I hate this class-- {MAX}

[Osirus Daligoy]

I hate this class. He didn't always hate Potions class, but when he did, he hated it with a fire. It wasn't because of the dark, or the damp stones, or the gloom - all of that he rather liked, though the cold? Screw that, it was bad enough he had to actually wear a uniform, so he was a little cold and extremely cranky. God, he just wanted to wreck somebody's day. Just wanted to be a jerk. The Ravenclaw grudgingly followed his house as they took their places, eyes narrowed hatefully. Book out. Angst-ridden sigh. And a bit of an angry hush to his complaining stomach; funny, he'd have thought it would have given up and settled with being empty more often than not. A few sips of juice that morning had eased the ache of hunger, but it was beginning to come back. Which was just great.

And angry, unhappy Osirus rubbed the bridge of his nose, begging himself to have patience. Just a little bit of patience, pretty please with a cherry on top? But no. He would probably have to wear his godawful glasses if he needed to read his textbook. But at least there was one bright thing about the day. He was going to get his perfect grade, even if he had to strangle somebody to get it. Despite his horrid mood, he still had his ambition. In fact, it was probably rarely higher than it was when Sir just wanted to hurt somebody. Which was great, because quidditch practice was right after this class. It sort of puzzled Osirus, how he somehow made Seeker. But he couldn't complain. He was a fast flier with great balance. Sighing, he brushed his bangs back with one slender hand and would await whatever poor soul was stuck with the unhappy Ravenclaw.

[Max Anderson]

Ah, potions. The class that taught you how to make so many things with so many purposes. And he was down in the poor little room with the stone walls, the poor little room that all water seemed to linger in. Unfeeling stone walls. Unjudging, uncaring, unsympathetic, cold stones. Perhaps that was one reason it was so cold there, but Max didn't mind. When he kept busy, he didn't think about the cold, and when he didn't think about the could, he didn't feel cold either.

So, all things considered, he wasn't exactly in a bad mood. He sure as hell wasn't in a people mood, though, which was the one bad thing about this class. Why he had to mix potions with other students was beyond him. To save potion ingredients, maybe. But didn't too many wizards ruin the potion? Oh well. He'd made it this far, surely he could make it the rest of the way. Potions book, check. Turned to necessary page, check. And...

...The only open place was beside a Ravenclaw. Great. Well, still better than a Hufflepuff, so this was not going to ruin his day. This was still his favorite class, so he was going to continue like normal. Which meant, "You wanna get the first half of the list?" Of course, coming from Max, that wasn't actually a question. It was more of a I'm getting the second half of the list of ingredients so you get the first half. So he left Osirus without really waiting for a response, not expecting there to be a problem.

[Osirus Daligoy]

Oh, heavens no! No! Osirus knew, of all the stereotypes, Slytherins were the worst. Okay, it could be a Hufflepuff. Or a Gryffindor... Okay, so maybe Osirus was being a bit hard on the stranger. But truth be told, Osirus didn't care. He didn't care about the Slytherin's hopes, his dreams, his achievements, or his favorite color. Sir was just there to get his grade, so he could pass his tests, so he could get a good job and not end up living with his parents forever. Better yet, he didn't expect the stranger to care. But he did hold his head high, and didn't give his partner the time of day. Not a single glance, as Sir reluctantly brought out - and put on - his glasses. Suddenly his world was crystal clear and bright again, and the words on the page of his textbook were more than grey blurs.

Did he want to? Pfft, no. The Ravenclaw boy rolled his eyes, annoyed even further at the feeling of his long lashes against the lenses. What he wouldn't give for a little magical touch to his eyesight. Seriously. "I might as well." With a quiet huff, the boy would step aside and around the table, to the front where several others already were. He carefully selected what he already knew would be needed. Apparently the professor wasn't there yet. Porcupine quills, Wormwood... There. The rest wasn't his problem.

Okay, then. Let's get to brewing this magical crack. Back to his place, where he stood calmly. Easy elixir. Horrible day. Almost time for Quidditch practice... He could make it, probably. Sir brushed his bangs back into place with one delicate hand.