Inner struggles PV Professor McTavish Closed

To find Boniface out and about was unusual. The man didn't shed his reclusive habits when he started this job, much to his dismay, as he hoped to be a little bit more interactive with his students than he currently was. However, Boniface was a Gryffindor, after all, and so he was willing to try anything. Though, it wasn't that he was looking for a student to strike up a conversation with on this Saturday morning. In fact, that was coincidental, considering his desire to become the most popular professor here at Hogwarts (though this task was contradicting his current nature).

In his old age, the man found himself bearing wisdom that he hadn't before. Words in which he knew not that he possessed. It was a blessing, in a sense, that he could spout out, off of the top of his head, some sort of comforting nonsense. He had lived and he had learned, whereas his students were currently acquiring both life and education. Education not so much that they went to school, but more so learning the meaning of life and their purpose in the world.

But none of that was on the mind of the Scottish man this Saturday morning. What was on his mind was how the seasons were changing. He watched as leaves fell and blew in the hushed wind; he watched as the skies faded from a blinding blue to a crisp grey; he could see the change in the way his students dressed. Scarves were being acquired, and his own (bearing a maroon and gold pattern with the Gryffindor emblem on it) would soon begin to hang around his neck, protecting him from the crisp air that bit at the skin of humans.

Autumn was a dead season to many. The time in which the beautiful flowers died and everything got cold. Even your own body might shrink into itself, looking for a sort of warmth and comfort; the one that summer brought you. But to Boniface, he saw it as much more. It was a harvesting season, and in fact, there were relatively many herbs that still survived the winter. Not only that, but there were magical plants as well. The Shrivelfig, for example, could survive such a harsh climate. There was beauty even in death.

Some people, however, particularly the younger ones who had yet to be blessed with the wisdom of a Scottish recluse, did not take to life so kindly. That was seen ever so clearly in the sobbing girl who resided not too many feet before him. It was impossible to remember the name of every student, as he had so many, so he felt a little bad about not remembering this one, especially given her current circumstances. He would be an awful professor to just let her mull it over by herself. No, Boniface had a conscience. He wouldn't leave this girl unattended.

"To weep is to make less the depth of grief." Boniface wisely quoted, using the words of William Shakespeare instead of trying to find his own. "That's Shakespeare," He followed up, eyes shifting from her toward the distance. "I couldn't tell ye what it means, as it means whatever ye want it to." His voice was gruff, but in a calming way (if there was such a way with a voice like his). His attempt to reach out to her may have been in vain, but it was a start if any.

His greying eyes peered down at her again. "What is it that's troubling ye, lass?" Thick eyebrows raised in curiosity, though his face didn't appear to be otherwise sympathetic. It wasn't that he lacked sympathy, because if he did, he wouldn't have approached her to begin with, it was more so that his curiosity outweighed that factor greatly. There were other questions that must be answered before deciding on one emotion.

The man's face scrunched up. He never was good with comforting people, especially not kids. It wasn't that he was heartless or lacked empathy; he just wasn't in the situation enough to know how to handle it. That being said, Boniface felt his heart sunk, knowing that he wouldn't do well to help the girl. He might have approached her with some feeling of empathy in his heart, but did not take into account that he couldn't back out once he was here.

He cleared his throat, wondering where to begin. "I'm sorry to hear that, lass." He replied, nodding his head slowly. He could spew Shakespeare quotes all day, but seldom did he know the right words, ones that belong to him, that would make this okay.

"It doesn't get better," He started again after a long pause. "Only easier."

Boniface had lost someone too. A loving girl by the name of Rosalinda. The love of his life, dare he call her that. At the age of 23, she was gone as quick as she came. The days rolled by and she never reappeared the way he hoped that she would. It wasn't fair that someone so young and gentle would be taken so soon, but such is life. He felt this student's pain.

Everything that he planned to say felt like the wrong thing. Like he didn't know how to respond without hurting her even more. "Ye haven't failed 'im," He replied, cocking his head to one side. "You're talking to me, aren't you? Besides, these things take time. Ye can't change the way ye are overnight. That's impossible." He didn't know what else to say, but he hoped the reassurance was good for her.