Potioneering (Not really)

"Miss Archimedes," Snape drawls. He already knows my name? Aww… "Quite the move to break into a classroom on your first day…here."

The other Hufflepuffs blanch, apparently rumor had it that Nymphadora was the local troublemaker. Oh my how rumors spread like wildfire. Well, soon the Weasley twins will soon replace her. If I remember correctly, they are in my year, so they've yet to make a name for themselves.

I give it about ten minutes.

The Ravenclaws, meanwhile, are analyzing me. Trying to pick apart the personality of someone who has just broken into a locked door.

"Fifty points from Huffle—" Yeah, I'm just gonna stop you right there.

Snape stands there, frozen, in mid-sentence. I can't have us lose points on the first day! It's social suicide, and Hufflepuffs are all about friendship and stuff.

Take it back now, y'all. "—elffuH morf stniop ytfiF" Hearing someone unsay a sentence is always weird.

Cha cha real smooth. "Fifty— Hmm?" He stands there, confused. Déjà vu kicks him like a horse.

"Ahh, don't worry, Professor Snape. Localized time bubbles are always weird the first time around. At least you guys are part of the group that got to keep their memories." I walk around, meshing into the crowd.

Or at least, I try. Everyone has a new evaluation of me: something to be feared. I just casually reversed time in front of them, and they experienced it. They have no solid evidence except their own memories, which can be messed with.

Snape walks forward, passive faced as ever. However, I can see it. The taut muscles and glistening sweat. He's unnerved. Unnerved by me.

Why is he afraid? It's not like I'll eat him.

We follow behind, moving into our respective seats. We don't really know which ones are ours, but sitting with your housemates seems to be best. Except, the Hufflepuffs all have left the seat next to me open.

"Hello," a familiar voice whispers. It's Effeminate Boy One! Uh, the Ravenclaw boy! Henry, I think? "I guess we'll have to be partners, huh?" I look past him and see that all of his housemates have already paired up.

"Yep!"

Snape begins calling roll, skipping over me when it's my turn. Well, he already knows me, so I guess it's fine. Still a little hurt, though.

After that, Snape stands up and begins pacing around. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is—" And…I stopped listening. Snape begins rambling about how much he needs love in his life because of his slight attractions to potions.

Honestly, I really don't care.

For example, while he's been going on about the 'delicate power of liquids', I've made a beef and potato stew in my cauldron. Just look at that golden-brown stock… It's enough to heal a grown man's heart. Probably not Snape's; his is cold and petrified, and will probably need something stronger than soup.

Let's let the potatoes simmer for a bit.

"Is something bothering you, Miss Archimedes?" Snape's voice pulls back my attention. My chopping board is hovering over the cauldron, meat slowly sliding down as I maintain eye-contact with Snape.

*plop plop plop*

"No, sir." Alright! Execute doe-eyes! The adorableness of my face will melt that stone expression.

Ahh, it isn't working.

"Twent—" He pauses, remembering my feats from more or less than six minutes ago, depending on how you count time. He instead just points his wand at my cauldron and vanishes its contents. Damn you!

He goes back to monologuing, then starts explaining the properties of some plants and stuff in short, concise details, then has us begin making a potion of some kind. What kind? I don't know! I didn't pay attention.

I might just mix my spit into the stuff. It always does interesting things, and I want to see how potions react to my mouth essence. Heh.

I throw stuff into the pot willy-nilly. Henry's nice passive navy-blue is incomparable to my black sludge. It smells like a toilet! Hmm, what's this? Some…root…thing.

Eh, into the melting pot you go!

"Miss Archimedes," Snape says as he stalks over. He recoils for a second at the smell, but quickly regains his composure. "I have written the instructions on the board, and it seems to me like you are ignoring them."

I respond without looking at him, "Yeah, but I think that potions are all about experimentation. If we just recreate the things made before, then yeah, we can get a nice job mass-producing those things forever, but what about making something new?" I think this was the plot of Ratatouille? Maybe? Rats, what did I just put in here?

"And when you mix it all together," I say, spitting into the bucket with a flourish. "You get a nice surprise!" The cauldron is shaking, rumbling, and tumbling. Henry, being of sound mind, picks up his things and moves towards the corner.

Snape, the poor sap, tries to vanish the contents again. It fails. Probably because my spit makes the melting pot immune to spells.

The pot tips.

A reddish-purple goo pours out, dissolving the remaining ingredients on the table. It think I see a hint of golden glitter in the mixture too, and, interestingly enough, I feel a sentient connection to it.

The goo moves, rolling across the table towards other plants, and also a knife. It passes over, eating the plants and goopifying the knife. Seems immune to physical damage and magic.

The mind is sorta like a pet. It can think basic thoughts, but it will follow my command without question. It perceives everything in 360 degrees, and is capable of eating…everything. It can also shapeshift and compress, but that's a little complex for my super single-cell organism.

"It's a slime ball thing!" I cheer, happy at making life. Snape, right now, is showing the most emotion he has probably shown other than disdain in the last decade, and that emotion is fear.

————————————————————————————————————

Needless to say, Snape gave me detention. Cleaning cauldrons, he said.

I'll just have an instance deal with that. They'll/I'll probably just eat the cauldrons and spit them out nice and clean.

I named the slime, too. Alexandria, after the library. I feel like one day she might be on fire. I can tell it's a she because I'm a she and she was made from me who is a she so she is a she.

Yes. Oh, and she fits into my pockets.

Yes, I have a dress and it has pockets.

I teleport into McGonagall's classroom, nobody's there anyway, scaring the snack on the table. The cat/snack yelps and yowls and jumps into the air with joy. She just knows she's about to fulfill her glorious purpose of being in my stomach.

Oh, wait. This is McGonagall, right?

Dang it, I can't eat her.