It felt a odd to be entering the Headmaster's office alone, especially when said man didn't even occupy the office. Leaving the door cracked for the other two, she wondered over to desk, sliding herself into a free chair. Arya fiddled with her necklace, eyes drifting around the office while she waited for the two.

He took his time with the stairs, while somehow maintaining a pace that wouldn't get his heels or attitude stepped on the Headmaster from behind. It was only when he entered the room that he gave pause to his decision, watching Arya slip into one of the chairs in front of the desk. Apprehensively, he moved over to the other chair, staring blankly down at the surface of the desk as he fidgeted with the item in his hand. His legs felt as if they would sooner bolt from the room than let him sit down, so for the time, he opted to stand; it would be easier to pass the gift onto Tate this way too.

"So," Tate slid into his own seat and propped one booted foot against the desk. He eyed the two sitting in front of them, although his expression was open and as friendly as he was able. "So. What's going on, Mr. Dakest? Bad summer? Good summer? Completely indifferent summer?"

He wished he could be as relaxed and easy as Tate. Nothing seemed to phase the older man. With a frown furrowing his brow, he spared one last glance down at the package in his hands before offering it to Tate, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. "This...is from my mother...made by her..." The waver in his voice betrayed him and only made him that much more reluctant to make a confession of his summer.

Slowly she let her eyes drift to Sabel when he sat in the seat beside her, settling on Tate when he took his seat behind the desk. When he asked about Sabel's summer, she bit her lip and glanced at her friend. It was no surprise to her that he didn't tell the Headmaster about his troubles, he seemed hesitant to even speak about it in the seating area. Fiddling with her own necklace, she turned her eyes away from the gift and back to Tate, hoping her friend would speak with him. That was there reason for visiting.

"Hmm," Tate accepted the gift with a slightly puzzled expression, taking a moment to turn it around and around in his hands. It was certainly interesting... hand made, no doubt. "If I'm not mistaken, it's a dreamcatcher. Native American?"

Sitting down slowly, his eyes locked on one of the pieces of work from his mother, he nodded slowly. "It is Sir...Or in Ojibwe, it's called asabikeshiinh if you refer to it as a form of the word 'spider', or bawaajige nagwaagan which means 'dream snare'." Swallowing, he inclined his head towards the object. "Legend refers to it as a spiders web, where the bad catches in the loops and strands, and the good passes through. Traditionally it was placed above children's beds, to change their dreams where the nightmares were caught in the net and disappear with daylight, while the good dreams pass through the center or down the feathers to the sleeper."

A small, strained smile touched his lips, tears pressing in at the corners of his eyes. "It's more commercialized today, but I guess my mother figured because a large part of your world is made up by children, that you may have need of a restful sleep. That...and she finds you a child at heart...Sir."

He was dancing around the real reason they had come to see Tate. Sure the gift was a small part of it, but it wasn't the real reason. Her eyes left the gift Tate turned in his hands and back to Sabel. Blocking out all the information he was feeding the man, she nudged him gently with her foot again. Tell him.

"Your mother...?" Tate wasn't sure how Sabel's mother had any informed opinion on him at all, although he was flattered she thought of him thusly. He turned the web over and over in his hands, examining it thoughtfully. The tension was tightly drawn in the room, creating invisible lines just as taut as the web in his hands. He'd give the boy time to speak his mind.

"I don't dream, actually, or at least... I never remember them. I did when I was a child, but something about the strange sleeping patterns in the ITF mean that when I sleep, I do it fast and hard, and when I wake, it's complete. I never remember a thing," he repeated. "But I have waking nightmares about everyone's safety, so this will do nicely. Thank you."

Another light kick to his ankle got him jumping a little again, his eyes flicking over to Arya and then just as quickly back to the dreamweaver. He knew she thought it would do him good to tell, but it was one thing between knowing and another doing.

A weak and strained smile pulled itself across Sabel's lips as he listened to Tate's story, a stiff nod of the head at the end being one of the only things he could provide. "I'll...pass along your thanks as soon as I can get an owl out..." Swallowing hard he tried to force a more sincere smile. "I know, she would hope that it would bring you some good dreams, while taking away the bad."

His smile turned into a frown that contorted his brow, his voice dropping quiet and weak. "Forgive me Sir, if this is out of line or rude...and you do not have to answer...but...have you ever lost anyone?"

Again Arya found herself not listening to the story, only catching bits and pieces of it as her eyes were still on Sabel. She still wasn't sure if he would tell Tate or make it seem as if the gift was the only reason he had visited. Though doubted that Tate would buy that story, not with the way Sabel was acting. Arya didn't find herself relaxing any when he finally dipped into the subject he had been avoiding. She did find herself looking at Tate, however, waiting for a response.

"I've been in the ITF for years, and before that I worked security for the International Confederation of Wizards, so I think it's safe to say that I've been in danger of losing someone since I graduated from here. Over the years, I've had several of my men die in the line of duty, which is always hard for the entire team to process." He was pretty sure that wasn't at all what Sabel was referring to. His life was somewhat bereft of real tragedy, although it had always been full of danger and occasional disappointment. Honestly, it was one thing to be in a dangerous line of work and lose a fellow soldier, versus losing a loved one unexpectedly.

Who had Sabel lost? "How do you feel about tea? I usually drink coffee, but the elves disapprove of my habit."

His brow furrowed more in contorted emotion as he listened to Tate, sympathy for the man welling up inside him alongside everything else. He gave a weak nod to the offer of tea, not particularly sure where Tate was going with this but at the same time not wanting to make up another excuse or deflection. "Coffee stunts your growth." A long pause before he found the voice to speak again. "I'm very sorry for your losses..."

Pulling her legs into the chair, she wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on them both as she listened to Tate. She didn't seem to have the patience that the Headmaster had with Sabel, but she didn't want to push him. Maybe it was harder to tell the man than it was to tell her. Shaking her head at the offer, she chewed softly on her bottom lip.

Tate studied the papers on his desk thoughtfully, clearly waiting for something, when the tea tray appeared through the Floo and settled itself on his desk. "A bit slow," he informed the room at large before setting to work filling a cup for Sabel and a cup for himself.

He pushed the cup across the desk. There you go... something warm that you can hold on to. "Am I correct in assuming that you've lost someone this summer?"

Frowning slightly at the mug, Sabel reached out hesitantly and drew it towards himself. Despite it being an inanimate object, it's approach was much more sympathizing than Tate's. Then again, the Headmaster had always been direct and he couldn't really find a fault in his words, especially considering he'd been sidestepping this entire time.

"Not....yet..." He had to swallow to find room in his throat to continue speaking, letting his eyes remain locked distantly on the cup in front of him. "My...mother...she's...terminal..." Another cold wave of reality slapped him in the face with the acknowledgement held in his words, turning his hold on the mug to a white-knuckled grip.

"Careful, lad. The cup will break before your fingers do," Tate said easily, reaching across the desk to put a big hand over Sabel's. "It must be difficult to be away from her. To be back here when you'd rather be home."

He couldn't stop his body from flinching again when Tate's hand covered his, any contact seemed to just irritate his already-on-end nerves that much more. Tears pressed against the corners of his eyes as he tried to loosen his grip, a faint nod coming from him while at the same time he shook his head. "She...won't last...the year..."

Tate removed his hand. "I'm sorry to hear that, lad. I imagine, just based on meeting you, that she is a wonderful lady who is very proud of you. I hope you'll let me know if you need anything this term, especially if you will be requiring a trip home at any time."

"She is thirty-seven...thirty-seven." His words came out dark, with great contempt and anger though it was directed at no particular person in the room. It was too young. Too young of an age to die at.

Removing his hand from the tea, he clasped it in his lap and looked away, blinking back the tears that Tate's words called up. Nodding stiffly, he managed to give the man a weak smile, leveling out his tone. "Thank you...I...your kindness is greatly...appreciated..."

HE was 37, so... Tate could feel just exactly how keenly Sabel was already mourning the loss of his mother, hoping desperately that something might change in the meantime. "You're allowed to... be angry. To be frustrated and sad. To occasionally find joy in something totally surprising. All of that is completely normal."

"And that, is a rhetorical statement bordering on cliche. It's not that easy." As soon as he spoke, he wished he could stuff the words back in his mouth and swallow them. Ducking his head in shameful apology, he shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry...that was very rude...I do appreciate the advice, but its not that simple. I do not wish to cause others undue pain or remorse, just because I show mine. It's not fair." To the finding joy part, he really wasn't sure what to say; it was desirable but he held no expectation for it. "The world is a far cry from normal as it is, I mean....wizards and witches..." And a woman in her thirties on her deathbed.

"No man is an island. Ask not for whom the bell tolls. The world is full of cliches, but the fact is... they're oft repeated because they're generally TRUE," Tate grunted, giving Sabel a stern look. Ultimately, Tate felt that regardless of what he faced, there was never a reason to breech protocol. Never a reason to be insubordinate, to bite the hand that attempted to comfort.

Sabel wasn't a soldier; he was a boy. And occasionally a rude one. "Don't cut yourself off from honesty because you're afraid of causing distress to other people. Obviously, you have very good friends who want to help you grieve." He nodded at Arya.

He tried to maintain an even stare with Tate, to hide behind the words he had spoken and maintain them as true over everything else. But that stubborn stupidity lasted mere seconds before he dropped his gaze, letting the Headmaster's words sink in. It was when he glanced over at Arya from underneath his eyebrows, that he realized he was doing exactly the thing that he had struggled with in seeing students do after Huxely's attack; he was cutting off and shutting down.

That realization alone, and the memory of his own frustration in dealing with students that way, was enough. Tears pressed more freely at the corners of his eyes as pain, from both the shame of how he had acted and from the center of the cause of such actions, stabbed through him. Nodding slowly, he found his voice once again tight and quiet. "You're right..." He really needed to start listening to the man more closely and attentively. "I'm sorry." And this time, there were no excuses. What was, simply, was.