Here Begins my contributions to the story. We shall start with Snape's first class with Harry.
Snape smirked at the little Snake who'd just earned him a great deal of spending money which he planned on actually using on sweets for himself for once, rather than Potions journals or supplies for the class like he usually did. He deserved to be selfish sometimes, and considering how much of his income went to paying for supplies that the brats in class invariably wasted in their failures, it was a good thing he had a house free and clear and was given room and board for most of the year as part of his salary.
There was a reason few people were willing to teach Potions, and that reason was that the out-of-pocket expenses for the class were murder on the pocketbook.
Slamming the door open in order to catch the attention of the dunderheads that he'd been given to educate, he swooped into the room with his robes billowing in his wake in a show that was meant to intimidate the eleven year-olds who'd already been given a week to hear rumors about him and hopefully put the fear of him into them so they didn't start screwing around and blow everybody up. Soon, he was at the front of the room and looking at a bunch of faces which belonged to brats who ranged from being pants-wettingly frightened to completely vacuous.
The Potter boy who'd provided him with some amusement over the Summer due to the fact that he'd inherited Lily's sense of humor rather than that of the bastard was looking somewhat bored. Whether having him in his house would be a good thing or not remained to be seen, but he was not going to have anyone looking bored in his class. Terrified? Yes. Bored? No.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making." he said, launching into his usual speech for his incoming students which was meant to intrigue them and hopefully inspire the few of them who might actually possess any talent in the field. "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 simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes...The delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death."
He'd almost finished up with his usual "If you aren't the usual bunch of dunderheads I have to teach", but this generation's Potter and his behavior over the summer after Minerva had put her foot down and dragged him and Dumbledore to the boy's residence to deliver his letter had been foremost on his mind since he'd spotted the boy who now looked more interested in his class after he'd given the speech. Instead of giving his usual line which told the students what he thought of them, and how he hoped that they would shape up so he could actually teach rather than babysit, he found the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he said "For those of you whose names are Potter, what this means is that we're here to learn how to make medicine for the patients."
A second later, as he was about to call roll, a hand belonging to none other than Lily's son shot up.
"Yes?" he said.
"Wouldn't it be safer for everybody if we just went to the pharmacy like everyone else?" the Potter boy asked.