"The big trouble is that everyone wants someone else to read their minds for them and the make the world work properly." -Terry Pratchett
Keiran Hayes had accomplished a lot for a relatively young man - relatively only because as a girl just making her exit from adolescence, anyone older than twenty five seemed to belong to a world that was much more exclusive and adult than she could even imagine. To already be Headmaster, after time spent in a high-ranking Ministry position, was not something to be taken lightly. She imagined he had always had the drive for the position, that quiet certainty of ambition deep inside him, otherwise he would not have accomplished so much.
She didn't have that.
It wasn't like she hadn't applied herself. She had graduated in the top tier of her class, getting no lower than an Exceeds Expectations in her NEWTs. Even if she had found herself dealing with some semblance of a social life (she hadn't) she had enjoyed studying, oddly enough, finding pleasure in the only sort of journey her father would allow her, one where she tripped through books and sailed across indexes, thirsty for a horizon upon which she might find understanding. Even when she had not liked the subject, she had taken pleasure in trying to understand.
But that was why she needed a aptitude test of sorts. She could not study for a living, nor could she read for a living. In honesty, she didn't have to do anything to make a living, with her father's wealth filling her days up so long as she continued on with the path he had set along for her. And while she was not quite brave enough to break off her engagement, she wasn't nearly brave enough to face the prospect of marriage without distraction. So a career, or even a job, had to be secured.
But it had to be something even her father could approve of.
The Headmaster was falling down a rabbit hole as he chased a thread of thought, and she quietly nodded along, too afraid to speak up and reveal herself for the foolish little girl she was. 'I don't have any particular interests.' 'I don't mind autobiographies - other people make a lot more sense to me.' Or 'I have looked through the books, probably two times over, and I still don't know.'
His suggestions had begun to turn into advice and despite the fact that she was still at a loss, the way he spoke was very comforting. She had always considered the professor to be one of her favorites. At least to his students, he was mild and approachable, intellectual but firm. He made you trust in his expertise without making you fear your own ignorance. And despite the exhaustion that was sometimes evident in his eyes, he was always on time for class, always had enough energy to teach his lessons, and patient enough to help even the dullest of the students.
He was the sort of person that made people around him feel secure.
And so, even as insecure as she was about all her shortcomings, she managed to say, "I think my problem is that I don't necessarily have a favorite subject. I have ones I didn't like - Defense, for example, just seems so... confrontational in nature. And Divination seems like a feeling masquerading as a silence. But I did like school. I liked being given a task, a puzzle, and having a book and a wand to work it out." She deflated a little. "That's hardly much of an interest to go off of, though."