- Messages
- 59
- OOC First Name
- Rowan
- Blood Status
- Mixed Blood
- Relationship Status
- Too Young to Care
- Wand
- Straight 8 Inch Whippy Vine Wand with Doxy Wing Core
- Age
- 12/2046 (15)
OWLs. OWLs. They had come far, far too quickly, and every time Cornelius thought about it he became mildly certain he was going to have an aneurysm. He was barely, barely scraping by in his classes as it was, and now it was OWL year. He was ruined. He could rattle off his father's long list of NEWT accomplishments in his sleep, and if pressed he could probably go right the way back through the stupid honourable generations. And he was going to ruin all of that. He was a stupid, useless, worthless piece of scum, and he was going to drive his family's legacy directly into the ground.
It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion; every day the calendar ticked closer to the inevitable day of his death. He had drawn up his study timetables, then redone them because the time it had taken to make the timetables had thrown the timetable itself off, and now he was on his third iteration. But once this was done, then he could buckle down. He would buckle down. No excuses, no putting it off. He was going to study. He was going to study, and study, and revise, and read, and etch every stupid word of his stupid textbooks into his stupid head, and then he was going to flunk. Cornelius groaned and let his head fall forwards, thunking onto the table he was using to work on colour coding his beautifully organised timetable. It was all pointless. He might as well throw the whole thing in the bin and walk away into the forest. Maybe the centaurs were looking for a pet idiot.
It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion; every day the calendar ticked closer to the inevitable day of his death. He had drawn up his study timetables, then redone them because the time it had taken to make the timetables had thrown the timetable itself off, and now he was on his third iteration. But once this was done, then he could buckle down. He would buckle down. No excuses, no putting it off. He was going to study. He was going to study, and study, and revise, and read, and etch every stupid word of his stupid textbooks into his stupid head, and then he was going to flunk. Cornelius groaned and let his head fall forwards, thunking onto the table he was using to work on colour coding his beautifully organised timetable. It was all pointless. He might as well throw the whole thing in the bin and walk away into the forest. Maybe the centaurs were looking for a pet idiot.