"Alright," Jacoba agreed with an amused grin.  She'd, initially, been concerned that she'd overstepped her bounds in questioning his field.  Unless she was mistaken, he seemed intrigued by it.  Lifting her glass from the table, Jacoba nodded as she took a sip, turning her attention to his elaboration.  They made sense and she understood them - as best as one could from the outside.  She'd, of course, never seen the class and she could only speculate as to how these people viewed non-magical culture.  But, she had a fairly decent guess, derived from a combination of Sasha's comments on school and Dreogan's sparse remarks on the topic. 

"Yeah- I get what you're saying," Jacoba admitted with a slight nod.  She set the glass down to free her hand and ran a finger through the condensation.  "I mean, I suppose I see how it's not that popular but -" 

Jacoba cast a playful glance at the fellow sitting next to her, hoping he'd continue to take her musing in good spirit.  Perhaps, she was carrying more of her year of education at the University with her - this was a rather common practice.  Getting drinks with professors after class to discuss or debate the concepts covered in class. Whether that was something English educators (and wizarding educators at that) were used to, Jacoba didn't know.  But, she supposed she would find out. 

"But, I can't help but think there's still more to it.  I get it - I can see how talking about small kitchen appliances can get old but it's not about the appliances, is it?  It's about what's behind them.  Okay, for instance - transportation.  That's - well, that seems like it should be more interesting, right?  I mean, modes of transportation - you could write a whole book on what the Tube says about culture, right?  What - Alright," Jacoba said, taking a break to take a drink of beer.  Once the glass had been set back down, she swiveled again towards Isaac.  "So, out of curiosity - as a wizard who studies us - what does the Tube say about us?  What's it for?"  Jacoba smirked, curiously at the fellow, clearly quite eager for his response.

While she talked Isaac took a few sips of beer.  If only more of his actually students took this much interest in further discussion he wouldn’t feel so often as if he were fighting some sort of losing battle.  There were many, he was certain, who would be happy to see his subject cut from the curriculum should the opportunity present itself.  It left few opportunities for him to actually have the challenge of a bit of conversation in his own field.

“I tend to think that if one rides the Tube long enough you can formulate a fairly good overview of British culture, especially popular culture,” he said.  “Where else can you find such an assortment of people gathered in one place and be bombarded by advertisements for whatever is currently popular?  Of course the danger there is one can over generalize.”

No two trips on London’s Underground were ever quite the same.  If it hadn’t been that the lure of the jungle had been stronger, he might have made a career out of simply riding the trains and taking notes on the goings on around him.  There had certainly been those who had tried to do so in the past.

“On the surface of course it appears to be just a simple mode of transportation,” he continued, “but for every subgroup within the Muggle world it’s something slightly different.  I mean, for the business folks it seems they use it as an office outside the office thanks to the latest gadgets.  Tourists use it as part of the London experience…my favorite is when you see them wearing the shirts that say ‘Mind the Gap’…The Americans it seems find this particularly amusing.”

Usually he could pick out the American tourists by the snickers at the decades old saying that had become staple announcement for the Underground.  Finally he added, “I think the most fascinating to observe though are those who are probably about your age, mostly because it tends to be the group I really can't make general statements about.  The Tube is a spot for socializing; I’ve seen napping, reading last minute assignments on the way to the university, planning weekend activities…whatever the case may be.  But there’s no definite answer for what the Tube is to any group of people.

“I think the main thing is sitting there just watching makes on realize just how diverse culture really is,” he told her.  “Many from the magical community don’t believe me when I try to explain how complicated it is to describe Muggle culture in a brief way.  They think we can simply stereotype and fit everyone into tidy little boxes, but it’s really not the case…You can’t fit people into a neat little mold.”

He took a sip of beer before speaking again, “It tends to tell me that society is fast paced and always on the go.  People tend to stay in motion even when they’re sitting there seemingly doing nothing.  You can find out about entertainment, literature, current events, fashion…whatever the case might be by simply sitting back and watching.  It’s purpose may be transportation but I would say that really it’s London’s cultural mixing bowl.”

It wasn't like Jacoba had any preconceived notions of what kind of answer the fellow would give.  She knew little about him, beyond his occupation and, admittedly, she knew little about his occupation beyond the title of the class.  She had broached the question out of pure curiosity - perhaps, in some ways, trying to gauge what he though of their so-called muggle culture just as much as she was still trying to feel out this foreign wizarding culture. 

Regardless of her expectations, though, (or lack thereof), she was impressed with his answer.  For an answer with the brevity one might expect during a casual over-beer conversation, it revealed a fairly decent level of observations.  Perhaps that was the researcher in the man - she doubted most muggle parents would recognize as many of the subcultures as he had.  There were more, of course.  Some, she suspected, even he wasn't aware of - purely because they probably required a bit more personal experience with that culture to recognize them: the students playing hookie, the college student who used the trains to get high, the closet adventurer who dreamed of freeing himself from his desk job but who lacked the real courage to do so. 

Or, perhaps, he was aware of them - he was just keeping the answer brief in honor of the casual conversation. 

But, finally, the Professor admitted to a facet of the answer that was out of his research league.  Her age group.  An amused smirk settled on her face and she nodded her head.  Their generation was, perhaps, the most complicated - things simply moved faster and changed faster.  Faster than most muggle youth could even keep up with, let alone those in the magical community who were trying to keep track.  Watching Dreogan get stumped by her mobile phone simply because it had different buttons seemed a pretty blatant indicator.  If muggle culture was getting boiled down to toasters it seemed that pivotal facet of muggle culture was getting overlooked.  How many muggles even gave themselves enough time in the morning to make toast?

"You should definitely ride the Tube with a native.  Sounds like you've got a good start but, you're right, the younger set's hard to make assumptions about.  And, they'd hate you for making assumptions, anyway.  Got to admit, I find it interesting that the ones you do come up with seem to share a common faith that when young kids on the Tube, they're doing things they should be doing.  Studying, socializing.  The worst you've pegged us for is napping."  Was that wizarding perspective or was that his own personality? 

A smirk formed on his lips that matched that of his companion as she pointed out that there were several other activities that those of a younger age bracket might engage in while riding the Underground.  He had the sense that there was probably experience behind her statement that not all of the ‘kids’ were doing what they should be doing, but he didn’t comment on that as he took another sip of his drink.  After years of studying people, specifically Muggles, he had learned there was always a story to be discovered.

“Perhaps I just prefer to give people the benefit of the doubt,” he told her.  “If I have to make an assumption I’d rather see the glass as half full rather then half empty.  Maybe it sets me up for a bit of disappointment from time to time, but not always.”

Of course the half full theory didn’t extend to every aspect of his life, but that didn’t particularly matter at that moment.  When meeting people he tried not to make negative assumptions, or at least ones that seemed negative in his mind.  Perhaps it meant occasionally he would find himself being taken advantage of, but he still wasn’t able to go into things always assuming the worst of the other person.

“So, let’s say we were sitting next to each other on the Tube,” he continued after a moment, “what else might you point out to me for research purposes?”

Perhaps it was a bit of a loaded question, but his curiosity was peaked.  He wasn’t naďve, despite his attempt to remain positive in regards to other people.  It had served him well as a teacher as it had always been a bit easier for him to ensure that he did not say things that would only upset the students’ parents.  Yet, there were time when having adult, non-school related conversations that is was difficult to completely let go of his habits.

A slight chuckle escaped Jacoba and she lifted the glass of beer with both hands to take a slow sip.  She could only imagine the amount of time a sociology class could spend on discussing the subcultures of the Tube.  Toasters - she could see how that could get old.  There wasn't really much to them.  You stuck bread in, you pushed the button and, suddenly, toast came out.  If it weren't for Ghostbusters II, it seemed there'd be little to say about them. The dancing toaster was pretty funny, though.

"I can see that," Jacoba admitted, giving the beer glass a suggestive half-hoist.  The type of man that bought random girls beers in pubs in random towns in Scotland were probably likely to try to see the better in people.  Of course, "I can see how it's better to see the better in people.  Though you run the risk of missing half of the picture."    Though she could see how others would see it that way, she didn't think it was a matter of seeing the worst in people.  It was more a matter of being realistic.  But, then, she often could understand why people were justified in doing what they shouldn't.  There were times when it was necessary. 

Swiveling slightly towards the fellow again, she considered his question a moment over a sip of beer.  "Well - for research purposes, of course, I'd point out how underground trains are so - well, you know, they're interesting.  I mean, there are some adults that use it for its basic purpose.  You know, getting to and from work and all that.  They're kind of seem the exception, though.  For most - it's like the trains are social hiding places, you know?  It's a place where people can hide without being alone.  Some people prefer to ride independently, some only travel in packs."

She took another sip of her drink before regarding the man a moment.  "I guess I'd want to point out that it's alright to talk to them?  They'll think you're weird but what kid doesn't like to talk about themselves?" 

He turned his stool a bit in Jacoba's direction so he could continue the conversation without having to keep his head turned at an angle.  There were times in life it seemed when one went into a situation assuming it would be no different from ever other time they had done something similar only to be pleasantly surprised.  The afternoon had started as an escape from copious notes and hiding from ‘babysitting’ duties.  The Hogshead also wasn’t usually the first place he went for good conversation, so the whole occurrence was a double surprise.

Though you run the risk of missing half of the picture.

It was a valid point, and ironic when considering the difference in how he viewed people verses situations.  He tended to expect the best from others and it seemed the worst from the actual events, something had had never really stopped to consider before until his mind pieced it all together.  She turned towards him then, and he listened as she explained her view point on the Underground.

"I guess I'd want to point out that it's alright to talk to them?  They'll think you're weird but what kid doesn't like to talk about themselves?"

There was a soft laugh as he realized just how well he knew that the statement was almost always true.  Yes, there were a few specific cases of the more socially awkward, as he himself had been in his youth, but most could go on for hours when asked about to leading questions about themselves and their activities.  Most kids simply wanted to be heard, something he, even in his thirties, could relate to at times.

“Yeah…I’ve noticed that from time to time,” he mused with a bit of a smirk.  “It makes perfect sense though; people by nature are social beings, so why wouldn’t we choose to hide among a crowd?  The same could be said for most activities…shopping, going to a sporting event, sitting in a pub drinking a beer…”  As he mentioned the last one he couldn’t help but grin knowing he was guilty of hiding in public by choosing to sit at the bar alone instead of talking to any number of minor acquaintances who might be at one of the tables.

Isaac swiveled on his stool towards her and a soft, subtle smirk played across her mouth.  Who would have thought - not fifteen months ago, she'd been sitting in a pub (well, biergarten) in Munich explaining to her adviser that, as much as she loved her studies  - as much as she loved being in Munich - she was quitting school. 

A fascination - bordering on obsession - with the White Rose and the Scholl siblings had led her to study History and, more specifically, to study History at the University of Munich.  She'd just severed all ties with her family - had believed herself free from them totally and permanently.  Tossing herself in the history of the anti-national socialistic student movement had been her own mental redemption.  But, it had taken only a matter of months of immersing herself in the history to grow restless and impatient.  She didn't want to be reading about the redemption!  She wanted to be doing it!  Sophie Scholl hadn't simply read all the anti-Nazi history.  She'd used it.  Had risked everything to use it.  She had been living history at its finest. 

Jacoba had left school with the hopes that she'd find her place somehow in Amsterdam.  A new start, her own redemption.  And, here she was.  In a pub in Scotland.  Talking to a Professor.  About social behavior.  And, a wizarding professor in a wizarding pub at that.  The smirk grew a moment and she laughed.  With a shake of her head, she turned her own stool until her back was to the bar and she was facing out into the pub room.  Like Alice though the looking glass, she was back where she started but it was all different.  And, she was no closer to finding her place. 

And, the Tube was still the same escape.

"Because we're hiding, but we're not.  We may be sitting in this pub where no one knows us and no one wants to talk to us.  But, their presence is the confirmation of our own presence.  Without them, we may be a tree falling in a forest with no one to hear."  She cocked her head to the side to look at the man next to her, considering him a moment before shrugging.  "And, it's always nice to know there's a room full of people who aren't so sure about everything, either."

She chuckled and then added with a broad grin.  "I'm still trying to find a more significant, deeper meaning to toasters to make them more exciting.  All I'm coming up with is the epic battle between the poptarts groupies and the toaster strudel groupies." 

A small tawny owl came swooping in through the pub door and landed on the bar top, immediately lifting its note-bound leg in front of Jacoba.  She stared at it a moment before recognizing it as Dreogan's.  "I'm sorry - that's still just too weird."  She breathed to no one in particular.  Then, to Isaac: "how do you know if it's going to bite?"

At the mention of finding a deeper meaning for toasters, his grin matched hers as he chuckled at the statement.  Toasters might have been his old nemesis, but he couldn’t help being amused by the thought.  It seemed if anyone could help facilitate a conversation to find their deeper meaning beyond warring pre-made breakfast pastries it would be the young woman sitting next to him.

“Two very formidable opponents, I would say,” he quipped lightly, taking another sip of his quickly disappearing beer.

An owl flew into the bar, landing in front of Jacoba.  It looked like the one that had been used to carry correspondences between Dreogan and himself when they had discussed possible candidates for Ministry internships. Chasca, his own owl, a smaller hawk owl had grown quite jealous during that time that he many of his replies were sent using the tawny.  It had taken several weeks of extra treats to convince her to stop nipping at his fingers whenever he tried to actually get her to carry a letter for him.

"I'm sorry - that's still just too weird.”

He smiled slightly, drinking the last of his beer and setting the empty glass on the bar.  A Muggle might possibly understand the use of a pigeon to carry some sort of message, but he could see how an owl might appear strange.  He refrained from commenting that it would probably not be the weirdest thing she encountered while in the Wizarding community as her question about biting had him fishing in the pocket of his jacket for the unused treat he had brought with him that morning to Hogwart’s owlery.

“Try offering this first,” he said, holding out the treat for Jacoba to make use of.  “I had to send a correspondence this morning and I know my owl much prefers to be bribed a bit before I expect too much of her.  It’s not a guarantee, but it generally helps.”

There was just a hint of a you've got to be kidding as Jacoba grinned at the fellow.  They were hardly formidable opponents.  They belonged to such different social stratospheres - kids that were content with pre-iced cheap, mass-produced toaster pastries and those that felt the need for fresh pre-packaged icing to put on their own cheap, flaky, mass-produced toaster pastries.  Clearly, this was a subtle nuance of muggle culture he was, as of yet, unaware of. 

Hopefully, some poor soul would take pity on him and enlighten him one day. 

Lifting her beer glass to her lips, Jacoba swallowed a mouthful before taking the treat.  Just way too weird.  As long as she didn't go in a petfood mega-mart asking for owl treats, it would all be good.  But, as instructed, she held out the piece, grinning as it was eased from between her fingers.  As the owl munched on the treat, she quickly untied the note and unrolled it. 

"Scheiße!" Jacoba lifted the glass and downed the rest of the beer before pushing herself to her feet and hoisting her bag to her back.  "I - sorry.  My brother's already in London.  They had a change of plans."  She glanced around the pub and patted her pockets.  Suddenly she glanced at Isaac with an apologetic smirk.  "Sorry to drink and run - but, overnight train back to London leaves at nine thirty - if I hustle, I might make it.  And, I don't fancy sleeping in the station tonight."  She would, of course.  She'd done so many times before but it was never very comfortable.

Clearly whatever was in the note was important, as Isaac watched Jacoba scurrying to get herself together and prepare to leave.  He had known about Sasha’s upcoming trip to London, but he had realized the young man had already left.  If the thought of her hiking the two and a half hours back to the main road wasn’t enough to give him pause, the thought of her sleeping in a train station certainly did.  Taking some money from his pocket he set it on the bar an idea coming to his mind.  There were those who probably wouldn’t like what he was about to do, but somehow he found he’d rather deal with that then learning something happened to her after the fact.

“I don’t particularly fancy that idea either,” he said.  “I think I have a solution for you…It will probably seem as weird as owls carrying letters and everything else you’ve encountered, but it will get you from here to London in a matter of moments.  It will save you the hike and possibly having to camp out at the train station.”

He motioned to the fireplace with the small container hanging on the wall, rising from his stool.  He could imagine how it all must seem to her, how completely foreign the use of magic must be.  The floo network would be no different, but it was available for use and would solve the problem of getting her to London quickly.

“You can use the floo network…It’s fairly simply really, you just toss the powder, climb in and state where it is you want to go as long as it’s connected to the network.  It’s completely safe…but you have to make sure you say the name of the destination clearly or you might end up somewhere else entirely,” he told her.

Her bag was on her back, her feet turned towards the door and her momentum already building for a hasty trek down the mountainside.  This was, more than likely, the type of scenario that would lead to one of those injuries that left her lingering on the hillside for days until help managed to find her.  It wasn't a pleasant thought to ponder. 

She'd already started towards the door when Isaac offered a solution.  She paused in her tracks, turning back towards him, giving his explanation her full attention.  It sounding weird seemed less than important at the moment - she'd figured out owls, she could figure out ... whatever this was.  "I don't mind missing out on that," she admitted with a grateful though slightly impatient grin. 

She followed the fellow to the fireplace and watched as he took down the container.  He explained the procedure after which Jacoba simply stood and stared at him.  "Climb in?"  She repeated, glancing between the fireplace and Isaac.  "This a joke?"  A nice, healthy (and quite hot) fire was crackling away in the hearth.  "Do the flames part?  And you walk through?  Or ... how do you keep from getting burned?" 

He somehow was not entirely surprised by her response of This a joke?  It seemed like a completely crazy idea, sometimes even to those who had traveled by floo on countless occasions.  To believe that simply because one threw some powder on the fire they could then walk directly into the flames without injury to a Muggle must have seemed like a disaster in the making.  There were times that magic was a test of faith.

“The powder makes it safe to do so without getting burned,” he told her.  “The flames will turn green which means they are harmless and the user to step into them without being burned.  I could try to explain it all to you…what they use to make the powder and the spells, but that could take a while and I now you’re in a hurry.  I assure you that this is perfectly safe…it’s used every day in the magical community by countless people.  I’m not sure if you’ve been to Diagon Alley before, but that might be the easiest one for you to use.”

It probably did little to reassure her that she would indeed arrive at her destination unharmed, but he doubted she would appreciate the amount of time it would take to fully explain the entire process.  While trying to explain something magical to a Muggle might make for an interesting change of pace, this was not the time for that experiment.

“I know this isn’t really one of those situations that inspire a lot of trust…meeting a strange in a pub in the middle of nowhere,” he continued after a moment.  “But, you have my word you will arrive burn free in no time and no camping at a station will be required.”

He was marginally right.  On some level there was a leap of faith in this whole concept of magic and its limitations.  But, the reality was that was all secondary to the requisite leap of faith in Isaac.  How much did she really believe this stranger was telling her the truth?  Whether or not the magic made sense was less important than the important question: how likely was it this fellow was feeding her a load of BS?  If he was, she'd be in a lot of pain and would, likely, be more humiliated than she could recall being.  Who really got talked into walking into fires?

Her, apparently. 

Mostly because her alternatives were extremely limited.  The only one she had herself relied on the chance of actually hitching a ride to the train station within half an hour of reaching the highway.  If it happened to be rush hour on that remote stretch of Scottish highway, she might have a chance. 

"If this is a joke, I won't be amused," she said, approaching the fireplace.  Just so they were on an even keel.  "Or, I'll be impressed.  Depends on how original the joke is."  If this was the wizarding equivalent of telling kids they needed to drink water upside down to stop hiccups (just to see if they'd do it) than she'd be far less impressed.  Well, standing around, trying to convince oneself the water was colder than it looked didn't exactly make the water any warmer.  You still had to, eventually, launch yourself into it. 

"So, I say Diagon Alley?"  She asked, fishing a handful of the (really weird) powder from the jar by the hearth, watching as a few granules slid between her fingers.  With another glance towards the fellow, Jacoba tossed the powder in the hearth and jumped slightly as the flames turned a brilliant, deep shade of green.  Well - so far, so good.  Jacoba tentatively reached her hand out to feel the fire's warmth.  She could feel the breath of the flames but, no matter how far in the flames she batted her hand, she couldn't feel the heat. 

After nodding towards the fellow, Jacoba took a deep breath and stepped into the flames. 

For a moment he wasn’t entirely sure if she was going to trust his word or make a run for the door.  He could try to put himself in her shoes.  There were many people who would try to take advantage of someone in her position, and he knew he’d worry more if she wasn’t at least a little hesitant.  In another situation he might have been concerned at her willingness to at least give using the floo network a go, but given the time constraints and her alternative he was relieved.

“Yes…” he answered as she took some of the powder.  “Just make sure you say it as clearly as possible, and I would recommend keeping your arms at your sides.  That’s just a precaution.”

She tossed the powder and he watched her jump slightly as the flames turned the usual green color that accompanied it.  Part of him was truly curious as to what it was that might be going through her head as she reached out cautiously to test the flames.  Having spent so much time studying Muggle culture he had never really consider what it must be really like to experience it as someone who had never thought magic could be real, despite his mother’s stories.

He watched her step into the flames staying until he was sure she was safely off.  The last thing he really wanted to do was have to explain to Sasha why it was his sister ended up who knows where thanks to his advice.  There was a thought in the back of his mind that perhaps he should worry she had trusted him at all seeing as she didn't know anything about him outside a brief conversation and a few statements Sasha had apparently made in exchanged letters.  He pushed that aside reminding himself that the alternative was a rather lengthy trip back to London and much more worrisome in his eyes.

There were those who probably wouldn't find the fact that he had introduced her to the floo network amusing, yet if anyone had really asked him they would realize he had stopped agreeing completely with the need for the Statute of Secrecy years ago.  His somewhat blind acceptance of the law had started to unravel during his first trip to the Amazon when a tribe they were studying was run off of their lands by a group of ranchers and the realization there was little that could be done without breaking the laws that had been in place for centuries.

It was this thought that reminded him there was work waiting for him back at the castle as he watched the green flames within the fireplace.