Fionn wasn't sure what was more worrisome. The fact that his grades are lack luster at this point -- and boy, are they. He was never one to worry about it, never one to question his teacher's grading methods, for Fionn was usually a good student. Sitting for hours on end and studying a book until his eyes swam. But this year, his final year of school, he felt antsy. Fire was at his feet, so to speak, and Fionn was just ready to get /out/ and into the world. Studying and adventuring and maybe poking a sleeping dragon in the eye and all that.
But the fire at his feet and the itching to be an /adult/ for the first time got Fionn into a bit of a pickle. He was failing potions. Badly. And he needed that grade up, needed it up badly, and he supposed that even if the teacher was /family/ she would not be so lenient as to give him a good grade on the basis of blood. Fionn simply couldn't find it in him to study, no matter how hard he told himself he would.
So there he was, sitting in a quaint pub in Hogsmead during a school trip. Oh he couldn't have Sally Flits all up in a flurry by now, cheeks red and shy and /warm/, but no, no no no, he had to sit there with his aunt, of all people. Sit and listen to her chatter and awkwardly thumb at his butterbeer, waiting, /waiting/ for that moment when she'd snap down the iron trap and bring up the subject of /grades/.
"So how's the weather fairin' you, auntie?" he asked, airily and slightly dry but chipper.
Fri Mar 09, 2012 2:40 am
