A/N: Well! This is the first updated edit, and over the next few days I will be going through every single chapter and updating the content. I wrote this so long ago, it needs some refining so that my fics and writing might mature with me. Hopefully the changes will make it a tad less self-indulgent, a bit more grown up, a little funnier, and overall a lot more readable! Thanks for your patience! xoxo

-Tam

DISCLAIMER: Ahh, yes. I don't own any of it, for if I did I wouldn't be wasting my time writing dirty non-canon fics, nor would I be attending a suburban public school or driving an old Plymouth Neon with beat-up cow seat covers and bald tires.

POTIONS AND TEENAGED MUGGLES

Chapter One: The Chemistry Prof-uh, Teacher.

I glare passively at the door of my home room, noting the familiar sight of beige chipped paint around the doorframe. Winter break passed entirely too quickly, I grumble. As if responding to my grievance, the shrill first-period bell cuts through the early morning silence of the hallway. On cue, the half-conscious herd stirs, each of them dragging their carcass through the painfully fluorescent halls to class with enthusiasm reminiscent of the undead.

As I gather my bag, the conspicuous absence of our usual teacher triggers a smirk. The ever-active rumor mill has been fairly consistent as far as the gossip behind her sudden 'sabattical' is concerned. As the rumors go, Ms. Escha was driven to the brink of a nervous breakdown by her remedial students, going so far as bursting into tears before dismissing class early.

Well. She was not particularly stable to begin with, I muse.

Naturally, a substitute would be in order until a permanent replacement could be found. My smirk widens to a smile; The Cranky Bitch was never the highlight of my morning, with her teaching style oscillating between meandering tangents and droning lectures. She almost single-handedly spoiled my love of chemistry by making her lessons about as interesting as a Hawaii-Five O re-run.

My mention of the show sticks the theme music in my head, but my morning reverie is broken by a door slamming abruptly into my nose. I stumble back.

"Son of a…ugh! Ow!" I curse as my eyes begin to water. "Oh, that's lovely, it's bleeding," I manage to whine before my assailant roughly lifts my head to view the injury.

My watery vision reveals the face of who I assume is the substitute Chemistry Honors teacher, an older man with shocking black hair and eyes, and (so I assume) a penchant for swinging doors open with murderous rage. I wonder inwardly if he's Italian. His pale skin tells me he's likely not a Florida native and definitely not a fan of UV rays. Which begs the question: what the hell is he doing teaching in "The Sunshine State?" (Though a more honest state name might be the Penis of America, or maybe The Old People and Hurricane State.) I suppress a giggle at the idea of what his soon-to-be inevitable sunburn will look like once he's in my state for more than a week.

"Just a bit of blood. Go to the infirma- school nurse and get it taken care of," he orders, in a distinctly British baritone, far from the northern Yankee-speak I expected.

I almost smile. "Um, Mr...?"

"Snape."

"...Mr. Snape, we don't have a school nurse. Just an overworked secretary with some cotton and Pepto-Bismol, which she insistently administers to anyone with any sort of health ailment. I doubt my nose needs Pepto-Bismol."

He doesn't even seem amused, and I'm slightly unnerved by the look of distaste he casts downwards to me. While I'm a fairly tall girl at 5'10", a man standing at the very least 6'2" effectively towers over me. His glowering begins to make me fidget.

"Well, then, I suppose you'll have to plug it up before the bell rings. Go." He says shortly, waving me away- shooing me, actually- with an elegant hand.

That I do, and I make it back to class in the nick of time, reaching my stool as the bell rings. Morning chatter commences despite the official beginning of class, and I squirm in my seat at the distinctly displeased look crossing the face of the dark man in front of the classroom. He seems to be waiting for something...

The sound of morning updates on the latest gossip resonates from the pair of girls seated unfortunately next to me, and I take a self-indulgent opportunity to eavesdrop: "...that she'd be going in. I was like, 'I'm sorry, Annie, but there is no way I'm going to be seen in public with you if you're carrying a Gucci bag from two years ago. I mean, classic is one thing, but seasonal?!"

"Oh my God, what was she thinking? That's, like, so ch-"

My feminism-affirming dabble in the lives of Julie Mead and Jennifer Antwan is interrupted by the unexpected bellow of an angry-sounding teacher.

"Everyone kindly take your seats, materials out and mouths shut," he speaks over the din of conversation. Well. He's certainly set the mood. "Now, I do not expect any of you to obtain as profound an understanding of the subject matter as is necessary for full appreciation of it. I expect rather, that by now the majority of you would have neglected enough class and ignored sufficient lecturing to have missed the substance and subtleties of Chemistry entirely, if I am to assume that the preceding instructor provided the proper materials to begin with. However, any plans you may have concocted for slipping by without doing any actual work will be foiled, just as any expectations you may have concerning my teaching methods or lack thereof may heretofore be put to rest."

The sudden outburst, though lacking tremendous volume, did quite well what it was intended to; any remaining conversation in the class ceased, and all eyes, make-up smeared or bloodshot, were on the speaker. I looked briefly over to 'Jules and Jen' and stifled a giggle at the shocked look on Julie's face, make-up compact in hand, lipstick hovering near her partly open mouth.

"You will not speak unless spoken to," he continued, barely missing a beat, "you will do what work is assigned as classwork in class, and what is assigned as homework at your personal residence. No late assignments will be accepted, and lack of punctuality will warrant detentions, per school board policy. Let me be clear: you must be in your seat by the bell's chime, else you will be marked late."

He scanned the classroom with a very effective glare for good measure before going on, "I do not tolerate horseplay, and I will not be subjected to disrespect of any kind; likewise what you give in terms of attitude will be what you receive from me. If anyone feels my rules unfair, or is insistent upon transgressing them, please feel free to escort yourself down to your Administrator's office."

I swallowed hard. It would be a very long chemistry class.