Yes, I expect she would," I said slowly. Snape may have been a bit older than I remembered from my days at the Hog, but he was still absolutely impossible. "Oh, actually," I said, remembering the letter still in my pocket, "I have a letter from her here." I handed it to him and he scanned it, peering intently at the signature at the bottom of the note. He then looked me up and down, seemingly satisfied with my evidence.

"Teachers at this school wear robes," he said. "You will need some."

I sighed. I had always hated wearing robes. The plus was that they were a warm extra layer in winter, but they were like wearing a tent every day. Plus, they were hell in summer. I looked down at my outfit that he found so questionable – it was just a pair of tight-fitting, faded jeans and a cotton-elastane black tank top. "I'm not a teacher here," I said, standing up to Snape for the first time in my life. My school days had been spent with the ornery professor giving me detentions and punishments at every opportunity. "I think these clothes will be fine."

"They will be fine if you are interning in a subject such as Transifiguration or History of Magic… but they will not do if you are studying the teaching of a subject such as Care of Magical Creatures or Herbology." He peered at me as he said this, as though trying to work out what subject I was after.

"Oh, well I'm doing a Potions internship, so I'll just wear an apron or something so I don't get a stomach covered in splatter burns from the cauldrons," I said, inspecting my fingernails.

Snape sighed. "Well, you'll have to negotiate with McGonagall – wait, what did you say?"

"I'll wear an apron?" I said, toying with him. I was enjoying seeing him squirm.

"Before that, stupid girl!"

"I'm doing a Potions internship."

It seemed his worst fears had been realized, as his eyes nearly popped out of his head and his cheeks flared red. "No you are not. McGonagall has not consulted with me over this. I will not allow it. I will not! I have enough to do without having to babysit an overgrown teenager."

"Oh, get over yourself, stink-head," I teased, walking over to pour the last of my coffee down the sink. I turned my head as I began to rinse my mug, talking to him over my shoulder. "There will be no babysitting. I'll just sit by the sidelines, learn some stuff, and maybe when I take over your position as Potions Master I'll move out of the dungeons and give the young'uns some ventilation so Madam Pomfrey won't have so many asthma cases to cure."

Snape narrowed his eyes at me. "Even if it kills me, I will personally ensure you never teach at this school."

"How lovely," I said, feigning boredom. "But before that, you've got quite some time with me, and if you're going to make a promise like that then I think I'll make your life a living hell while I'm here." Ha. Zing. I had him. I totally had him. He had nothing to say.

"We shall see," he said, turning and sweeping out of the room like a big bat. Well, I guess he did have something to say, but nothing particularly zing-worthy to say.

"Zing!" I called after him. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, an expression of utmost confusion and bemusement on his face. I would have laughed, were I not so desperate to affect a serious disposition. Instead, I fought to keep a straight face as he made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a disbelieving grunt. He turned away and continued to walk.