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Harry’s book bag hit the floor with a quiet thump as he slid into his seat and let it fall gently to the floor beside his desk. To the side of him, his two best friends slid into their seats too, in a manner that he felt quite amusingly reflective of their personalities.
Hermione Granger took her seat quite carefully and quietly, and made sure to place her book bag down gently before leaning over to rifle through it for quill and parchment – as if it were a fragile gift for a friend that she was making sure to treat with care. Ron Weasley, on the other hand, all but threw himself into his seat with a clatter, and threw his book bag to the floor showing not a care in the world for how it was treated.
Harry smiled to himself at his friends’ differing attitudes as he reached down to grab his own writing materials, whilst Ron let out a yawn.
“Still can’t believe Dumbledore’s making everyone take this class this year,” he moaned aloud. “We could be getting in some extra flying time, eh Harry?”
“Honestly Ron, you spend enough time on that broom of yours already,” Hermione sniffed. “And I think it’s an excellent idea for Muggle Studies to be mandatory. The wizarding world’s intolerance of muggles is simply barbaric. This way, everyone can learn that muggles aren’t to be looked down on, and maybe we’ll break down some of those prejudices.”
“Oh come off it, Hermione,” Ron snorted. “You’re can’t honestly think that people like Malfoy are going to learn how to use a fellytone and suddenly decide to go out and hug a muggle? Greengrass will throw her wand away and decide to live a muggle life after hearing that she could drive a car around for a living? It’s not like Burbage is teaching us anything interesting enough to make a difference.”
“I didn’t say that, Ronald!” She hissed back, her back clearly up in response to his blatant sarcasm. “Don’t be ridiculous. And for your information, I think Professor Burbage is—”
Harry took his opportunity to step in and break up the budding argument. “Not going to be here today.”
Hermione blinked at him in response to being cut off. “What?”
“Burbage. She won’t be here today,” he explained. “She wasn’t at the staff table last night, or at breakfast. I heard Susan telling Hannah that she’s come down with the pox.”
“Bloody hell, not another one!” Ron swore. “That’s nearly half of the Professors now! Dragonpox isn’t that bad for crying out loud!”
Hermione frowned slightly as she responded, a thoughtful look on her face. “It’s more serious in adults, Ron. Not dangerous, but definitely unpleasant. I suppose that means we’ll have another substitute then.”
“Who do you think we’ll get this time?” Harry asked them both. “Whoever it is, it’s not going to beat Hagrid trying to take Charms the other day.”
Ron laughed. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen an umbrella swish and flick quite like that before. But as long as it’s not—”
It was at that moment that the classroom door behind them slammed shut, and Harry groaned mentally to himself as Severus Snape, esteemed Potions Professor and renowned master of bad temper, swept up to the head of the class. He was clutching a sheaf of parchment, and his black robes billowed out behind him as he moved.
There was no need for him to call for silence – it had fallen naturally across the room as soon as the class realised who exactly it was that would be substituting for Professor Burbage. But he let his dark, glittering eyes sweep across the room as if looking for any infraction to call out before he began the class.
“Wands away,” he began, speaking in barely more than a whisper, but one that they all caught easily enough. “There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art that is…” Pausing momentarily, he glanced down at the parchment he held in his hands before continuing, a definite annoyed edge now colouring his voice. “…Muggle Studies.”
Harry couldn’t help himself. His mouth twitched at the words, the ghost of a smile flitting onto his face before Snape’s eyes snapped to him and narrowed in disdain. Smile swept away, knowing it would have been noticed, Harry braced for the inevitable.
“Ah, Mr. Potter,” Snape murmured silkily. “Again, I am forced to bear your presence.” Anger rushed quickly to Harry, but before he could react in any way Snape continued, now barking out a question at him as he peered down at his parchment once more. “Tell me Potter, what would I get if I added a toaster to lukewarm water?”
“I… what?” Harry sputtered out in disbelief at the question.
A smirk crossed Snape’s face, and he continued before Harry could gather his thoughts at the unexpected direction the question had taken. “Tut, tut – clearly fame isn’t everything. Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a… copy of the ‘Big Issue’?”
Harry gaped at him. “I don’t think there are fixed vendors for that, sir.”
“Why you arrogant little—!” Snape thundered before calming himself. “Then tell me Potter, what do muggles know the period between 7 and 9 o’clock in the evenings on weekdays as?”
What did they know what as? Even living with the Dursleys all his life, Harry had no idea what Snape could be referring to. “I… I don’t know, sir,” he admitted.
“Then it is well that I am here today to educate you, you ignorant boy,” Snape snapped. He turned and deposited the parchment he’d been holding onto Professor Burbage’s desk, then pulled out his wand and used it to summon a cart on wheels across the room until it sat at the front of the class. A long curtain had been draped over it, so they could not see what it carried, but before they could speculate Snape spoke up again.
“For your information, Potter, adding a toaster to lukewarm water will give you a severe and potentially fatal electric shock. The Big Issue can often be found being distributed by the homeless. As for weekday evenings, the period between 7 and 9 o’clock is often referred to as time for tea and soaps.”
Harry gaped at him again as Snape flourished his wand once more, and the curtain swept off the cart to reveal a large CRT television – precisely the last thing Harry would have expected.
“Now… Over the course of the next several weeks we will be learning about muggle soap operas. I have brought in this enchanted television set, to show you my recordings of EastEnders. You will observe and take notes in silence. I will expect a full 5 foot essay about the various plot points by tomorrow evening. As the library is sadly… lacking in this area, copies of Inside Soap magazine are available at the back of the classroom which may be used to support your work.”
The class was stunned. Was this reality? Was Professor Snape really trying to teach them about muggle soap operas? Even Hermione looked gobsmacked as Snape continued, his voice silky once more.
“I do not expect you all to appreciate the narrative subtleties, but even such dunderheads as you are should be able to sufficiently detail the importance and cultural significance of the phrase ‘gerrout o mah pahb’. Extra credit will also be available for any of you able to provide a suitably detailed cultural analysis of Pat’s earrings.”
His wand flicked once more, and the blinds snapped down to cover the windows whilst the television began to glow into life. A moment later, the EastEnders theme kicked in, and the soap began to play across the screen as they watched. Before the show itself began though, Snape threw out one more instruction for them all.
“A warning, however. Should any of you confuse any plot with anything from Coronation Street, I will apply an automatic points deduction to your house. Emmerdale, and you will repeat the assignment.”
Harry made a mental note to check his pumpkin juice for LSD before the next Muggle Studies class.
9 a.m. the next Monday morning, Harry, Ron and Hermione found themselves once more sitting in the Muggle Studies classroom waiting for the Professor to arrive. Professor Burbage had not been seen at any meals since she vanished the week prior, so they all assumed that she was still in the grips of the pox and they would once again be graced by…
‘Speak of the devil’, Harry thought glumly as the door slammed shut behind them and Professor Snape swept his way up to the front of the classroom. Once again he was clutching a raft of parchment in his hands, but this time instead of notes it looked to be comprised of their essays from the previous week.
‘That bloody essay’, Harry thought to himself. Never in all his time at Hogwarts had he imagined he would be camped out in the library arguing with Ron and Hermione over whether Peggy’s strong-handed means of clearing troublemakers out of the Queen Vic was going too far or not. Never had he expected to be poring over copies of Inside Soap magazine by candlelight in the evening as he attempted to pull out any more plot details to try and get his essay up to the required 5 feet.
Never had he imagined having to send Hedwig to Aunt Petunia asking for details of any standout EastEnders plots over the last year. The terse, angry letter he got in reply was perhaps to be expected, but at least she’d included some information he could use.
“Your essays were for the most part… adequate,” Snape began carefully. “I confess I find myself surprised. Should you all put half as much effort into your Potions assignments as you did this, you would perhaps find yourselves spending less time in detention. Alas…”
Harry gaped. For Snape, that was almost complimentary. With a flick of Snape’s wand, the essays in his arms began zooming across the classroom to their owners. Harry plucked his out of the air and unrolled it to find a large Exceeds Expectations scrawled across the top. That… that might be the highest grade Snape had ever given him.
“Yet despite your admitted over-performance, there remains room for improvement,” Snape continued, as his eyes roamed over them, seeking out specific individuals. “Miss Granger, whilst your appreciation of carefully crafted narrative is… commendable, I find myself needing to remind you that Richard Hillman never visited Walford. 1000 points from Gryffindor for your disrespect.”
An outraged intake of breath came from Hermione’s desk, but she neither had time to voice her displeasure nor did Harry have time to check on her before Snape’s eyes were on him.
“Mr. Potter. Whilst your essay was a substantive improvement on your usual drivel, you have squandered what would otherwise have been an impeccable grade. Dimensions in Time was a one-off special, not to be confused with any form of continuity, and not part of the overall storyline. I will require another 3 feet on top of what you have previously written. With corrections. Then perhaps I will re-assess your grading.”
Harry could only nod numbly, as Ron was next in line. Snape’s eyes narrowed as they alighted on him, and a vindictive snarl crossed his face as he spoke.
“And Mr. Weasley.” He almost spat out Ron’s name, and even Harry was alarmed at the Professor’s tone. “I remind you that due to your idiotic twin relatives and their woeful lack of maturity, I am currently behind on Brookside. Should you ever again attempt to inform me, intentionally or otherwise, of the resolution to the body under the patio storyline, even the Cruciatus Curse will be child’s play compared to the suffering I will inflict upon you. Is that clear?”
As Ron stammered out an apology, and Hermione fumed silently beside him, Snape turned his attention to the next in line. Harry for his part could only stare down at his essay in disbelief, as his brain repeatedly misfired over the absurdity of the situation.
He wondered how he’d tell Angelina that he needed to skip Quidditch practice tonight so that he could read some more back issues of Inside Soap. Or how Uncle Vernon would react to an owl asking him to ask Aunt Petunia for more storyline information, since she’d been so firm about not contacting her again via Hedwig.
As these thoughts whirled through his head though, only one ultimately stood out to him. He really, really needed to check his pumpkin juice for LSD next week. Seriously this time.