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He jumps up, approaching my mug cautiously as if he doesn't know what to expect. Though I suppose he doesn't. He's not very old. He reaches a paw out to touch the mug, then jumps away from it, a shocked expression on his face.
"Are you keeping him?" the man asks. I really should find out his name, but it feels kind of rude to ask, particularly when we're already in his office.
"I suppose it's traditional in the stories for a witch to have a familiar," I respond. There is something very cute about the kitten, even if I've never had a cat before, or the desire to own one.
"Is becoming a stereotype part of your life plan?"
"Yes. The broom should arrive next week. I'm just disappointed they didn't offer next day delivery," I deadpan.
He chuckles and takes a sip of his own tea, reminding me of my own.
"I'm sorry to take you away from your work, sir," I say eventually.
Shock flits across his face. "I'm not a sir."
"But you are a teacher." I point to the lanyard around his neck.
"This?" He holds it up to check. "I'm Miss Feathertop's teaching assistant. I'm doing my doctorate here."
"Oh. And this is your office?" I look around properly. Without the assumption this is a teacher's office, it's a lot more apparent he's a student. Mostly because of the stack of empty plates off to the side.
He notices where I'm looking and shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting company."
"No need to apologise. But why did you bring me here?" I ask, feeling braver now I know he's not going to damage my chances at graduating.
"You looked upset, and Mr Peters really did need to get back to class."
"But I didn't?"
"You have tear tracks on your cheeks."
"Maybe they were tears of joy." Though I'm not convinced he'll believe that.
"May I be blunt, Miss Black?" he asks.
"If you are, then I think it'll probably be better if you call me Mona." And only part of me is saying that to try and find out what his name is. It seems rude to keep referring to him as his gender, even if it's only in my head.
"Alright then, may I be blunt, Mona?"
Ah, damn, he isn't falling for my plot. Not the best start.
"Yes."
"If they were happy tears, you'd have told me to f-off and leave you alone."
A weird chortling sound leaves me. "I'd never have been so rude. I thought you were a teacher," I point out.
"You can call me Mr Smith if you'd like."
Ah, bingo. Just the answer I'm looking for. If he's telling the truth. "Is your surname really Smith?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. I don't know why I feel better, but something about being in his company makes me feel lighter. I certainly don't feel like I've just been thrown out of class because my magic doesn't work right.
"Is yours really Black?" he threw back.
"Fair point."
"Is it short for anything?"
"Black? I think it's just the colour." Though how my family came about such a generic name, I'll never know.
