He could safely say that everything began the day that Harry Potter began school at Hogwarts

He was tired, angry and late for class that day. A shipment of Pepper-up Potion had broken all over the floor of the infirmary, and because Poppy was one of the reasons he rarely had parents complain to the Headmaster about accidents that occurred in his classroom, he had decided to help her clean up the glass and smoking liquid. That meant he would arrive late to the class he had been dreading all summer. Potter would be there, the son of the man whom he loathed. And on a lesser note, so would his godson. He wanted to throttle the Potter child, but Dumbledore had already spoken to him about his feelings towards Harry and sinisterly suggested to Severus that he keep the berating to a minimum. That meant someone else would have to take the fall, and today he was in an especially foul mood.

All the tension from the class with Potter accumulated on the following class, Studies of Healing Potions. Severus had watched all the students file into the room, fifteen seventh years and a sixth year, a mixture of all the different houses. He knew it would be an even-tempered class because all the students were intending to become Healers, and Healers were gentle people as a rule. But today he needed to take out his pent up rage, and these soft natured children were easy targets. He locked on to one of the seventh-year girls, a Gryffindor named Eleanor Weatherhorn. She smelt of spearmint and radishes, and he knew instantly she had been eating Hiccupping Giggles, a new candy that that Zonko's had produced. All the consumer needed to do was eat one of the gummy tablets, and they would soon be giggling sporadically. He knew that the work had been done for him and all he had to do was wait until she began to laugh.

He began to speak of the upcoming year and the extra books that they would need to purchase because once again, the Ministry had changed the curriculum requirements. He was patient for his opportunity, a viper waiting to strike. He always loved the feeling he got when a student slipped up for a moment, leaving themselves vulnerable to his wrath. About ten minutes into his lecture, he heard the noise he had been waiting for. He spun around to face the students. He scanned through the rows as though he was searching for the disruptive student, but he of course knew who it was. His eyes reached Weatherhorn, and he could see the fear in her face. His lips curled into a vicious smile, and he walked over to her table.

"Was there something I said to humor you, Miss Weatherhorn?" he said nastily, glaring down at her.

"Not at all, sir," she stuttered, and another wave of giggles issued from her mouth. His smile broadened further and he leaned close to her as her hands covered her mouth in horror.

"Ah, so you are laughing at me, I suppose?"

"No, sir!" she protested but she began to giggle hysterically, and her eyes begged him for mercy; he had none to spare.

He let the smile disappear and growled, "So you find me funny? Is it my appearance, Miss Weatherhorn?"

The other students were deathly quiet, watching the events transpire with a morbid curiosity. They would obviously hear everything he said, so he decided that when he spoke again, it would be quieter.

"No, sir!" she said, tears beginning to form in her eyes.

He lowered his voice and murmured, "And yet you've laughed twice at my face."

"I--" she started but began to laugh again.

He leered at her and watched her cringing in humiliation. The girl sitting next to her was watching him in fear as well, but he had no intentions of intimidating this girl as well -- that was of no concern to him.

"Well, I find it hard that someone looking like you do today would laugh about my appearance." He felt the sleeve of her robes with a finger and thumb and commented, "Tell me, Miss Weatherhorn, do you enjoy wearing these threadbare clothes year after year? I recognize these from your fifth-year. You still have the stains from the oil of chamomile on the Hogwarts crest. Even the Weasleys managed to get new robes this year. And yet you couldn't be bothered to get something that fits? I know you have the money to buy new robes, so obviously you aren't using your mental abilities to their full extent. Or do you like spending money on the cheap perfume I can smell? Or perhaps a book on quick glamours? Oh yes, Miss Weatherhorn, I can see through the glamour you've made to hide those acne scars that are on your chin. Obviously you couldn't be bothered to stop picking at them while they were trying to heal."

He paused to look at the other students, who looked horrified. He didn't feel quite ready to stop and opted for another round of insults. Unfortunately for her though, she let out a muffled giggle again, and this time he could see the tears beginning to streak down her cheeks.

"Stop your crying, you pitiful child. It makes your complexion mottle, and I'm sure I'm not the only person here who finds your performance entirely unappealing. You are obviously trying to obtain the attention of your peers, but I can assure you they are not impressed--"

She let out another wild laugh and he shouted, "Miss Weatherhorn, I suggest you quit laughing before I send you to you head of house!!"

"I can't!" she sobbed.

He tapped the table with his wand, and a goblet appeared filled with a blue liquid. "Drink," he commanded, his eyes narrowed and he knew everyone in the room was wondering what he gave her. It was a potion he had created when the Weasley twins had first started attending his classes; it inhibited the ability to laugh for about twenty-four hours, and he believed it to be a godsend. The girl quickly gulped it down, amid her tears, and set the goblet back down on the desk with a clatter.

"Now," he said leaning forward, his hands on the desk and face just inches away from hers, "Get. OUT."

She jumped up, the tears still flowing. She grabbed her side bag and parchment, and Severus felt a smug satisfaction that he had finally been able to say what he had been longing to say to Potter. Weatherhorn ran out the classroom door, and he went back to the front of the room to continue his talk as though nothing had happened.

Dinnertime arrived a few hours later, and as he sat at the head table, he could see her sitting next to two of her friends who were obviously still trying to comfort her over the incident. They kept sending him nasty looks, and finally when they decided to glare at him for what felt like the hundredth time that night, he mouthed, "twenty points from Gryffindor." They looked taken aback and he smirked. They didn't look at him again during the meal.

Severus retired to his office after dinner to stock the classroom storeroom with the recent harvest of Flatworm Weed that Sprout had presented him with after dinner. He felt little remorse for how he had treated the Weatherhorn girl; honestly, what kind of fool would come into his class after eating one of those candies? He pondered where she had gotten them (a friend obviously), why she had eaten one before his class, and what kind of performance he could expect from her in the following weeks and months. He heard someone knock on the heavy door that led to the hallway, and he recognized the pattern of noise.

"Come in, Headmaster," he called out. He would have opened the door himself, but his hands were quite busy, and he didn't want to lose track of his actions. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Dumbledore walking towards him, the usually cheery smile on his face.

Severus quickly finished his task and then went to the headmaster, who was scanning over papers on his desk. He brushed away a few of the plant's small leaves that were sprinkled across his sleeves. He offered the older man a chair in front of his desk, who happily accepted it. Dumbledore picked up the parchment he had been writing supplies on and nodded silently to himself before turning to look at Severus.

"I trust today went better than expected?" he asked and Severus bristled, thinking about Potter, Malfoy and Weatherhorn.

"As well as it could," he replied darkly, sitting down in his chair.

Dumbledore still held the supply list in his hand, waving it slightly. "And you've updated your supply list?"

"Yes," he said, waving his wand so that the parchment was rollup and tied with a ribbon for the Headmaster's convenience.

Dumbledore gave him a saintly smile before prodding, "Is something troubling you, Severus?"

He sighed. "I've had a long day and…"

"Let us have a drink," Dumbledore winked and conjured them small goblets filled with firewhisky. The Headmaster raised his goblet in a toast and said, "Here's to the noble endeavor of teaching."