Post by rcfinnigan on Aug 11, 2011 16:11:31 GMT -5
• if all our life is but a dream, fantastic posing greed •
• then we should feed our jewelery to the sea •
• for diamonds do appear to be •
• just like broken glass to me •
Roban Finnigan scrambled up the stairs from the dungeons into a corridor on the First Floor, looking stressed and relieved to be finally out of his Potions class. He was still stuffing his Potions textbook into his bag, the first one out of the classroom and in such a hurry to leave he hadn't even taken the time to pack everything away properly. It wasn't a secret that the Irish sixth-year hated Potions with a passion, but he wasn't usually this desperate to leave the lesson.[/blockquote]
As he found a bench and collapsed onto it, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathed deeply. He didn't have a lesson next, so he planned to go up to the common room and catch up on homework or something, but right now he needed to sit down after that disaster of a lesson. If you were to look at him, it was pretty clear as to why he was looking so tired out and relieved that the lesson was over. A smell of burning lingered around him, which wasn't too unusual for him, but it was stronger and wasn't the usual Christmassy-candle kind of smell, but a charred, burnt smell. There was a little soot on his Hogwarts robes, too, which he hadn't managed to brush off yet, his blonde hair was wet and scruffy, clearly hurriedly rinsed. It didn't take a genius to put everything together and realise that yet again, Roban Finnigan had managed to accidently blow up his potion again. The Potions teacher had taken points off Gryffindor for the explosion, then a further point for his scruffy look after he had been told to wash the potion out of his hair. Naturally, he'd gotten a zero in his first Potions lesson of the year, which hadn't made him in a very happy person. He'd been hoping the this year, he'd manage to not blow up his potions any more; after all, he no longer accidently blew up anything else, it was just potions.
Sighing, Roban ran a hand through his hair, which didn't do anything for its level of neatness. He felt absolutely awful. The entire class had laughed at him, he'd gotten off to a bad start with his Potions teacher yet again, and he had no idea how he was supposed to pass Potions this year if this was how things were going to be. Honestly, he felt like crying or something, not that he would actually cry. Not in front of all the people hurrying off to their lessons, anyway. He just sat staring at the ceiling, thinking about what a failure he was and wishing there was some way he didn't have to be the worst in the class. He was average at everything else, too; why wasn't there anything he was good at? Everyone was supposed to have a talent, something they could do really well, right? Well, what was his? Being the incredibly average, ordinary person in every lesson except Potions was hardly a talent, was it?
He supposed he should probably head off to the common room, but he didn't feel much like it at the moment. Instead, he opened up his Potions textbook, trying to figure out what it was he'd done wrong.
notes: roban reeeeeaally hates potions
tagged: open!
words: 544
lyrics: northern downpour, panic! at the disco