Sweet Sixteen
Rating: R
Pairing: Severus/Ron and various others
Description: It's Dumbledore's birthday, and the celebration is going great…until they discover what the punch was spiked with. The Hogwart's staff has been exposed to a rare potion. There is no known cure, and it has some…interesting side effects.
Author's Notes: Sorry it took so long for me to get this chapter up and running, guys. My computer has not been cooperating lately. Anyway, in the following chapter, there is Severus with a craving for smokes, horny students, and several references to McGonagall's breasts. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2--Telling the Students
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"ALBUS!!!!!!!! Oh…my…God…" Severus whimpered. "Not you, too."

"I'm afraid so, Severus." Dumbledore leaned against his desk with his arms crossed over his chest. Only he was no longer the Dumbledore we know and love. His wrinkles and beard were gone, and blonde hair replaced his old gray locks. His half-moon spectacles lay forgotten on a pile of papers on the desk. "And could you refrain from entering like that? You'll break the door one of these days if you keep slamming it against the wall.

"Now let's press on to more important matters. As you can see, you and I are not the only ones that have been infected." Dumbledore gestured to all the others. Except for Professor Binns, of course, every person of the Hogwarts staff—including Remus—decked the corners of the room. The occupants of the room had lost their middle age and older features, and had gained smooth skin, soft, shiny hair, and much more. Quite a few of the male ones were goggling at the auburn-haired beauty by Dumbledore's side. It took Severus a moment or two to realize that she was McGonagall.

"We need to find out who did this," she said. Murmurs started between the others.

Severus cleared his throat, and everyone returned their attention to him. "I might have an idea…"

In a matter of minutes, the Weasley twins came tumbling out of the hearth. They brushed themselves off, scattering ashes over the rug. "Who was that blonde guy in our fire—oh. Right." George flashed the stern group surrounding him what he hoped was a genuine smile.

Meanwhile, Fred was eyeing McGonagall's enlarged breasts with keen interest. She sent a scowl his way, which forced him to turn his head.

"I believe you have some explaining to do, gentlemen." Dumbledore, arms still crossed, eyed them like an animal sizing up its prey.

"I don't quite understand what you mean," George said, attempting to sound innocent.

"Oh, I think you do," Severus intercepted the shouts of protest from the others. "What happened to that potion you found yesterday?"

"We…well, uh, we…" George glanced sideways at Fred, begging for help.

"You see," Fred began uneasily, "it was like this…"

The Great Hall was bustling with chattering students when the professors finally reached it. Hoping not to be seen (not just yet), they spilt up and snaked through the crowd with their heads bowed. Dumbledore adjourned to his place before the staff table, like he usually did when he needed to make an announcement. The student's talking soon died down as one by one they noticed him. A few of them continued to talk in low tones, many asking questions such as "Who's that guy?"

Dumbledore took a breath, then began, trying to sound like his normally cheerful self, "As most of you may see, something…strange has happened to us, your teachers. We have all been infected by a rare potion, discovered to be ()—or Sixteen—Formula, which has reduced us to our sixteen-year-old selves. The boys that poisoned us—who shall remain nameless," he cast a menacing look to the twins, standing with guilty expressions against the far wall, "—didn't think about the fact that there is no counter-potion. Needless to say, we will be this way for quite some time, either until it wears off—if it ever does—or until the Ministry somehow creates a cure. So, do try to overlook our appearances. It will make this whole ordeal more bearable for us." With a nod of his head to the students, Dumbledore sat, and the plates on each table magically filled with food.

Immediately, the Hall burst into fresh conversation.

Laughing, Harry turned to Ron. "Can you believe it? Oh, God, I can just imagine what this week's going to be like. I mean, do you see that babe with the huge boobs up there?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry, don't you know where the teachers usually sit? It's obvious that that is Professor McGonagall."

"Oh."

Ron chuckled, searched the table, and detected a vacant space. It was Professor Snape's seat.

"Well…it's really not…that bad…I suppose." Severus scanned his eyes over the image in his mirror. Not that you could see much of him. His body was almost completely hidden by his over-sized robes. "Ugh! It's a disaster!" With a cry of defeat, he turned and fell face-down on his mattress.

"I can't walk around like this," he complained into the quilt. Then, suddenly, a light bulb clicked on inside his head. Was it possible that he still had his trunk from his school days?

Severus jumped up and bounded towards the closet. He tore through piles of old books and parchment, discarded long forgotten quills and bottles of ink, until he found a large, oak trunk tucked away behind a stack of tattered pillows. The padlock was still open (good thing, too, because he couldn't remember the spell to unlock it). The lid and sides were dinged and scratched up from years of use. To top it all off, a thick layer of dust shrouded the trunk like a blanket. He unhooked the lock and tossed it over his shoulder. When he lifted the top, he wasn't surprised by the musty smell that hit him—after all, it had been almost twenty or thirty years since he'd opened it. As he had suspected, all of his clothes and robes from his teen years were still there.

Holding up a gray shirt, he commented, "Wow, that Mothballs Charm does its job well." After a few minutes of searching through the collection of items in the trunk, he decided on an emerald, button-up shirt and black jeans.

"I can't believe I actually kept all of this stuff," he remarked (now changed into his old clothes), making his way over to the mirror. It took one glance to make him shout: "Thank God I kept all of this stuff!" Now he had a few hours before his first and only class of the day—double potions with Slytherin and Gryfindor.

Most of the Gryfindor sixth-year boys entered double potions that afternoon with the half-lidded expression that—among other things—could be described as lustful. They had just come from transfiguration class. Though none of them had really been listening to the lesson. They were much more interested in gazing dreamily at McGonagall's chest. Quite a few of them had received punishments once she caught them.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped into seats in the front row, under Harry's orders. He said he wanted to have a clear view of Snape. Obviously, the rest of the class felt the same. No one fancied sitting anywhere near the back. Everyone was expecting Snape to appear grotesque, as usual. But not a single one of them had predicted what walked through the door moments later.

Gasps echoed off the dungeon walls, and each head was turned in Severus' direction with a look of utmost awe. A simple flip of his long hair sent the ladies into a giggling frenzy and melted the queer boys into puddles of blubbering mush (not excluding Ron). His black eyes were set in a non-intentionally intense stare that had the students hypnotized. If nothing else, they saw him as a stud (which he was in his sixth year, but that's another story).

Severus reached his desk after what seemed like forever and began class in his regular monotonous voice, "Despite the noticeable changes, we'll conduct this class in the usual manner. You all studied the effects of the Sleeping Drought yesterday, and today you will concoct it with your partners. Start a flame under your cauldrons and begin." He plopped into his chair with a feeling of relief.

While Ron lit the fire, Harry whispered to him, "How is this possible? I saw Snape in his fifth year when I went inside the pensive, and he looked like a…grease-covered, spotty…toad."

"I heard that, Mister Potter." Harry and Ron's heads jerked up and blinked at Severus, who had had his eyes trained on them nearly the whole time. "What Lupin and the rest of your father's friends forgot to inform you is that I started using different hair- and skin-care products during the summer between our fifth and sixth years. That is why I look so abnormal to you now."

"Oh." His cheeks reddening slightly, Harry returned his attention to his cauldron.

Satisfied with the way the students were reacting, Severus picked up his quill and started grading the last half of their essays. Little did he know that the side effects to the potion would take affect so soon. About half an hour later, he suddenly got a craving for cigarettes. He was surprised, at first, because he hadn't had a cigarette since he had left Voldemort and the Death Eaters. But it took another minute or so for his surprise to form into irritation. He attempted every trick from his school days—chewing the end of his quill, tapping a tone to a song on his leg, blowing air through his lips to imitate smoking—but nothing worked. Finally, he just couldn't take it anymore.

Conquered at last, Severus calmly set down his quill and turned to the class. "Do any of you mind if I smoke in here?" Everyone shook their heads. With a muttered "thank you" Severus dove onto his knees and began rummaging frantically through his desk. He found his old pack of cigarettes (God knows why he kept them) at the bottom of the last drawer along with a matchbox. He slipped one in his mouth and lit it, then climbed back into his chair and conjured himself an ashtray, which he used to dispose of the spent match. He took a long, deep drag and blew smoke towards his feet. Even though he felt much better now, he knew that this week—or month…or year…or lifetime—wasn't going to get any easier.
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Author's Notes: Another chapter done. There's more to come, so stick around. And a special thanks goes out to those of you that reviewed my first chapter. I love you all!