#7 | Musings with McGonagall

As McGonagall led him into the room, he had to make a conscious effort not to let his jaw drop. He had been raised to not appear dumbfounded by the ornate; it gave off an air of inexperience and naivete. Still, it was hard to be anything other than impressed by the Prefect Room.

A beautifully adorned, majestic staircase led from the door to the spacious opening room, lined by hanging chandeliers that seemed to sparkle with a thousand gemstones. The cool green color of the room gave off a soothing, relaxed feel- something he never would have anticipated, being that those were Slytherin colours- but it worked.

He felt a smile fighting to burst from his lips, despite his best efforts. "This is lovely, Professor," he said in as cool a voice as he could muster. He could compliment the digs without completely babbling on about how amazing and awe inspiring the whole room was.

"But I do know, of course, being a prefect means more than just having access to this room. When do my duties begin?" He was an Xcalyn, after all. He had to get to business sooner or later.

Anjay nodded. He assumed that patrol duties would comprise the majority of his prefect responsibilities. Personally he couldn't imagine student sneaking out after curfew- he'd never even dreamed of doing it himself- but apparently it was a pretty common thing. Anjay knew he'd be the type of prefect who wouldn't go easy on students found out late.

Professor McGonagall's words about a weight on his shoulders somewhat confused him. Did he have a weight on his shoulders? Sometimes it felt like it, but most of the time he just felt like he was having fun. Maybe that was the privilege of youth. Maybe when he was an adult and life wasn't just a game he'd have a different perspective on the whole thing.

It was a touching thing for her to say, though. It expressed a concern about him and an expression of hope for his well being. It almost felt like she was trying to relate to him. The thought seemed odd. He liked McGonagall and she was nice, but he realized in this moment he didn't know much about her. Was she pureblood or haldblood or Muggleborn? He had no idea.

"Why were we invited to have tea with the Minister today?" The question seemed to come out of nowhere and he was somewhat surprised with himself when he asked it. He had been wondering all morning and he didn't have the opportunity or, more realistically, courage to ask his mother when she first told him of the scenario. He had never questioned her before.

He doubted McGonagall would tell him much if there was some secret reason or ulterior motive or something, but Anjay didn't care. He was glad he'd asked.

Anjay wasn't at all surprised that McGonagall hadn't answered his question. In fact, he was more surprised that he'd had the gall to ask her so directly anyway. One thing that Anjay didn't like or understand about the way adults communicated was all the subterfuge, discretion, and secrecy. Why couldn't people just talk openly?

Something about them being here had the Professor distracted. It was unusual to see her this way; McGonagall had a well earned reputation for being fierce and stern and unmovable. She seemed preoccupied and it broke the illusion that she always had it together. It was a side of McGonagall Anjay realized few students had probably seen.

"I don't think I have any questions about my position or duties yet," he said in a measured tone. "I'm sure that questions will come up as I go along, and I'll be sure to seek you out when they do." He smiled at her and weighed his next words carefully. He knew he would be overstepping, but hadn't he already done that by asking about their afternoon tea so directly?

"Erm... is there... some portrait not where you expected it to be?" he said, inclining his head towards the vacant painting he'd noticed McGonagall looking at. It seemed like the least intrusive and nosy way to ask the question.

He immediately knew he'd gone too far. He felt his cheeks go red as shame washed over him- who was he, a student, a teenager, to be so familiar with his Professor? What right did he have to ask her something that was none of his business? His parents would be ashamed! He was ashamed of himself.

He nodded, knowing her dismissal of him was less of an option and more of a command. Still, he wanted to continue their conversation and wasn't ready to end his one-on-one time with her... it was a precious resource, and he would hate if he had just squandered it by being too nosy.

"Thank you, Professor," he said quietly. And then, before he turned to go, he added, "And please, forgive me... I shouldn't have been so familiar." It was the type of statement that would allow her to comment back and hopefully keep the conversation going, or if she didn't, it was a polite way to end their interaction.

He hoped she took the bait and kept him there, but he wasn't holding his breath.