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Counseling


Professor McGonagall barely looked up from the papers she was grading when James and Sirius entered. She nodded for them to have a seat at the table in the corner and turned back to the scrolls she was perusing. James dropped his textbooks on the table with a thump and fished about in his bookbag for a quill and ink pot, flipping open his Defense textbook and looking down at it as the clock on the mantel ticked loudly and Sirius leaned back in his chair, his finger laced over his chest, staring up at the ceiling.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

James looked up.

“Due to all of the… excitement this past week… we haven’t had an opportunity to go over your career counseling. Did the pair of you happen to bring your parchments on why you’ve chosen your selected career interests?”

James opened his bag and fished about. “I brought it,” he said.

Sirius shook his head. He hadn’t even completed it yet. He’d written across the top What I Want to Be and then proceeded to day dream up stupid rubbish. Free, Sirius Lupin, Not a Black, as fucking fabulous as I am right now.

McGonagall nodded to James. “Bring it here, Mr. Potter.” She looked at Sirius. “Mr. Black, if you would kindly fetch yours, we will begin while you’re gone.”

“Yes Madam.” Sirius hoped he could find answers that he could write about quickly.

James went up to Professor McGonagall as she beckoned for him to approach her desk. He dropped the parchment down before her and sat as she lifted it up and tilted her glasses to have a look at it. She pursed her lips.

Career Counseling, by J. Potter
Auror
I would like to enlist in the Auror training following my time at Hogwarts. It seems both exciting and helpful at once. I’d like to one day join the resistance and protect people who are in need of help. I hate it when nobody helps someone who needs it, or when people are mean at others. I want to help defeat Voldemort.


“I know we were supposed to pick three things from the pamphlets to discuss, but there wasn’t three I was interested in discussing,” James said. “I sort of made up my mind.”

Professor McGonagall looked up, and a funny sort of expression was on her face. Something between worry and pride. She nodded. “Being an auror is a very dangerous occupation,” she said in a warning tone. “Especially in this time. Especially in the Resistance. I do not need to tell you what happened to Derek Bell.”

“I know,” James said. “I know it’s dangerous. I don’t care.”

McGonagall nodded, “Very dangerous. But it’s also a very noble choice. You’d be quite good at it.”

James looked up at her. “I just want to be something in all this, I want to do something.”

“I understand.”

“I just get so angry about it. About what You Know Who does and the people he hurts… kills… What his followers do. Like what happened to Mary Macdonald. That makes me angry. I just sit and I think like what if that was… was one of my friends that happened to? What if it’d been Evans?” His face turned red just thinking of it. “And all the rubbish that Rosier did to Remus all through third and fourth year, what with that horrible stamp on his back and cutting off Sirius’s hair?” Jame balled his fist. “And Voldemort killing - killing and destroying… turning out idiot parents like the Blacks and stealing freedoms from young lads like Regulus Black.”

McGonagall nodded throughout all of this. “I understand, Mr. Potter.”

James cleared his throat. “Anyway, that’s what I want to be. Impossible with my grades, yeah?” He sighed.

She paused, “Actually your grades aren’t without a hope for the program.” McGonagall opened a drawer and waved her wand and a bit of parchment flew into her hand. She looked it over carefully a moment, then, “Your Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts grades are very good.”

“Those are my favorite subjects.”

“Charms is passable… Divination’s a bit...er, questionable.”

“Hate that class. You know she has us dancing around a firepit and reading smoke signs?”

“Ms. Clearwater is from a very specific background,” McGonagall said, “It may seem odd, but it is quite powerful work.”

“I just don’t enjoy making an idiot of myself flapping my arms about like a bird and dancing around a big bowl.” James paused, thinking of the charcoal drawing of Number 12, of the face of Maryrose in the markings and the accuracy with which that drawing had predicted the things that happened in January. He paused, “But I s’pose it does have merit.”

McGonagall’s eyes were still roving the paper in her hand. “The most worrisome thing I see is Potions, but it looks as though your grades have improved vastly this term.”

“Yeah.” James paused, “Potions has - er - gotten more interesting this term.”

“More interesting?” McGonagall looked over the rim of her glasses at him.

“Yeah.”

McGonagall looked back down. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with the recent change of partners in the class would it?”

James blushed.

“Well. Miss. Evans is doing you quite the favor, bringing your grade up. I would just be sure to be paying attention to the Potions themselves as well as the… scenery… and be sure to study extra hard for that O.W.L.”

“Yes m’am.”

The door burst opened and Sirius came back in. He’d sat on a plinth down the hall at the feet of one of the suits of armor and written out what he had with the parchment leaning against his knee. McGonagall wiggled her fingers, beckoning for the sheet, and Sirius looked down at it, then handed it over to her, sitting in the chair beside James.

McGonagall’s eyes moved over the parchment.

Professional Illusionist
Sure its a muggle profession, but it’s basically just pulling pranks upon the muggles, isn’t it? Slight of hand and all that. I’d like to wow the muggles and perform stupid parlour tricks for their entertainment. They wouldn’t know its real magic and now and then I’ll fuck up just so they can say I’m fake and wonder how I do it.

Shopkeeper, Quality Quidditch Supplies
I fancy selling James his professional equipment when he makes a national team. One day I’ll sell him the gear he uses to bloody win the World Cup. Also free tickets to Professional Matches will be quite stellar.

Punk Rock Singer
I’m fabulous and good looking, I can play the guitar and sing. I should like to headline a tour ‘round the world, like Deep Purple. Only more badass and with louder guitars. I’ll make a list of the Little People I wish to remember once I’ve become a famous star so my ego doesn’t grow quite as large as Potter’s. I’ll do a lot of sleeping around and drugs and live a very rock n’ roll lifestyle and probably die young like Jim Morrison, but it’ll be fucking brilliant while it lasts.


Professor McGonagall looked up from the parchment.

“Mr. Black.”

Sirius grinned. “Yes?”

McGonagall looked at James. “Mr. Potter, you’re excused. “

“But detention --”

“Is over. Go enjoy your birthday.” She looked at Sirius. “You. Stay.”

Sirius said, “Aw c’mon, Minnie, I wanna go enjoy his birthday, too. None of that rubbish I put on that list requires any counseling.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Black, it requires quite a bit of counseling.”

James raised an eyebrow, “What did you do?” he asked, looking at Sirius.

“I’m going to be a famous singer, Prongs. Like Jim Morrison.” Sirius paused, then started singing, “You know that it would be untrue… you know that I would be a liar… If I was to say to you… Girl… We couldn’t get much higher… C’mon Minnie, light my fire!”

McGonagall’s lips were a tight line.

“I’m serenading you, Minnie, love,” Sirius said. “This is the part where you swoon.”

McGonagall looked at James. “Potter. Out.”

James was laughing and stood up, “Good luck, mate,” he said to Sirius, “You’re on your own.” And he got up and headed for the corridor. Truth be told, he was just glad to see a smile on Sirius’s face that didn’t seem fake or awkward, and it had been some time since Sirius had sung anything.

When the door closed behind James, McGonagall looked Sirius.

“I’ll be sure to get you backstage passes and the lot to our first world tour, Min-Min,” Sirius said.

“Mr. Black,” Professor McGonagall’s voice was sharp. “I don’t think you understand just how serious this is - how important a choice this is. This effects the rest of your life, and you’re… joking about…”

Sirius said, “Professor. C’mon. We both know my grades are rubbish, we both know that I’m not going anywhere, that I’m never going to amount to squat. So this is all fairly pointless. I’m good for nothing, Minnie.”

The look on McGonagall’s face was extremely sad. She stared at him. “Mr. Black… you don’t truly believe that?”

Sirius shrugged.

“You are one of my favorite students.”

“James is your favorite, huh?” Sirius asked, a teasing tone to his voice.

“Do you know why you are one of my favorite students?”

“Because of the singing suits of armor?” he guessed, “Because I keep things interesting? Because you’re a bit of a masochist and enjoy inflicting pain upon yourself and I’m the biggest pain in this entire school?”

McGonagall said, “Because you are unafraid of being yourself, despite the way the world tries to conform you. From the moment the Sorting Hat touched your head, Sirius, you have defied what the world expected from you.”

Sirius didn’t have a smart ass reply for this. He sat in silence, staring at her, the smirk slowly melting away from his face.

“A boy does not decide he is good for nothing unless he is told such, he does not believe he is never going to amount to squat unless he is told such. I don’t know who told you that - although my suspicions lie with your parents - but why are you allowing their expectations to dictate you now? When it matters the most?”

Sirius looked at his lap.

“Mr. Black. What do you really want to do with your life?” McGonagall asked, “And if the words punk rock singer come from your mouth, I swear to Merlin ---”

“I want to be a healer.”

“A healer?”

Sirius felt horribly exposed. He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

“What sort of healer?”

“I dunno. Like a… a person who… who helps people… with their… their problems, with their minds… When they have hurting minds, I wanna… fix it. I wanna tell them they’re alright and that their minds will get better. I want to… tell werewolves they aren’t monsters and make them believe it and get dementors out of people’s chests and tell them that the broken stuff’s gonna mend eventually.” Sirius looked up at Professor McGonagall. “I mean… it will, won’t it? Mend?”

She looked very surprised.

And pleased.

“Alright. That we can work with, Mr. Black.”