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Daxton eyed the list on the board even as Primeaux gave his running commentary. They were more or less impossible to apply to his own life. The one about OWLs, for example; Daxton was too young to have taken OWLs, he had never had to take exams at his own school, and in his first year - though he only completed theoretical portions of the finals - the work was just so easy it was barely an accomplishment at all. Quidditch and broom-riding were utterly irrelevant, and Daxton also could not see how physical injury as a result of stupidity could be considered an achievement.
The other examples in relation to Daxton were to do with the long distant past, a whole other life, and he refused to even consider them. This was all very personal, and the entire matter was extremely uncomfortable. He looked away from Primeaux and back down at the parchment. With the discomfort growing, it was difficult to think of an appropriate response, even to make one up, one that did not negate years of a carefully crafted facade and at the same time fit the prompt he had been given enough that the professor might let the matter drop. But still, Daxton was not at all able stir up any feelings of accomplishment, or even anything close.
He looked back at the board, clenching his fists tight and frowning as he tried to think of something that fit all the requirements - both Primeaux's and his own. Before long he folded his arms over his chest with a huff of frustration and shook his head again, more vehemently this time, all the better to communicate how much he did not want to do this. Daxton could feel the rage - always just hidden below the surface - starting to climb, and tensed up, glaring at the board. This was stupid, and he did not want to do it at all.
__________________ Days of Potter 2023:___________________________ Which Bertie Botts Flavour Are You?
You are Chocolate! |