Professor Flitwick set down his teacup and asked with great interest, "Wizet, what are your own thoughts? What do you plan to do with your talents?"
"Whether it's the Ministry of Magic, or any profession I know of—or don't know of—I'm sure they would all be more than willing to open their doors to you."
Hoot hoot!
An owl cried out, accompanied by a hurried flurry of wings.
It was practically the same arrangement as before: one owl delivered the letter, while the other three carried the packages.
Perhaps he had handled this sort of thing too many times already. He did not tear open the letter, instead placing it directly into 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 sizable "little mountain" in the corner.
Once he had finished, Professor Flitwick's gaze returned to Wizet.
"Other people's opinions are ultimately just that—their opinions. I don't think what you need right now is to hear me repeat how they praise you. You need to think clearly about what exactly you want to do."
Wizet's gaze fell on his teacup. He stared silently at his reflection in the tea for a while before speaking softly. "Professor Flitwick, that's exactly what's troubling me."
"It seems as though so many doors are open before me, but at this point, I don't know which direction I should take."
"Because as I see it, the path behind every door ought to be fascinating. And 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..."
"It's