Disclaimer: The n to the o to the t to the m. The i to the n to the e to the You see?
Good.
Disclaimer II: The poem mentioned is 'A Wish For My Children' by Evangeline Paterson. The thing about condiments is a real quote, said by Truman Capote.
A/N: This was originally in response to a challenge from Amy is Rockin, but I felt that as this was a fic about failure, it would be appropriate to fail at the challenge. ;)
Instead, I've made this a belated gift for her. Happy unbirthday, Amy! I hope you enjoy your, er, special day...
Enjoy, and please review!~
"There is the greatest practical benefit in making a few failures early in life." - Thomas Henry Huxley
I like to think of growing up as a natural progression... as the years go by, so do you. Things change and you accustom to those changes.
(Though of course, some people grow up faster than others.)
And whatever my parents think, I believe that growing away from them, and their hold on me, is also a natural progression. Rebellion and wanting your own space... it's natural. I like to think that, in my case, it's my curiosity about the world that drives me forward.
(A poem I read recently, when my mother's sudden clingy behaviour was getting to me, described it as breaking the webs of their weaving. I think that fits so well to what I feel about becoming an adult – though of course, some people become an adult faster than others.)
It's by pain and bad experiences that we improve as people. Yes, we learn from the good ones, too, but making mistakes is a vital part of our development.
(That makes sense, don't you think? Though of course, not just anyone can see that. I keep trying to tell him that our disastrous first date was good for him, but he just won't listen.)
So, maturity. It's very good for you.
(The next day I told him that failure was the condiment that gives success its flavour and handed him the jar of mustard he'd kindly thrown at me when I shouted at him to just get some damn manners and pass it to me already, rather than try to tease me and play keep away. Teasing is nice when done at the right time, but, honestly, I wanted that mustard because I'd skipped lunch that day to look nice for him, and I was really hungry. I now realise that that's wrong because I'm now very, very mature, which is what this essay is supposed to be about.
Am I getting off topic, Professor?
I'm really stuck.)
Rose, I think you need to see me after class today. While you have some insightful points, this is not the kind of fluent and high-standard work that I have come to expect from you. I believe your mother was right: you're not concentrating well lately. This essay was supposed to be about what kind of person you will be when you leave school, not how stupid and inferior you think your boyfriend is.
To sum up this fluent and most definitely high-standard essay, by the time I am seventeen Scorpius Malfoy will be the most mature and handsome man to ever exist. He will be a god worshipped by all women and will have his pick of girls to throw jars of mustard at, should they deserve it, which they probably will but in his benevolent godlike-ness he will most likely forgive them. They will all think him anything but stupid and inferior.
(Seeing your criticism, however, I will take back what I said about our "disastrous first date" – it wasn't disastrous at all. In fact, it was amazing because I was with Scorpius, and what more could a girl want?)
When I am seventeen, I will be his chief worshipper and will give him gifts all the time, because maturity, in my view, is being able to think about other people.
–An essay by Rose Weasley.
I see this is no better than the first draft. Detention – both of you.