2030 hours, Headmistress' Office


Pensively, she stared at the Gargoyle.

What would Roger have called it? A right ol' ugly bastard. He had a way with words, her squib, that didn't have anything to do with eloquence. Raine breathed out heatedly and looked down at the folded note that she had received from the Headmistress earlier in the day.

Not that there had been an outburst at breakfast, when the Gryffindor had first read the news[1] - nor when one of her housemates had brought it up in lessons, nor when she spotted the Lemon sisters at dinner. If anything she'd been extremely well-contained. The note was unnecessary.

"Licorice tarts," Raine sighed the password and the statue swung open smoothly. "Right. Come on, Maurice." The black cat hopped on the stairwell with his master, as it began to twist upwards. Her hair was wet and her eyes dry- she'd been instructed to come just after Astronomy but had taken a detour for a quick shower. The smell of soap and perfume was lovely. Clean, sterile.

The stairs brought her to the office, door ajar, and Raine hesitated before pushing it completely open. She held Headmistress McGonagall in high regard but the room didn't inspire anxiety- it had only been one or two months ago that she was here to turn in her Prefect badge.

"Hello?" she knocked needlessly. "Professor?"

1.	Arthur Lemon's escape.

It had always been clear, at least to those in the profession of teaching, that a school was nothing more than a miniature version of the world around them. Sometimes, it even seemed as if things within Hogwarts were more dire than the issues of the world revolving around them. It was certainly true that children were much more cruel than their adult counterparts, and the extreme absolutism in teens, with their positivity that they knew everything, was taxing at the best of times.

When the Almasy girl entered the room, the Headmistress of Hogwarts was standing before the great window in her office, staring out pensively into the depths of the night. The stars were full and bright, and Minerva spared a quick thought toward the Astronomy classes and if the students were enjoying such a clear night for stargazing. It was doubtful, if the chill of the air was any indication.

"Hello? Professor?"

Minerva turned her sharp gaze from the window and gave Raine a small nod before striding toward the desk. “Thank you for meeting me tonight, Miss Almasy. Take a seat,” She paused long enough to indicate a chair in front of the desk, and to take in Raine’s appearance. Noting the girl’s wet hair, she offered a tight-lipped smile. Usually Minerva wasn’t a fan of students veering from her instructions, but in this case, it was simply better not to push the issue.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?” She asked as she lowered herself gently into the high-backed chair that seemed to dominate the room.

It had been a long day and she didn't think twice about obeying the order to take a seat, prim in her posture.

Maurice curled himself around one leg of the chair, resigned to a lack of curiousity that was unusual in felines. He eyed the Headmistress' clicking heels as she took her place across the wide desk, then the cat lowered its head into a deep sleep. Raine smiled politely at the older witch, more awake than she had been in Astronomy.

"Yes, please." There was always time for tea and it would give her something to do with her hands while they spoke. "That's very kind of you," she spoke courtesies in the same way they had when visitors came calling to offer condolences, those two summers ago. "With milk."

Never refuse kindnesses, mother had said. They were rare things and people always meant well by them.

Raine tried to keep her attention on McGonagall but, much like her hands, she could not keep it from wandering ever since the morning. Her gaze trailed lambently across the desk, the portraits of past school masters giving mixed looks, an odd decoration or two that suited the room's current tenant better than its predecessors. Everything gleamed richly and with secret knowledge barely within grasp.

"I know why I'm here," the Gryffindor tested her temerity by bringing it up first. "At least I think I do. Unless I'm in trouble, that is." Raine looked back at McGonagall with a wrinkle in her forehead all of a sudden. "I'm... um, I'm not in trouble am I?"

As she was recently discovering after all, anything was possible.

The owl on its perch by Minerva’s desk hooted indignantly at the invasion of her space by yet another feline and took flight, gliding over the heads of the two witches before flying off into the night sky, eager to catch a mouse or frog or other unsuspecting creature for its dinner. Minerva’s own cat familiar barely even raised its head in a curious gesture before sinking back to sleep in the tartan cat bed she called her own.

The headmistress settled comfortably into her seat, and with a point of her wand set the kettle to boil in the roaring fireplace. A light smile lifted Minerva’s wizened features at Raine’s babble. “A better question, Miss Almasy, is have you done anything you should be in trouble for? I can assure you that punishment and reprimand were not the basis of this meeting, but if you’d like for it to be…” Minerva’s voice trailed off, allowing the implications of her words to sink in.

“Why do you think you’re here?” She asked. The transfiguration expert had always found it more productive to allow the students to dictate the conversation in one on one experiences, you found out so much more that way. Reaching across the desk, Minerva grabbed a tin of biscuits and pushed it toward the younger Gryffindor in an obvious offer for her to indulge if she wanted. Sweets seemed to soften most situations, a truth that held for both children and adults.