Sins of the Father PV Dymphna Teague

Merlin, was Bastille sick of Potions. It wasn't so much that he had anything against learning, or anything in particular against potion making and the likes, but it was just— so boring, relatively speaking. His fingers itched to twirl his wand into the more advanced motions of charms or hexes, and he frequently found himself getting restless and impatient by the end of each class. Something about sitting and reading instructions and mechanically following them with meticulous focus over and over and over just drove him absolutely barmy. It felt like his magic was collecting under his skin, buzzing and seeking release, and he hated it. He was much more at ease in his other classes, where he could actually do something about it. 

Glad to finally be free of the murky dungeons and Potions for the day, Bast ducked from the room eagerly and weaved through the flood of students quickly. There was still time to head out to the Pitch before dinner, and he thought that the fresh air and openness of it would do him some good just then. Reviewing his spell work while the Quidditch team practiced above had always helped relieve some of the tension that built up in his spine and frayed his nerves. 

He raked a hand through his messy curls as he got stuck momentarily in a group at the bottom of the steps, and then he was bounding up them impatiently. Dear Salazar— That was, Godric, did he hate crowds; his breath left him in a puff of relief when he finally cleared out and made it to a much more open corridor, finally on route for the Pitch.

@Dymphna Teague.