Chapter 1 Magical Mayhem 101

T he hallways of Grimm Mawr Academy for Witches and Warlocks were pure pandemonium every morning, and Minerva Everhart loved every chaotic second of it. A symphony of clattering cauldrons and sizzling spell ingredients greeted her as she strode into the Potions classroom. Minerva waved her wand and the instructions for today's yarrow potion scrawled themselves across the blackboard in spidery script. She turned to face the motley collection of students, their cauldrons already bubbling over with various concoctions - some vibrantly hued, others emitting worrying plumes of puce smoke.

One particularly lurid potion belched a glob of chartreuse goop onto the table.

"Easy there, Rhubarb! You want to gently shave those yarrow stalks, not decapitate the poor things," she sang out, eyeing a pimply teenage warlock furiously hacking away at his cutting board.

Rhubarb Rumplekin's tongue poked out in concentration as he gripped his battered copper knife like an executioner's blade. "Unless your aim is to put your classmates into a fever dream?"

Rhubarb gulped audibly. His ears turned a vivid shade of puce to match his disastrous brew. "No, Professor Everhart. S-sorry, I'll start again."

With a casual flick of her wand, Minerva demonstrated the proper slicing motion. The yarrow stalk obediently separated into perfect little minced pieces, arranging themselves in a tidy pile. She leaned in, voice lowering conspiratorially. "Perhaps a lighter touch next time, hmm?"

Rhubarb scowled at the flawlessly chopped herbs like they had just insulted his mother. "Why do we need to learn this healing garbage? I want jinxes and hexes, not boring remedies."

"You'll thank me when you're off to college and you need to know how to staunch a dueling wound," Minerva said over her shoulder. A loud bang echoed from the front of the class, followed by a noxious yellow smog cloud billowing up from one of the cauldrons. So much for her famed healing potions being "boring."

"Agatha Abernathy, did you follow my notes on not overdoing it with the powdered toadstool this time?" she asked, waving her wand to disperse the toxic fumes.

A slender arm sporting a bright turquoise sleeve shot out from the murky cloud, frantically waving for help. "Oops...I...may have...added a few extra...pinches of monkshood too," came Agatha's strangled reply between coughing fits.

"Merlin’s toenails, you kids will destroy this lab if you’re not careful." With a put-upon sigh, Minerva flicked her wand again, conjuring a gentle breeze to waft the noxious vapors up and out the arched windows. No harm, no foul – just another morning in Potions 101. "Why don't you and your partner start a new batch from scratch? And take it slow this time."

As she vanished the congealed mess from Agatha's cauldron, a drawling voice cut through the renewed bustle of activity. "When are we going to actually brew something useful around here? Like, I dunno...a love potion or something?"

A titter of snickers rippled through the classroom. Rolling her eyes skyward, Minerva fought the urge to magically glue the Jezebel Nightshade’s feet to the ceiling. Some things never changed - like Jezebel's perpetually smart mouth.

"Miss Nightshade, I highly suggest taking your Potions studies a bit more seriously. After all, potions are fundamental to all magic, from charms to transfiguration. And as for love philters..." Her lips thinned in disapproval. "Those are expressly forbidden at the Grimm Mawr Academy. Meddling with someone's emotions is not only unethical, but extremely perilous magic."

Jezebel made a big show of rolling her heavily kohled eyes, throwing her hands up in patent disinterest. "Yeah, yeah, blah blah, ethics-schemethics."

She leveled Jezebel with a stern look, hoping to impress upon the girl the gravity of her words. But the field hockey star just smirked, examining her nails with an air of supreme unconcern.

Minerva sighed. Getting through to Jezebel was like trying to teach a troll ballet - nigh impossible and likely to end in blunt force trauma. But she refused to give up on the girl, no matter how exasperating she could be.

Clapping her hands briskly, she called the class back to order. "All right everyone, let's refocus. You have twenty minutes left to complete your potions. And do try to avoid any further explosions.”

As the students bent over their cauldrons with renewed determination (or at least slightly less reckless abandon), Minerva allowed herself a small smile. They may be a ragtag bunch, but they were her ragtag bunch. And she'd move mountains (or at least vanish a few botched potions) to help them succeed.

Just then, the door to the potions classroom burst open with a resounding bang. Minerva whirled around, ready to unleash her most withering glare upon the unfortunate soul who dared disrupt her lesson.

But the admonishment died on her tongue as she caught sight of a familiar broad-shouldered frame. Archie Hawthorne, Grimm Mawr Academy's esteemed field hockey coach, strode into the room like he owned the place.

Minerva bit back a groan. Of course. It was always something with this man - if he wasn't barging into her classroom unannounced, he was haranguing her about grades and eligibility forms.

She raised an eyebrow coolly. "Coach Hawthorne. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Everhart! I need to talk to you.” The burly, mustachioed Archie boomed, chestnut hair adorably mussed as he scanned the now silent classroom. His muscled forearms strained against the sleeves of his black Grimm Mawr T-shirt in a way that was too distracting for words.

Smoothing the front of her robes primly, she put on her best nonplussed expression to mask the butterflies that stubbornly fluttered low in her belly whenever she saw the field hockey coach. From his tousled hair to that cocksure swagger, the annoyingly handsome coach epitomized all the frustrating jock stereotypes that put athletics before academics at Grimm Mawr Academy.

"Normally, I’d say we could discuss this after class..."

“It can’t wait,” he interrupted.

Minerva bit back a sigh. She figured as much. “Fine, Coach. Let’s take this out in the hall so you don’t disturb my students. Carry on,” she said to them. “I’ll be right back.”

Shutting the door behind them, she crossed her arms over her chest, flushing a bit when his gaze dropped to her cleavage before quickly returning to her eyes. “Well?” she drawled.

"One of my best scorers is failing Potions. That’s unacceptable, Ever-Lame.”

Oh how she hated that nickname. It was one that had followed her from when they were both students here at the Grimm Mawr Academy. As did her stupid crush on him. She had hopelessly been in love with him during their high school days. Archie had been the Grimms’ star quarterback and she had been... well Minerva had excelled in her classes, despite the emphasis Grimm Mawr put on their sports teams instead of education.

“Yes, Meathead,” she said, using his hated nickname back at him. It earned her a scowl. “Jezebel is a terrible student and deserves her grades.”

“You don’t understand. The Grimms have a chance of winning the states championship over Why and Because for the first time ever. Nightshade can't play in the big tourney if she tanks her grade in here."

“That’s correct.”

A tense silence fell as Archie stared at her incredulously. “I can’t believe you’re going to ruin her chances at a scout picking her up to play pro.”

“Athletic pursuits will only carry your students so far in the real world. They need an enriching educational foundation, something you'd understand if you had an ounce of—"

Another thunderous bang cut off the rest of Minerva's retort as a fresh cloud of acrid smoke billowed up from under the closed door, effectively halting their heated back-and-forth. Coughing, she threw open the door and looked around to see that Jezebel had escalated her careless potion-making to disastrous new heights.

"What in Merlin's saggy shorts did you dump in there this time?" Minerva's cranky reprimand was met with an exaggerated shrug from the delinquent field hockey star. Jezebel examined a chip in her amethyst nail polish, the very portrait of indifference.

"Relax, it’s not like these potions are to help us win the state championship or anything."

The insolent words were like a match to dry kindling. Something inside Minerva flared as bright as the smoldering cauldron, snapping her legendary patience like a dry twig. "Your obstinate refusal to apply yourself is not only disrespectful, but jeopardizes your entire academic future." Minerva went on in a heated rush, cheeks flushing scarlet.

“Now everyone, let’s calm down here,” Archie said, looking from Jezebel to Minerva.

He backed off with his hands raised when she whirled on him with a shaking wand.

"This is a classroom, not a glorified sports arena where you can simply skate by on your brute athletic abilities. There is far more to life than chasing some ridiculous rolling ball back and forth across a grassy field."

She punctuated her diatribe by slamming her palms down on Jezebel's desk, startling the girl from her indolent slouch. For once, the raven-haired rapscallion looked briefly taken aback. But Minerva was on a roll, the words tumbling out in a furious torrent that had been building for years.

"You may be the most talented field hockey player to ever grace Grimm Mawr’s squad, but as a witch, you’re sorely lacking in skill. You have detention after school today.”

“But I’ll miss practice.” Jezebel shot a look to her coach.

“You can spend the time studying,” Archie said. “I need you to get your grades up before the big game. You don’t need to practice field hockey. You’re good enough already.”

Surprisingly enough, Archie wasn’t backing his key player. The dolt had actually taken Minerva’s side for once, backing her decision to give Jezebel detention. It was a far cry from their usual butting of heads, trading barbs like "Ever-Lame" and "Meathead."

“Thank you,” Minerva murmured, unsure how to take his about face.

“You got it, Teach.” He gave her a saucy wink and left her staring at his wide muscled back as he left.

Then the bell rang, signaling the end of class. As the chaos of rambunctious students gathering their belongings filled the suddenly vacant air, Minerva felt a strange sense of disquiet. Had she just imagined the flicker of something more heated behind Archie's parting look? Her heart fluttered traitorously in her chest. Merlin help her, the man was pure temptation in a tracksuit. This was going to be a long semester...