Serious Discussion PV Artemis Vernatis Closed

A nod was given to the request and Artemis moved through a door in the office into his personal quarters to start some tea and grab a bottle of pumpkin juice from his icebox. It was a bit unconventional, but the whole House Elf situation was still up in the air and he had no idea if they were back in the castle and working happily as they once were or if they were still missing. So Artemis brought in a Muggle refrigerator from over the break and put a permanent cooling charm on it so that anything he tossed inside would stay cold. Thinking about it a bit more...he grabbed two bottles of butterbeer as well just in case Caradoc was thirsty as well. Finally, he grabbed a pitcher and filled it with cold water, grabbed a few cups from the cupboard, and put them all on a tray together with the tea that had finished boiling while he was looking around for other refreshments.

Levitating the tray behind him, Artemis walked back through the door to where the other two wizards were waiting for him and set it down on his desk. "I wasn't sure what you both wanted to drink, so I bought a little bit of everything that I had. There's tea, butterbeer, pumpkin juice, and water."

The younger man smiled to himself as he thought about the quirked eyebrow from his friend at the thought of having one his students punching a bag to relieve some stress, but it worked for Art when he was a troubled student, so he figured that it could work for young Mr. Henry. But now that the boy's pseudo-father was here, maybe he would be more willing to open up to the Head of his house rather than a measly Charms professor.

Instead of asking the lad if there was anything he wanted to discuss further from his outburst just moments ago, Artemis poured himself some tea and leaned against his desk, drinking slowly as he watched everything unfold. He only hoped that George would willingly open up to the two men.

George sputtered out an outraged scoff in response to Caradoc's question regarding his plan. What good was a plan? From where George was standing, the whole situation was hopeless. There was no MacGyvering out of a bad reputation. All he could think of were nuclear options - changing his name and transferring schools? Obliviating the event from everyone's minds? Maybe over the summer he could just snap his wand in half like a chopstick and go back to the muggle life that had treated him so well. Each plan that flickered in his mind stoked up his desire for an immediate solution. The boy's eyes lingered on the punching bag, but he restrained himself, not wanting to look like a psycho in front of his head of house.

"I didn't hurt myself," George lied. Not badly enough to warrant any sort of parental preening that the older Hufflepuff no doubt intended to deliver. The trademark sickly sweetness of his house. The boy had no intention of demonstrating that for Artemis. Hufflepuffs like him were made of harder stuff and wouldn't be crying over some boo-boos that they'd gotten from an inanimate object. Besides, it was especially pathetic to be beaten up by a literal punching bag, even for a Hufflepuff.

The young man's facial expression relaxed as he saw the professor return with refreshments. Well, great. We'll all have a little cry and talk it out over tea, the way his mother resolved fights between him and Sam back home. "Can I have some juice?" the boy asked. Nothing soothes the soul like a sugary drink.

"What am I meant to do?" George asked, looking up at Caradoc. His hand were still squeezed into fists, knocking together his white knuckles as he looked at the bag again. He felt a bit better after he hit it, and he missed the warmth of the gloves, but he was trying his best to act professional in the circumstances. But the consideration of his circumstances was a knock to his stability, and it showed - the boy clenching his jaw shut tight, eyes closing for a moment as he processed things. "I just don't think it's fair that it's my fault. I was just trying to help. But it... it is my fault, too, because I'm the one who did it. So I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

He took a small step back, shifting his weight onto his heels to try and put a bit of physical distance between himself and the men to compensate for the closing of the emotional distance. "It's stupid, and I can't fix it." Insulting the situation made him feel almost as good as punching an inanimate object.