About this story: To put it bluntly, Circe's Guide revolves around the life of a potions sorceress who teaches at Hogwarts in an alternate universe where all canon characters are alive and kicking and wrecking havoc in their own way. The culture of the wizarding world, bias of Hogwarts houses, politics hogwash, and other worldbuilding aspects I deem interesting to inspect in written detail will be discussed (probably). Basically - this is a worldbuilding exercise disguised as a Tom Riddle/OC fic. Heh.

Also, you can find the book cover on my profile! Edited by Val the Bread Girl.

Disclaimer: It's not my sandbox. I'm just playing in it.

Circe's Guide to Teaching Ultramodern Potions

Chapter 1

Morticia draws out a heavy sigh, not really looking up from the pile of parchment essays she was correcting.

"Miss Julspeth. I suggest you cease from adding the dragon's liver before the belladonna lily as I have repeatedly discussed and clarified in the pre-lab many times. Unless of course you endeavor to mutilate yourself and the people surrounding you within a direct ten-meter radius. If this is your intent, by all means go ahead."

Evecara Julspeth froze. Her eyes wide as saucers, hand hovering above her cauldron shaking like a leaf, she winced, then slowly, carefully pulled the offending hand back to her person before placing the unused dragon innards back into its amber jar.

"Sorry, Professor Riddle," Evecara mumbled nervously as she looked down, a pinkish tinge to her cheeks. "I wasn't paying attention."

Frowning, Morticia's red-inked quill glided on top of a seventh year Ravenclaw's five-inch-too-short essay to encircle a failing T, then wrote: Had I asked for a complete lift of Slughorn's memoir, Mister Goldsmith, instead of the viable difference of potion potency resulting from the use of rotten ingredients, you would have passed.

Not even batting an eyelid, she looked up and instructed Evecara, "Put your cauldron in a stasis charm and read the manual again. Resume when you are focused enough."

Evecara gulped. She plucked the Sycamore wand out of her hair bun and waved the spell for brewing stasis over her cauldron. With a self-conscious hunch, she buried her nose back into the potions manual on her desk and avoided the gawping, horrified stares of the students around her.

"Don't think I can't smell the overcooked lily at table five, Miss Bones. Are you absolutely sure you want to keep roasting that decoction?" Morticia called out darkly. "Less gawking, more thinking, yes? This is supposed to be Advanced Potions."

Like caffeinated lab rats, students clad in dragonhide robes jumped back to focus on their own brewing stations. Morticia rolled her eyes then turned back to grade the essays in front of her. Twenty minutes later, the telltale volatile scent of reptile organs toasted just right in steeped Amaryllis essence wafted in the air of the classroom.

There was an immediate, fond smile on the teaching potioneer's face as she rose from her table and made her way to Hermione Granger's desk on the far side of the room.

"Forty points to Gryffindor," she announced. "For a successful brew of Fast-acting Fairy poison. Congratulations, Miss Granger. Your first S-level. As promised." She placed a vial of crystalline pineapple on the sixth year Gryffindor's desk.

Hermione Granger preened in her seat as she transferred an aliquot of her brew to its corresponding storage bottle. Afterwards, she tied a twine string around its neck to secure a tag with her name scribbled on it. After submitting the freshly brewed potion to her professor, Hermione beamed. And then the realization dawned on her and she froze.

Swallowing thickly, "F-Fairy poison, Professor?"

"Oh yes," Morticia quickly pocketed the amber bottle in her robe pocket and patted it twice for good measure. "A single drop can wipe out a whole herd." Turning to address the rest of the class, "Well, Gryffindor has won this week's Ultramodern Potions challenge. Suspend your brews and vanish them. Keep your notes. Next month's challenge brew will be sent to your dorms by my owl as usual."

Ignoring the shocked silence, she clapped her hands twice and harried the gobsmacked teenagers. "I'm going to count to ten, and anyone still in this classroom with unkempt benches will be accompanying me in forest detentions for two weeks." She'd done it before. "I've done it before. I will do it again," she added happily.

Students practically jostled their things around to cleanse their stations and disappear before she even finished counting to nine. Surveying the tidy and emptied potions classroom with a satisfied look, Morticia glanced down at the potion in her pocket, and smirked.

She had to agree with Dumbledore on a single point – Hermione Granger was indeed the smartest witch of her generation.

Morticia proceeded to bundle the stack of parchment papers from her table and hummed under her breath as she made her way to the faculty chambers at the end of the first-floor corridor. Quietly heading for the fireplace at the center of the staff lobby, a womanly voice called out to her.

"Oh, leaving already?" Septima Vector remarked from the stuffy armchair next to the window. "Your class wasn't that bad, was it?"

"Just your usual Potions club at Hogwarts," Morticia responded good-naturedly. "By the way, I'll be on leave for two weeks; Severus will be covering for me in the meantime. My husband and I are celebrating our ten-year anniversary, you see."

Septima perked up from her seat and cooed. "You have got to tell me how the two of you met next time."

Stepping into the Floo, the master potioneer replied, "I'd have to kill you after. It would be a waste of such a competent arithmancer." With her free hand, she waved goodbye before taking a handful of green powder then pronouncing, "Riddle Manor!"

Morticia could still hear Septima's hearty laugh as she dissolved into the Floo network. Stepping out into the hearth of the antique house she now called home, the black-haired witch couldn't help but think... Did Septima think she was joking?

Oh well.

"Tom?" she called out. "I'm home!"