When Professor Grumblebore had suggested she take up the lucrative position of junior lecturer at Hardwicks school for would-be wizards and witches, Sally Hotter had grasped the opportunity with both perfectly-manicured hands. Having recently survived a battle with the Half-pint Ponce and his Sorcerer’s Bone only to find herself imprisoned in the Chamber of Secretions by a Gobbler of Fire, Sally was excited at the prospect of using her magical expertise and feminine wiles in less dangerous environs.
    There had been a time when Sally Hotter had been a Prisoner of Acne, however, thankfully, that period of her life was now just a painful memory and, from a dappled cocoon of adolescence, she had emerged a stunning butterfly.
    As a former pupil of St Trinian'sussanah’s, Sally knew that appearance was everything and so took great care in dressing herself appropriately for her first day in charge of a class at such an esteemed educational institute as Hardwicks.
    With a good deal of pride and just a modicum of coquettishness, Sally reclined against her desk at the head of class 2B in preparation for her first official address. Wearing a scarlet satin basque, white leather miniskirt, black fishnet stockings and white 6” stiletto-heeled ankle-boots she was supremely confident of having the class’s complete attention; even that of solitary female student Hermitage Stranger, a young lady who, it was rumoured in the hallowed halls, preferred Playboy to Woman’s Own.
    “Before commencing with today’s tutorial,” breathed Sally Hotter coolly, “I believe we should first ensure that all of our equipment is in good working order. To that end, I would like all of you young male apprentices to come forward, in alphabetical order, and show me your wands.”
    With a sigh of shyness and flaming cheeks that matched his red cravat, Able Aardvark stood up and made his way to the head of the class.
    “Hold it out where I can see it,” snapped Sally authoritatively. “Oh dear! Next.”
    “Barry Blessed, Miss.”
    “Mm, or not, as the case may be,” suggested Sally Hotter wryly. “Next.”
    “Don Ferretly, Miss,” whined another would-be warlock.
    “Oh dear. Oh dearie me! Really, I’d expected much bigger things from the pupils of Hardwicks. Who’s next?”
    An overly brash blond-haired boy thrust himself upwards and swaggered to the front of the class. “I’m Allmouth Horseboy, Miss.”
    “Mm, indeed you are!” purred Sally and raised an eyebrow. “But dear me! Someone really must show you how to hold it properly. Report to my private chamber after class.”
    “Yes Miss,” exclaimed Allmouth excitedly.
    “Ooops,” groaned Willy Small from the back of the room.
    “Oh good heavens! Whatever next!” declared Sally Hotter. “Hermitage, my dear, would you be so kind as to pop along to Professor Snake’s office and ask him if we can borrow his ‘Caution, Slippery Surface’ warning sign.”