Siobhan's characteristic smile was missing by the time she made it down to potions. Transfiguration, her first class, was a new form of torture designed for eleven year olds. Who even wanted to know how to turn a matchstick into a needle, anyway?

A small part of her reluctantly admitted that she was just sour over only managing to turn the very point of it silver – not a bad effort by any means, and Professor McGonagall had praised her for it! – but magic was [i]so much harder[/i] than her parents made it look.

Not to mention herbology. No, she didn't want to learn the theory behind the proper method to trim and harvest wormwood. [i]Nobody did.[/i] Out of the Gryffindors, she was second last, beaten out for the worst in Sprout's class by Yvette who has a perfectly legitimate reason to be terrible at it – a muggle heritage. Siobhan didn't blame her for that, of course; she much preferred the brunette to loud-mouthed, black-haired Trish who just wanted to drone on about her hatred for Slytherin.

She swore even the other girls from her dorm were getting tired of it.

But, nearing the end of the day with only Potions with Professor Slughorn remaining, Siobhan couldn't help her anticipation for the class. It wouldn't be the most interesting of subjects, she was sure, though at the very least she could partner up with Kyle.

As the Gryffindors all filed into the classroom, being at the front of the line, Siobhan grabbed one of the two-person benches at the far side of the room and plonked her bag on the other seat, saving it. Yvette was clearly expecting that and took a seat in front – not particularly upset at being split up and possibly without a Gryffindor partner.