The old man hobbles into the dean's office as fast as he can. He's fuming, the dean can tell.
"The boy's a punk, Fred," the old man mumbles as he storms in. "I don't know where he got it from."
The dean smirks. "Siddown, Shawn."
The old man lowers himself into a dusty armchair. His colleague flicks his wand in the old man's direction and sends a mug of tea floating towards him. The old man catches it midair and pulls a mint leaf out of his right thumb, laying it into the cup.
The dean sits down behind his desk. "Did you just come from seeing them?"
"Yes," the old man puts his hand over his face tiredly. "They don't wanna listen to me. Well, he doesn't listen to me. He doesn't believe anything I say."
"Well, would you?" the dean takes a sip from his own cup. "You're a stranger to him."
"He saw me watching them when they had birthdays at Grey John's," the old man tells his friend. "I didn't know that."
"That's not good," the dean states obviously. He stands. "But, cut him some slack. He saw his parents die and grew up in a home with no answers. Who would you trust?"
YOU ARE READING
The Forces
FantasíaThere's a maze. And an ocean, a great big, beautiful ocean, and it's just on the other side of the maze. I think that's all I remember about where I was. I think I could've been any age at all and this memory would've still stuck. That's because it...
