The Makeover - COMPLETED

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 2 ~ Enter the Potions Master

Potions Master Severus Snape strode down the corridor leading from the teacher’s entrance to the main hall, his face in its trademark scowl as he billowed into the stream of students hurrying to breakfast. He had arrived early as he did every morning, eating his breakfast before the brunt of staff and students stampeded into the hall like starved bicorns, chattering incessantly and giving him indigestion.

When the tall dark wizard swerved into the main hall, looks of horror crossed the faces of every student as they cleared a path for him, some pressing against the walls and one witch almost upsetting a suit of armor in her haste to get out of the Professor’s way. Bumping into Severus Snape was a sure way to be browbeaten, lose house points and get detention in that order. He was a miserable bastard who made everyone else around him miserable too.

A nasty smirk flickered across the wizard’s pale face as the terrified students parted before him like the red sea. Inspiring abject terror in pupils was his second favorite pastime. Brewing potions was his first. He never slowed his stride, trusting the little buggers to make sure there was no contact with his person. The Potions Master turned down the dungeon corridor heading for his office and solitude, his best friend.

He passed a few of his Slytherins on the way down, who greeted him. He curled his lip in response, saying nothing. But they were used to that. Their Head of House was a man of few words after all, and the words he did speak usually meant someone was in a hell of a lot of trouble. He did counsel them, however, mostly telling them to “think” before they acted, no matter the situation. And he protected them when they were caught doing anything illicit, then punished them himself for being caught in the first place. They would have been better off getting their punishments from the teacher who caught them. The Professor was not known for his leniency.

The pale wizard stopped before his office door and unwarded it. He entered, his quick black eyes inspecting it quickly to make sure all was as it should be. He was a cautious man, and a distrustful one, who believed most of the students at Hogwarts were little more than thieves, and he had valuable herbs and ingredients in his office as well as his stores that they would probably love to get their grubby little hands on, then blow themselves to bits with. Not many had the aptitude for the exacting art of Potions, but it still didn’t stop the idiots from trying to handle what they weren’t prepared for. So he guarded his stores not just because he was covetous, but to keep the students from killing themselves.

He walked over to his desk and sat down, pinching the bridge of his enormous, hooked nose as he felt a headache coming on. Sighing, he opened the top drawer and took out a bottle of headache potion and swallowed about a spoonful. He had a lot of headaches, the only other way he got relief was sex. And he wasn’t having much of it these days. There was a terrible outbreak of wizarding STD’s at the brothel, almost every witch affected. He used protection but wasn’t taking any chances. And the droves of silly women who flocked to him at the death of Voldemort had long since petered out. He was a hero, and all women loved a hero…until Severus was finished with them.

The wizard knew not one of those fawning witches would have given him a first look if not for the Order of Merlin he had tucked away in some drawer. They were looking to land a hero. Instead they landed on their backs in his four-poster, then on their asses when he threw them out. Silly twits. He knew they weren’t attracted to his lank hair, big nose and pale skin. They wanted to use him…his status to raise their own. Severus hated being used. He had been used by Albus and Voldemort for years. When he was freed of his service he swore he would never be used again by anyone.

True, his voice made witches shudder as did his eyes but few even got close enough for him to use his natural gifts effectively. And when the furor of Voldemort’s death died down, so did the willing witches. Severus suspected word of mouth also added to the demise because he treated them like the little status whores they were when they did come. It was their own faults. The Potions Master hated falseness, and the witches that sought him out were as false as they came.

“Why are you really here?” he would ask them, “What do you really want from me?”

A witch would usually confess she were interested in “possibly starting a relationship.” Severus would respond that he would have to try her out first to see if they were “compatible.” Some walked out, but a surprising amount agreed to be “tested.” Severus got more blowjobs and pussy than he knew what to do with. Actually he did know what to do. Enjoy it then toss them out on their ears.

So now he was stuck with his headaches and his elixirs.

The Potions Master put the bottle of headache potion back in the drawer, closed it and looked over the stack of marked parchments for his next class. Sometimes he wondered why he bothered continuing to teach. The majority of his students seemed to have holes in their heads through which every bit of knowledge he imparted slipped through. Oh, there were one or two that had the ability to absorb his teachings in a reasonable amount of time, but the rest…gods…they seemed clueless.

But Severus stayed at Hogwarts because he knew if he left, then he would become a recluse. If nothing else, teaching kept him stimulated. He earned enough residual galleons to be able to live quite well without working, but he needed to work, to keep busy, to have just a touch of socialization, even if it was with a bunch of dunderheads.

He gathered his papers together, warded his office door and walked through the side door that led to his Potions classroom. He unwarded the door, put the parchments on his desk, then walked to the back to retrieve the ingredients for the day’s lesson. The pupils were brewing exploding powder today…very minute amounts. He figured at least one student would end up having to have his or her fingers reattached, despite the fact they were fifth years and should know proper safety measures.

He rolled the cart holding the ingredients into the class, settling it next to his desk where he could watch the students retrieve them. Then he retrieved a few burners and cauldrons, spacing them on the desks. The students would each work with a single partner. Maybe they could keep each other from blowing up their cauldrons. The Potions Master then reached into his lowest drawer and took out a slew of items designed to hold the students together long enough to get them to the infirmary. Magical bandages, blood replenishers, pain potions and healing elixirs for lesser wounds. He placed these on a small table behind and to the left of his desk.

Severus then walked to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk and began to write the instructions for brewing in a clear legible print. Normally he wrote dragonscratch, but the little cretins needed to be able to follow the directions clearly. He had just finished when the class started filing in, the first students taking the back rows as usual. The more unfortunate were closer to the wizard, and sitting targets.

The Professor sat down at his desk and folded his hands, frowning slightly as the students took their distant seats.

He patiently waited for his class to fill and another (snort) fun-filled day to start.

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Hermione Granger was at breakfast when an owl she assumed was from the owl post landed in front of her. It was a rather frightening looking bird. Very pale colored, with wide dead gray eyes. It refused the bit of bacon she offered it…and when Hermione drew her hand back to replace the bacon on her plate, the owl bit her finger, drawing a bit of blood. Hermione gave a little shriek of pain as the owl seemed to swallow some, then hooted hoarsely and flapped away, leaving Hermione sucking at the small wound. It bled quite a bit and she had to hold a paper napkin over it for several minutes before the blood coagulated and the bleeding stopped.

“Bloody bird,” she muttered, turning over the parchment envelope.

It was bright pink and had the Love Bites logo on the front. The back was sealed with a deep crimson wax. She cracked the seal, her fellow staff members stealing curious glances at the bright pink missive. Hermione never got mail. Who would be writing her? By the color of that parchment, it certainly wasn’t a wizard.

Sybil Trelawney chuckled at the thought. Hermione…corresponding with a man. He’d have to be blind. If not for Hermione, Sybil would be the most unattractive witch at Hogwarts. But Sybil knew how to fix herself up, while Hermione did absolutely nothing with herself. It was as if the witch didn’t have a clue. Sybil was glad of that. Hermione wasn’t truly ugly, she was just packaged wrong and needed her teeth fixed.

Hermione’s parents were dentists, and for years insisted Hermione use the muggle ways of dentistry to fix her bucked teeth. Every night she dutifully screwed on the retainer just as she had since she was seventeen years old, when her parents changed their tactics…but there was no improvement she could see after eight years. Her parents still had quite a hold on her, which pretty much was the norm for people as introverted as Hermione was socially. She could hold her own in intellectual conversations, and was quite outspoken and stubborn when she had a theory or point to make, but unfortunately that trait didn’t extend to other parts of her life. Her parents kept at her to use the contraption, and she obeyed them, all the while knowing it was doing no good. She was a coward when it came to disobeying them, even though she was a grown witch now. It didn’t help that her mother pointed out everything that was wrong with her and her life. She hated visiting.

The first question out of her mother’s mouth was always, “Are you seeing anyone yet, Hermione?” followed by “I’ll be dead before I see a grandchild.” Then she would launch into her usual blunt criticisms of the brilliant witch. Sometimes Hermione wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up, but couldn’t disrespect her mother that way…so she took it, hightailing it back to Hogwarts as quick as she could, then spending a bit of time crying before returning to her busy but empty life.

Hermione, like Severus lived at Hogwarts for the most part in solitude. The other witches on staff went out, socialized and had a ball with each other. Hermione had tried to be part of their clique when she first was hired by Albus. They had gone out to the Three Broomsticks for drinks. After a couple of hours and a couple of drinks, Hermione excused herself to use the bathroom. When she returned, she heard the witches laughing about how unattractive she was and how she even made Sybil look good. Hermione left without a word and refused to go out with them again, no matter how much Minerva coaxed her. The transfiguration teacher had been laughing too, and the consumption of alcohol was no excuse as far as Hermione was concerned. She was deeply hurt by the witches and didn’t associate with them very much after that. When she did it was usually in some kind of work-related manner, and even then she was formal and closed-mouthed. Eventually the witches assumed Hermione thought she was “too brilliant” to associate with normal-brained witches and became cattier than ever. Not that Hermione cared. They could talk about her all they wanted.

Marcus Delaluci took a precursory glance at the witch and the envelope she held in her hand. As far as the blonde, violet-eyed wizard was concerned, the Spells Mistress was a non-entity. There was nothing remotely attractive about her as far as the wizard could see. If he fucked her, he’d have to put a bag over her head…and Marcus liked to watch witches’ faces contort, so that was out of the question. Hermione’s face was contorted enough as is. He wouldn’t even trust the witch to give him a blowjob with those teeth. The wizard returned to his meal, not the least bit curious about the parchment the witch received.

Albus looked over his half-moon glasses with interest. Hermione didn’t receive much mail, and she looked a bit excited as she read the parchment, smiling broadly. The witch didn’t smile much because it made her buck teeth even more pronounced. But she didn’t seem to worry about that as she folded up the letter and put it in her pocket. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling as she hurriedly finished her breakfast, then exited the Great Hall, the witches looking after her.

“What do you suppose all that was about?” Pomona asked Sybil, who shrugged.

“Maybe it was a confirmation of the receipt of order for another slew of books she can snuggle up to,” the Divinations teacher replied. The other witches tittered. Sybil had once suggested that Hermione masturbated with books, and it was an image that never left the group.

Witches could be so cruel.

Hermione nearly danced down the dungeon corridor where her rooms were located, something completely out of character for the witch.

“I’ve won. I’m going to get an entire makeover,” she gushed to herself. “They say they can make me beautiful. Oh gods, I hope they can.”

Hermione let herself into her rooms happily, walked straight to her desk, sat down, picked up quill and parchment and began to write her reply of acceptance to Mr. Adam Sweetmeats. He said it would be a three day process. Hermione believed she might need a month…but these people were experts. Maybe they could really help her. She’d have to take this Friday off, but didn’t think it would be a problem since she didn’t teach classes.

Hermione couldn’t wait until this weekend.

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A/N: There we have a little background on both Severus and Hermione. A bit dismal, yes. But let’s see how it develops. Please review.