A hate potion? Sounded very... angry. At least it wasn't anything mushy like a love potion or some kind of gooey thing like a friendship potion. Because those were the absolute WORST. Ophelia did NOT want to know how to make all of those crazy gushy potions, partly because she had little to no use for them, and partly because messing with that kind of magic was just wrong on soooooo many levels. Like more levels than she could count. More levels than existed. Wasn't there a wizard before who messed with love potions? And didn't that person's son have problems loving or something? And wasn't he like reaaallly bad? Like awful? Like steal your T.V remote and eat all of your gummy bears before handing you an empty wrapper bad?

Yeah. If she remembered correctly, he was that bad. It was all a very interesting story, told by none other than her oldest sister herself. 'Little Miss Perfect.' The Houdini of storytelling. But it was always the middle part of the tale that got to Ophelia. The part where he took over the wizarding world and started enacting his evil plans, which of course involved unspeakable evil, because villains were apparently good at it. The unspeakable evil thing, she meant. Anyway, as a kid, it always made poor 'Ophie cry when she was told about his reign of terror. Though the ending was good. But as she got older and thought of it, the ending was also kind of sad from his point of view. Did that make her deranged? Probably, right? But that wasn't important right now. In fact, snagging her thoughts away from her childhood nostalgia and back into the real world, she wondered what would happen if she drank a hate potion and then had a baby. Would it not be able to hate? Or would it be sooo full of hatred that it would be pure evil? How did these things work again?

Anyway, hatred. Was he sure he wanted to do this with a bunch of children and teenagers? Because teenage hatred turned into an all out war, and Ophelia did noooot think she was ready for such a thing. To watch, or be in. Didn't he know about teenage arguments and such. HONESTLY, it was like professors had never been teenagers. Sometimes the eleven year old thought they were just hatched and raised in the castle, like some mythical creature that no one ever bothered to write in a textbook. Well, would you write about the teacher creature in a textbook? Hey, that kind of rhymed! And maybe she would write about the infamous 'teacher creature' if the tanned girl ever found the time.

Also, cleaning evvveeerrryttthing? That sounded HARD. Not just because she was lazy --which she was, don't get the kid wrong here-- but it also meant that the firstie needed to remember another step. Which was always a problem. And why school was a constant annoyance instead of something loved, like her siblings loved it. But if she concentrated, it would work, right?

Tying her blonde hair back into a loose ponytail, the shorter girl cleaned her cauldron with a sigh, thinking about how much work this was. Okay, now to dry off the cauldron --no water, remember-- and drop the feather in. Great, that was MORE steps. Drying off the cauldron, she dropped the feather in and waited for the next instruction, looking at the feather in the bottom of her now dry cauldron. BAM. She was like a tiny, wild, wizard up in here!