Aschere stopped at the doorway and sighed. Potions made her nervous, and she had her OWLs this year.
"You've got to do this," she said to herself, encouragingly. A couple of students brushed past her as they tried to get into class. Realizing that she was blocking the doorway, she shuffled forward a few steps before picking an empty looking bench, and clunked her cauldron on top of it.
She set her satchel down and rummaged about for her gloves, before removing her potions making kit, mortar and pestle, a silver knife and her brass scales and measuring weights from the cauldron. She frowned. She thought she'd put her spatulas in too, but she couldn't seem to find them. Leave it to her to forget something important every class - usually she forgot her wand, but a Potions class didn't usually require wands. She lifted up the cauldron and flicked the underside a couple of times. It made a dull ringing sound and hurt her fingernail. Ouch. No spatulas here. She then removed her gloves and grabbed her satchel, carefully removing roles of parchment so as to not to drop her textbooks, spill her ink or scatter a number of tiny nuts, pebbles, marbles and vials of essence-oils, nor drop her bound journal. Nope, no spatulas. She swept everything she had just taken out of her satchel back in, crushing some of the parchment in the process, and winced. So long as it hadn't torn, she could probably use it for homework.. she thought.
As a last resort, she opened her potions making kit. There, neatly bundled among knots of herbs and boxes of basic potions ingredients, were her spatulas and waxed measuring papers. She let out a huff of breath in relief, and then grinned. Her grandfather used to say that one always finds what one is looking for in the last place one searches. It seemed obvious to her, but she was surprised how many other people he said that to seemed to find that statement puzzling. "Ah, grandpa. I'm never going to be as good at potions as you were," she muttered, ruefully.