Stupid mudblood Granger. You'd think that after ten minutes of bouncing down on the edge of her seat with her hand raised high that she'd learn that professor Snape wasn't going to let her speak. He hasn't let her since first year. This whole class has heard enough of her high-pitched whiny voice to last us a lifetime. Granger begins a new tactic: wiggling her fingers to see if that got Snape's attention. NOT GOING TO HAPPEN I feel like screaming in her face. Nobody wants to hear her know-it-all tone anyway – not even Snape. I snicker quietly. The way that Granger gets special treatment from all of the other teachers winds me up too, half of them must be taking pity on her because she emerged from a family of Muggles and the other half because they were under the impression that she was the most 'intelligent' young witch of today. There's no intelligence in memorising books. That's the only reason why she gets a few higher marks than I do. You'd think that the exam board would acknowledge actual magical ability and make a larger percentage of the exams practicals. What's the use of theory if you can't do the actual thing? There's another thing that my father's influencing currently at the ministry. With his ideas he should run for Minister, everybody tells him so.

The shabbiness of the weasel's robes tear my attention away from planning my next witty insults for Granger and I find myself staring at what looks like rotting cotton. That's what happens when you live in a house which is classified as a fungus. It grows and spreads. I become delighted when Snape springs a surprise question on Potter who burbled a few nonsense words (I shouldn't be surprised – nonsense words are the only thing circling inside his skull) and earns himself more scrutinising than usual when we make our next potion.

I must admit that this potion is not easy to make but not by any standards particularly difficult. Of course, Longbottom's potion goes drastically wrong within the first thirty seconds of us starting – it starts making growling noises. I snicker again and add the hair of a thestral, stirring two times in an anticlockwise direction. Crabbe and Goyle attempt to take my lead but even they can't possibly argue that they are good at potions, or any other subject for that matter. Crabbe's turns black and starts bubbling over and from what I can see of Goyle's potion he has the ladle stuck inside of the potion.

"Hopeless!" I laugh and feel smug when mine turns to almost the precise shade of what it says it should be in the book; sky blue. Snape starts patrolling around the classroom but not daring to stick his nose in Longbottom's 'potion'. I begin sprinkling in ground amethyst and nudge Crabbe to point out the expression on Snape's face: utter horror. I burst out laughing when I hear Snape say "I cannot comprehend how you cannot follow simple instructions that are clearly laid out in front of you – not just once but eight times in a row…"

I silently curse as due to the distraction I add too much of the powder and instead of turning a lighter shade of blue mine stays the same colour but has a glittery glow to it.

I still get full marks at the end of the lesson much to Granger's outrage. Of course her potion is the exact colour that the book describes much to her pathetic pride. I 'accidentally' stand on the back of her shoe and send her falling up the steps ascending from the dungeons. She gives a loud rat-like squeal and Potter glares at me. I give him innocent 'What?' shrug and continue heading towards my next lesson. Which just happens to be transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs. What a pathetic excuse for a house. All of the other houses have at least one unique quality which the founders of Hogwarts were searching for in the students – apart from Hufflepuff. Anybody could get into Hufflepuff, you just had to have no strong traits at all.

I wrinkle my nose as I take my usual seat in McGonagall's room. It smells of old cotton and furballs. Maybe McGonagall accidentally turned herself into a carpet. I remain hopeful until the moment that she enters the room with her usual narrow eyed and thin lipped expression. She taps the blackboard with her wand and a piece of nearby chalk launches itself at the board and enthusiastically gives us the worst picture of a hamster I have ever seen. I snort but make sure that it isn't too loud because for somebody so old McGonagall has surprisingly good hearing. And a strong disliking for me. Probably something to do with all the points I've gained for Slytherin and caused her house to lose.

I can't help my lips curling upwards and McGonagall narrows her eyes at me. Like that proves anything. I could narrow my eyes right back at her and have a narrowing-eye contest but I don't think that the likes of her would appreciate my fine sense of humour. Which is good really, it's too fine to waste with the likes of them anyway.

She gives us an (unasked for) long and boring speech about the 'complicated' lesson ahead. I could have saved her bother and told her that she was wasting her breath, no matter how much she tried to explain some people in this room would do equally as badly. If not worse. I cast my eyes over to the Hufflepuffs. I can only see their backs and it's obvious that they're nervous by the tense way that they are sitting.

Honestly, only they could be scared of transfiguring a hamster into a feather and ink pot. Probably because only they could manage to turn it into some kind of blood-thirsty inkpot with hamster legs.

I have to stifle back my laughter again and it comes out sounding like a hasty dog bark. Everyone in the room turns around to look at the 'mongrel' in the room; I turn around with them and gave Goyle a surprised stare.

"Don't feel that you have to sympathise with the Hufflepuffs, Goyle." I grin and he gives me an incredibly confused stare.

"Huh?"

"I mean, just looking at some of these people-" I cast my eyes over to likes of Helena Jewitti – "makes you want to roll around the floor, snorting and covered in filth just so that it makes them seem comparatively attractive." I pause and grin to myself. "Of course, your efforts are utterly wasted. I think anyone would prefer the animal filth."

Goyle makes a snickering noise but I can tell that he's not processed a word that I have just said. His eyes are glazed over and he looks like his eyes are being entranced by McGonagall's wand that she's twirling.

It seems that there is no one good enough who can fully appreciate my sense of humour. I sigh and decide that I might as well mentally note down what the strange movement she was doing with her wand was. She looked like she was trying to stab a swarm of Cornish Pixies surrounding her.

I can't help it – I release a small scoffing noise and simultaneously McGonagall's eyes narrow at me and her mouth does that thing where it stretches into a long thin shrived line.

I love being a Slytherin.