Professor Flitwick set down his teacup and asked with interest, "Vizet, what are your own thoughts? What do you plan to do with your talents?"
"Whether it's the Ministry of Magic or any field I know—or don't know—I'm sure they'd all be more than happy to open their doors to you."
Hoot, hoot!
An owl's cry rang out, accompanied by a flurry of urgent wingbeats.
It was almost the same arrangement as before: one owl delivered the letter, while the other three carried the packages.
Perhaps he had handled too many similar matters already. He did not tear open the letter, merely placing it in a cabinet before shrinking the packages down to the size of building blocks.
With a flick of his wand, he directed the packages to float up and stack themselves neatly atop the sizeable "mountain" in the corner.
After finishing all this, Professor Flitwick turned his attention back to Vizet.
"Other people's opinions are still only other people's opinions. What you need now isn't to hear me relay how they praise you, but to think carefully about what exactly you want to do."
Vizet lowered his gaze to his teacup. He watched his reflection in the tea in silence for a while before speaking softly. "Professor Flitwick, that's exactly what's troubling me."
"It feels as though many doors have opened before me, yet at this point, I don't know which direction I should take."
"Because, to me, the road beyond every door seems like it would be fascinating. That makes me feel that once I choose something, I'll have to give up all the other possibilities."
A glint flashed in Professor Flitwick's eyes. "It sounds as though you're feeling a little at a loss..."
"Like having balls of thread in every color, but not knowing how