The following six days are like this. We'll catch up on our summer breaks, ask many questions, mine he will not answer and his are met mostly with shock at my responses. I'll perform all of my magicks, in different orders. He insists this is to gauge my strengths and weaknesses. When I run low on mana, he restocks my supply. He'll scribble down notes that I'll steal glances of because he won't share, then we do it all over again. I never get to touch a wand, or a staff, or any crystals or gloves or blades. Nothing. After our sessions I'll visit the school library, but there's not much for me in there. I don't have access to the mall because summer school students aren't allowed the privilege of shuttle vans.

On the seventh day, my first week back at Iris, I'm a bit on edge. I miss my home. I miss Papa and Russet. I want to go back and do other fun things like play charades and board games and perhaps go back to the Compass Crossways.

I look out my dorm window, at the bright world beyond. I sigh.

I'm not happy.

Why am I not happy?

The people who were once my family are gone, and they're more than glad to be rid of me.

I'm not supposed to feel bad for them. I'm supposed to be happy. Why aren't I jumping for joy now that they're gone from my life forever?

No more screaming and cussing, no more fighting, no more feeling isolated and hopeless.

They'll be fine without me. In fact, it was worse when we still lived together.

Visiting relatives pitying you, the rumors, the whispers, the curious glances.

The bullies at school snicker at your scrawny arm and legs, they make fun of your matted hair, of your pale lips and brittle nails from lack of nutrition, your Salvation Army clothes, your inability to go on any field trips that aren't free, or buy desserts from the cafeteria at lunch. The teachers whisper about the girl who talks to herself, who sees things that aren't there, who stares off into space.

Your mother curses you, thinking you possessed by the devil because she's a religious hypocrite and you're the bastard child.

Your own siblings fear and hate you, why? Because mommy says so. Because Daddy left them after you were born.

And why are you strange to them? Because you are the only one you know who can draw on the walls and make the figures dance, make light bulbs flicker on and off with a thought, who sees and hears these mysterious dead people.

They throw you out.

When you return you find that your mother has got herself a stable of boyfriends who act as her sugar daddies, your brother became a delinquent and went to juvi, and your sister got herself knocked up!

...But you have Papa. Papa was always there. Before you saw the memories, before you were tossed like trash, before Iris Academy!

They don't matter anymore. You did the right thing. Look at how horrible your life was only a year ago!

Then why?

Why do I feel so guilty? Why do I feel like it's my fault?

I just finished my freshman year of magick school and I almost wound up killed and nearly cost a man his magick!

Everywhere I go I make a mess.

What if it happens again?

What if I ruin his life too? Look at how different I am! Nobody knows what or how I exist. Nothing I do makes sense.

You're in a school for wizards and they cannot explain what's wrong with you!

Is it really me? Maybe I'm... the problem?

I shake my head and groan. "Go away!" I yell.

I feel the entire room rattle a bit, frightening myself. Woah, woah. Did I just do that? I stand. Be calm, Lumie. Be calm. It's the past, it's the past, it's the PAST.

"And even to this day, you can't let it go. Look at yourself, you're not even there anymore. Yet you always manage to make time for some self-pity." I rub my temples. Ugh… You can be in the happiest of moods, then you think back to that and ruin it.

I've just had too much time to think. I wish I didn't overthink as much as I do. What are you guilty for Lumie, huh? Right now, there are two things that need your attention. Learning how to use a damn wand, and somehow getting to second base with Professor Grabiner.

I freak out again.

Yaagh! How am I supposed to do that? He's been so caught up in his research that we haven't made any efforts to progress our relationship.

The next thing I know, I'm knocking at his door. Without a word, it unlocks, he knows it's me.

"Good afternoon." I greet.

"Good afternoon, is something amiss? We have already concluded our field testing for the day."

I play with my fingers, feeling stressed from my hours of overthinking, and nervous from being in his presence. "I uh… I've been doing too much thinking lately."

He looks amused. "What have you been thinking of?"

"Memories… Thinking about it made me realize something."

"And that would be?"

"Well, I thought we could take this opportunity to open up. Like our chats over tea." So far all I know about you is that you play the flute, enjoy fine wine and chamber music, you're a noble and I get insight on whatever complaining you have to do about the students on that particular day. Most of our chats are book discussions and lesson plans. Oh, that's another thing. You'll read just about anything. You REALLY like reading, even more than I do.

He does not look flattered by my notions. "I am quite busy scrutinizing my notes."

I take a step closer to him, not ready to be brushed off and left to my own thoughts again. "I'd appreciate it if you could give up an evening of study to converse with me. I've been here for a week now and all we've done is train. I want to remind you that training isn't the only thing that we should progress."

He awakens at my obvious hint. He gives it some thought, and with a groan he puts his papers away. "I recognize your point." He finally admits. "What do you have in mind for this evening then?"

"We've gotten the basics out of the way. Hobbies, tastes, and so on. But, we don't know much about each other's pasts."

I seemed to have struck a nerve, not my intention at all. "I have very little to share in accordance to that."

Liar, you have a family, one that loves you from what I've been told. And I want to know about Violet. "Still, we should know these sorts of things about each other."

He interrupts me. "I am already aware that you are wildseed. You had a mother and two siblings, the whereabouts of your father are unknown. During your adolescence you experienced a traumatizing event, met Mr. Atchung and became his personal student. For one reason or another, there was a long delay in your application process, which resulted in your late acceptance to Iris Academy at an older age than recommended, which lead to the current predicament that is our marriage."

"Okay. I'm glad you have the run-down, but what about the details? Isn't there anything you want to know about me?"

He sighs. Judging by the furrow of his brow, the way his nostrils flare and the strain in his jawline, I think I may have stumped him.

Nice to know I'm interesting. You're just dying to pick at my brain aren't you? "How about I start?"

He half-opens his eyes, a dull, dim light to them.

"Well... Being a little older than most of the Freshman means I've got a little more life experience than they do. I had a job and was going to college before I enrolled here."

He looks a little more interested. "I think your grandfather may have mentioned that."

I nod. "That's right. I was pretty much crushed when I found out I wasn't going to be accepted into any magickal schools. So I signed up for a local college and I got hired at an animal shelter that I used to volunteer at. Then I got my letter from Iris right before my first semester. I don't regret leaving those behind at all." I would've never met you…

"You do not miss your old life? You have been thrust into a strange, new world you do not understand, and from my understanding you were at the cusps of transitioning into adulthood."

I shake my head. "There is nothing to miss."

He sits up now, shifting his body to face me, a hand on his knee, the other making motions as he speaks. "You are wildseed. You were raised with customs far different from ours. Your nursery rhymes, your history, your trends and slang and even your cuisine. Do you not feel alienated here?"

I laugh. "Of course I do. But that's not new to me at all. Wouldn't that be the case wherever I went after that? And you know what? I've always been different, even here I'm so different from the others. I've been able to do magick for as long as I could remember, but I've talked to my friends, and they couldn't do magick until they were thirteen."

"It is usually around the pre-pubescent age that dormant magick will spring forth. Thirteen is the national average, but some start as early as twelve or as late as fifteen."

"I know, the whole teenage-hormones thing. But there's something else I don't understand. In fact, there are many things I wish to ask you."

He softly smiles at this. "My wisdom is available to you."

I smile back. This is working, we're talking! "There is a spell called Spirit Sight. We all know of it, we know what it does."

"Yes."

"What I don't get, is that I can't seem to turn my Spirit Sight 'off'."

He opens his mouth and lets out sound of recognition. "Ah. You possess the natural sight. This is uncommon, but not unheard of. You have heard of spiritual mediums?"

"Yes, I have. Does this mean I'm one too?"

"Most likely. There is no known way to remove the inate sight, but it can be hindered. Do you experience visions?"

For some reason, my heart leaps. I quickly put a hand to my chest.

He looks concerned.

"I… I don't know. Is being psychic possible?"

"It is a reality, yes. Psychics do exist. But not in the same sense as individuals dressed in spandex who run criminal syndicates, or exotic women dressed in turbans, scarves and adorned with heavy, golden jewelry."

You mean like in X-men? I giggle.

"What do you find so amusing?" He says sharply.

"You know more about the mundane world than you let on."

He flushes at this, shutting his eyes and tightening his lips.

It makes me giggle more. "I can't be sure if I've had true visions, but I've had dreams that eerily foreshadow events that occur shortly after."

He leans forward. "There is no typical experience for psychics. Some see scenes as clear as day, others encounter vague dreams, a few describe witnessing odd shapes, colors and numbers. In serious cases, the medium relives a memory or undergoes an out-of-body anomaly."

"My dreams are never straightforward, they are… vivid, in a way. That's how exaggerated they are. Strange, oddly symbolic things happen while I'm asleep. And only while I'm asleep, no other time. There have been cases where what I thought was a nightmare happened the morning after, but not in a literal sense. The interpretation of the dream came true."

"You may possess a minimal clairvoyance. If any dreams reoccur, you would be wise to take proper precaution, and perhaps notify me if necessary."

Yeah… I had some freaky dreams not too long ago.

"What about yourself? Do you have any special powers?"

He huffs. "I am a magician, nothing more, nothing less."

But you're brilliant! "I like street magicians too."

He actually scowls at me! His eyes radiating with a dangerous, red glow. "Whatever could be so attractive about con-men who perform parlor tricks for petty cash? It is not proper magick."

"So I'm guessing you don't like Romanis either."

He wrinkles his nose. "They are all harlequins."

I put my hands on my hips. "That's not really fair to them. It's not their fault they weren't born wizards. And we all know it's an illusion, but that doesn't change the fact that it takes real skill. They work for the sake of entertainment."

"I hardly find such gaiety entertaining."

"That's because you don't like to have fun."

He grunts. "No, I do not, and I feel equal disdain for the mockery of magickal arts."

I'm subtly hinted to take my leave, and I do. Outside of his door I slump. Well, I figured more out about myself today. And now I know Grabiner hates jesters and harlequins, probably the entire circus too. But he does read comic books.

It's Monday, meaning I have to find some way to entertain myself again. I can't find the faeries anywhere. I've even called for them, where have they gone?

Wherever I walk people scatter, they whisper and look away. With nothing better to do, I start cleaning. I tidy up my already immaculate dorm. Since Ginia isn't here, there's no mess to clean up. I pack up my clothes and head off to the laundry room. It's not really a room, more like another section to the bathroom. There are laundry baskets for us to put our clothes in, and within a burst of magick, they are washed, dried and wrinkle free. All we have to do is put them back where they belong. Most of the girls do their laundry at once, or assign their roommate to "wash" everyone's clothes. I do this myself, and I fold my own clothes. I teleport them back to my room when I'm feeling lazy. I love it, do they even realize how many quarters this saves?!

"Oi. I know ye." An unfamiliar, oddly-pitched, voice calls out to me from above.

I immediately tilt my head up, my eyes darting across the ceiling for the body of said voice.

"Wut's takin ye so long eh? It's just laundry. Ain't nuthin special aboot it."

Is that a? Scottish accent? "Hello, are you a browny?" I cup my hands over my mouth to make my voice clearer.

"So where's Russet gone? Last I heard e headed off wit ye. If yer here, why ain't Russet come back?"

"Russet and my grandfather are very close, they've become good friends. So he offered em a chance to spend the vacation with him." I answer.

"Hmph." Is all I get in return.

Then silence…

"Excuse me, are you still there?" I say to the ceiling.

No answer. I guess e left. I open my basket, remembering my current task and as I touch the lid, there is a comical "Boing!" sound and all of my clothes fly out and scatter in different directions. Oh no! I hurry to collect them from the ground, but every time I get near them they make that funny "Sproing!" sound and hop away from me. It's as if they're alive! I desperately try to keep up with my hopping clothes. They slither and jump out of my grasp. I'm chasing after my clothes as if I'm trying to catch a bunch of bunny rabbits, when I hear snickering overhead.

"You!" I angrily accuse the ceiling. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

I'm slapped by my towel on the behind. "Uwah!" I yelp.

The snickering intensifies.

Think you can get the best of me? I outstretch my arms and focus my black magick on the entire room. Dispel Object! With a "whoosh!" of mana filling the space, the rowdy clothes go limp and lifeless. All that remains is a mess of scattered laundry littered about the bathroom floor.

I hear a small gasp. "Ahh. So it's true? Ye duin't need a wand."

"You are a browny, aren't you? That's why you know so much about me."

"Tch. Ye haven't got the best of me. Shove off!" I hear a loud, hurried scurrying.

"Wait! Who are you?"

But e's long gone. I look at my poor clothes, now soiled again. With an exasperated groan, I pick up the mess and start my laundry over, making sure to check the baskets for any enchantments this time.

Tuesday, my last day off before I go back to training. I'm going to ask him outright when I'm actually going to have a freaking utensil in my hand. I'm in the library, alone again, skimming through the bookshelves for something I haven't read yet. I could study, read more magickal theory. But I'm torn between reading those now and having nothing to read for the school year. It's going to be extra lonesome from now on. I spot a book I haven't seen before. It's a dark blue book, no title, no cover image. I trace the spine to feel a nice velvety surface. It looks old, dusty, too.

I pull it from the shelf. Just as I do that, a weird zapping sensation runs up my arm. "Ouch!" I drop the book.

The book hits the ground with a soft thud. But the moment it makes contact with the rug many other books come flying at me from different directions. The shelves rock and the books begin flapping through the air, opening and closing, imitating flight.

I duck from a flapping book overhead. Just as I'm thinking of calling for help, movement catches my eye. The book I dropped is at my feet, and golden, swirling letters begin to appear. It says "Read me."

Against my better judgement, I open it, the pages turn on their own to the middle of the book. In big, bold letters it instructs "KNOWLEDGE IS IN THE AIR. CAPTURE IT, AND ENLIGHTENMENT IS YOURS."

Is this some type of a prank?

I try to cast Dispel Object again, but it doesn't work. I cast Truesight and Awareness instead. There are no illusions, but I do sense a browny. "This is your doing, isn't it? Oh!" I have to quickly duck as another flapping book dives for my head.

"Yer not gettin away that easily, lass. Better watch yer head, all that knowledge might be too powerful for a pee brain like ye!"

"Why are you doing this? Have I done something to upset you?" I dive from a whole flock of books swooping in my direction.

"Aye. Figure it out!"

As if. I head for the door. But I can't open it! I cast Open, but it doesn't budge. Should I teleport?

"Don't even think about teleportin. I'd hate to be responsible fer yer death."

"My what?!"

"Just follow wut the book says and ye'll be fine."

I blink. Then a book "thwops" me on the back of my head.

"Dugh!" I grunt. Fine! I'll play your game.

I spend my evening jumping and ducking for books. I catch a brown, history book first. It yaps and flaps as if I caught a bird. I put it in its proper place, and the spell wears off. It loses its animation and goes flat, falling to the side. So that's your game, huh? I hastily collect three or four books at a time, as many as I can carry. Then I painstakingly place them on their correct shelves.

I make a mistake with a lilac romance novel and as if it were offended it slaps me across the face with its spine.

"Oof!"

It flies off.

Two and half agonizing hours later, I've shelved and re-shelved every, single book in the library. I'm panting, wiping my forehead while sitting on the floor, thoroughly exhausted.

That. *Pant.* JERK. *Pant.*

"So ye did it. Now ye are enlightened."

Anger gives me the energy to stand. "I didn't learn a thing!"

E scoffs. "Tch! Yer thick, ye know that? Can't ye see ye know where all the books belong now?"

I feel myself bubbling and boiling. "Gaahh!" I tug at my hair. I thrust open the door and speed down the hall to seek shelter in my room.

Paranoid, I scan every inch of my dorm. No enchantments, no graffiti, no brownies. "Ahhh." I flop back in relief. Staring at the mosaic above my bed, I think. So you're a browny. But, I've met all of the brownies. Which one doesn't like me? Hmm.

What were they all like again? Ecru is the baby, Tawny is the shy one, Maroon is super smart and Potsdam's favorite, uh… Cordovan I think was the "mother hen" type. They wouldn't treat me this way.

Uhhh. Burgundy. Russet mentioned e was grumpy and strict. Nah. E's is almost as old as Russet, and that's the one that eats and drinks all day, e has better things to do than mess with me. Besides, that's not what Burgundy sounds like.

Not Fallow, e's is the lazy one. Bole is the workaholic. No way e would soil my laundry.

Three of them are the "goombaya" types. Singing, chanting, nature lovers. Why would they bother with me? Those are… Sepia, Sienna and Umber, right!

Wait… I count with my fingers. Two, four, six, eight… Russet… *Gasp!* WENGE! That has to be em! Russet said e was the oddball, the angry, moody teenage one! Russet also said e doesn't trust anybody, not even Potsdam fully. And again Russet mentioned e's a prankster! Oooh, that's it! I'm so stupid for not figuring it out sooner.

My steam evaporates. Huh. Why does e sound like that? I think back. Wenge wasn't a part of Russet's original clan of six, e's native to Earth. Maybe that's why Wenge has that accent, e is from here. Not America, obviously, but e must've picked up the dialect from wherever e is specifically from. Scotland?

I sit up. You talked to me… You could've easily played those pranks and said nothing, leaving me confused and frightened. Wenge… Is this your way of opening up? You want to get to know me don't you?

I smile, then let out a small laugh to myself. You know what Wenge, you remind me of someone else I know. He's rough around the edges too, not good at letting out his true feelings.

This morning I'm here to meet that same person. I open the door to the conference room. "Good morning Professor."

"Good morning." He looks like he's about to speak further, but I cut him off.

"I'm sorry, but before we begin, am I going to touch a tool anytime soon? I feel like we've focused more on your individual research than my handicap."

He gruffs a response. "If you had the patience to let me finish speaking you would have discovered I have new data drawn from the notes I collected to share."

"That's why I apologized first. But that still doesn't answer my question."

He sighs. "Yes, you will be utilizing a wand today."

"Good. So what's new?"

"Your following skills are such: White, green, black, blue, red." He makes a "hmm" sound, as if he just noticed something.

"What is it?"

"I merely realized that your affinities are the exact opposite of my own."

"So… You're a red mage. Then you're good at blue, black, green and white magick is your worst skill?"

He huffs. "It may not be my strongest magick, but it still surpasses yours. I possess decades of experience and study behind me, you do not. Never underestimate the power of an opponent, even if they are not playing their strongest cards."

"I won't." Decades huh? "How old are you?"

He looks insulted. "Excuse me?"

I project myself. "I want to know how old my husband is."

He eases, but not by much. "I am… Thirty-three."

Pfft. Decades? If you started doing magick at thirteen like everyone else, then you only have two decades of experience. Don't make it sound like you're ancient. "That means there is a fourteen-year difference between us."

"Yes, almost your entire existence."

I giggle.

He opens his eyes, confused. "At least I'm not married to someone twice my age. No one can say you're old enough to be my father. That's good enough for me."

He sniffs a chuckle. "I could be, if I made very poor life decisions."

"Ew. Don't gross me out. That is such a turn-off."

He inhales sharply at my crude reply. "You… How can you be so lighthearted on the matter?"

I toss back my hair. "What matter? I knew you weren't that old. Even if you were in your mid-forties it wouldn't faze me. Especially when you think about the life-expectancy of wizards in the long-run."

He sighs. "I will certainly live longer than the average wizard."

We're all going to live for several hundred years. That's if we play our cards right and stray away from excessive smoking, drinking and any unfortunate accidents. But why would he live longer than average? He's not a green mage. "What is the general length? Could you give me a range?"

"The standard lifespan for a wizard-excluding green mages- ranges anywhere from 200-500 years. There will be a point in everyone's life, where they reach a state of absolute homeostasis. At that peak point, the aging process will delay immensely. For a green mage one could add an extra 150 years. Genetic compounds, stress, physical harm and abuse of narcotics does alter the appearance. Not everyone ages gracefully, you see."

You seem to be doing fine.

"I hypothesize that you will cease the aging process somewhere around your early to mid-twenties. As your green magick is quite refined. Of course, even in your mid-twenties you will probably still be mistaken for a teenager, as your genes give you the appearance of someone much younger. Take note that because you are not a green mage, you will not be able to regrow limbs, regenerate aged tissue or cure cancers. But you will be immune to most diseases, venoms and poisons. I suspect at the maximum capacity you will be able to heal broken bones, clear the body of toxins and probably save vital organs too fargone for the ordinary wizard."

That… Sounds… Awesome! So I can at least expect to live three-four hundred years, and I won't get Alzheimers!

"That sounds great and all, but what about you? Why did you say you'd live longer than average?"

His mouth goes flat, his eyes heavy, a sorrow seems to emit from him. "My elven blood will make sure of that."

"Elven blood..."

"My mother is a full-blooded elf, and my father is a half-elf. I may not be a pure blood, so perhaps I should not expect myself to live the full thousand years, but I will probably come quite close."

A thousand years…

"You should know that elves do not commonly interbreed. Primarily because most parents do not wish to outlive their children. That is why my mother chose my father, although he is just as much human as he is elven, that sliver of blood was certain to produce long-lived children. Elves do not breed as often as humans. The longevity of the race is so profound that there is no immediate need to produce offspring to ensure the survival of the species. Most elven women bear a single child in their lifetime. The time-frame for fertility is too sparce. Normally one season out of the year, every decade or so. The pregnancy is long as well, a full twelve months of development. The birth rates are another factor to consider.- for every female there is a male to sustain the population. Whereas in human births, there is an excess of females. That is to ensure there is never a shortage of mates for the male persuasion to impregnate. It is easier for a species to sustain itself when it only takes a single male to breed with multiple females, producing many offspring and ensuring the continuation of his line."

Goodness, it's so precise. "Wait. Do that means elves go into heat?"

My question seems to baffle him, and not in a good way, as he makes a rather large frown with his exposed teeth. Teeth that he only bares for special occasions. For especially stupid people.

"The elven race does not undergo periods of 'heat' like rampad animals. We possess a veritable awareness, a synchronization with our bodies. For every elven individual, there is a particular season of the year that they are most fertile, if that elf wishes to reproduce, they simply will their bodies to begin the necessary preparations. This does result in a heightened sense of lust, but that is to ensure a successful mating."

"Oh-ohh. So they can choose when they want to breed?"

"Precisely. It just so happens that the process is so arduous on the body, that it takes a decade or so to be able to reach peak fertility once again. Elves are not the prudish, pussilamious species that we are made out to be. We enjoy as typical of a sex life as anyone else. It is only the issue of child-bearing that weighs the greatest difference. We are not to be mistaken for savage, uncivilized wood children running naked and amok in the forest either."

From what I'm getting, they feel want and desire as much as humans do, but elves can control their bodies to merely have sex for pleasure or have sex for reproducing. When they want to reproduce, they get super horny, similar to heat. It's just not something that should be confused with the only time they'll ever have sex. But why would he be so passionate about an innocent question?

"I have to assume even though there is general racial equality in the magickal world, there still remains stereotypes and prejudices. So for elves it's unfairly profiled that they are either snobby pansies who would never engage in an act as raw and dirty as sex except for the sake of sustaining the species. Or because of their ability to have sex on a regular basis and consciously control their fertility- others would brand them raging, hormonal sex addicts."

"Amongst the great unwashed, yes."

A double-stereotype. "I owe you my apology for being insensitive."

"Your apology is accepted. Just be sure to watch your tongue from now on."

"You said your mother… Chose your father?"

"They had an arranged marriage. My mother and father are childhood friends. When she became of age, she already had herself a lover. But being that neither of them could create a child together, she seeked my father, who happily abliged, equally desiring an heir of his own. He could see no other woman worthy of carrying his seed. My mother had already reached her peak fertility, and she knew with little time to spare, that she must marry and conceive before the spring was up, otherwise she would have to wait another decade."

"If, I may ask… Why couldn't she and her lover make a child?"

He smiles. A small, cocky smile, with a glint in his eye. "Two females cannot successfully get each other pregnant."

"Oh-ho."

"My mother is bisexual, she is the queen-consort to the Matriach of the eleven kingdom. Our Royal Highness is a lesbian, and she has no desire to experience motherhood. My mother on the other hand, very much wanted to raise a child. This was their compromise. Who better to copulate with than a friend she had known all her life, without any strings attached or scandal. She knew he would not mistreat her or develop amorous feelings that would complicate her engagement to the Matriach Queen of the Elves. They both desired children, but not necessarily companionship. He had the blood she needed, and she had the status and power he admired, a union that would escalate his noble standing and grace his family name for future generations. They were mutually fond of one another, and there was a definite attraction. After I was born, she divorced my father and married her lover. They would both split the parenting duties. She so that she would still have time to rule the elves alongside her queen, and he so that he wouldn't be bothered with the mundane task of bringing up children. He was free to socialize, travel and entertain concubines as he pleased." He says that last sentence with distaste.

I… I never would've guessed. He's a damn prince! I've married wayyyyyyy out of my league.

"Wipe any absurd fantasies out of your mind. I am no elven prince. My mother is the queen's consort, nobility, not royalty. I am not the heir to the throne. I am the heir to the Grabiner fortune and estate." He says with a groan.

"If she's the Queen's wife why aren't you considered royalty?"

"My mother was married at the time of my conception. She was a Grabiner, her husband was a Grabiner, therefore her son is a Grabiner. She strategically plotted this out so that the issues of heirs and inheritance would not muddle royal affairs. It is why she had to wed in the first place, rather than engage in the act whilst married to her queen. If I was born under her royal name then I would be considered an heir, yes. And my father a consort."

"That's brilliant."

He seems flattered by this. "My mother is brilliant."

So you prefer your mother to your father?

"This discussion has branched far off of the intended topic." He notices with a frown.

"But I enjoyed it. I've learned so much. Thank you." I say with real happiness.

"You are welcome." He says softly.

As we exit the room, I can feel my face getting hot. Professor Grabiner and I just talked about sex. Not in a dirty, come-hither, teasing sort of way. But a logical, factual, scientific discussion. And it wasn't about our predicament, but it was still a heavy topic. He's getting comfortable enough to engage in adult conversation with me. I steal at glance at him, he looks lost in thought. I smile to myself that there isn't an inch of regret on his face. We finally make it down to the dungeons and begin the session.

I pull out my wiggle wand.

"What… Is that?" He asks with disapproval.

I blush furiously. "It's my wand."

He doesn't respond, only stares with dead eyes.

"Look, I know it's ridiculous. But it's either this or a blue one with a golden, glittery star on top. And believe it or not I'm better with this one."

"Why did you not purchase a standard, wooden wand?"

"Because this one is stronger!"

"*SIGH.*" He exhales, shaking his head.

I'm casting and casting, or trying to cast, for the rest of the day. The only good news is that I don't damage myself or the tool.

With a successful day behind me, I retire to my dorm. Maybe I'll just hop straight into bed. Just as I turn the knob and push the door in, I feel a surge of magick, then the next thing I know, I'm drenched in a splash of chilling, icy water.

I shriek. "Kyaaah!"

Spluttering, I dart my head up, expecting to see a bucket and rope-pulley contraption, thinking I've fallen for the oldest trick in the book. But there is nothing there. I touch a shivering hand to the door. It must have been a trigger trap.

I toss back my sopping hair. "WENGE!" I echo throughout the halls in rage.

I hear a small gasp, then the scuttling of little feet.

"GET BACK HERE AND FACE THE CONSEQUENCES!" Foolishly, I run after em.

Doors crack open, fearful and condescending eyes fall upon me. But I do not care, they have no idea what I'm talking about anyway. All they see is a dripping wet, mad woman running down the halls chasing after something that is not there. I don't manage to find em, I'm too tired to bother tracking the little devil.

Ugh! I'll just go take a hot shower, dry off, then plop into bed and plot my REVENGE.