The room was silent, awaiting the start of class. Professor Snape waltzes in, cloack billowing around him, though not dressed in quite the manner we thought he would be. He goes to the front of the room and begins to speak.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion- making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the shimmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses . . . now what?"

The class had been sniggering ever since he had walked into the room.

"What is it?" he said, his voice stern. "What's so damn funny?"

"Professor," asked one of the students, trying to hide his giggling, "Why are you wearing a skirt?"

"It's not a skirt, it's a kilt!"

. . . ah, what a wonderful mental image!