A/N: Some good questions in reviews, which I've done my best to answer in my forums. Thank you for reading!

Chapter Six: Muggle Studies

Charity Burbage looked like a teacher, albeit an attractive one. In fact, she was one of the few professors Harry had seen who wore a Veil, though he could still see her magic boiling up in her chest. He had not seen all of them—the post-third year professors rarely ate in the great hall with the younger children.

Babbage wore the robes of a professor, but did not carry a wand. In fact, the more Harry studied her as he and the other boy students took their seats, the more he realized something was different about her. Her magic was there, but seemed constrained somehow.

"Good morning," she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. "I am Charity Burbage, your Muggle Studies professor. As I'm sure you've seen, you have more Muggle studies than any other course—a total of fourteen hours a week. The reason for that is very simple—this course is designed to provide you a basic Muggle education so that you can function in the Muggle world if necessary. I do not mean teaching you how to turn on a telly or use a phone, but how to perform Muggle maths, knowing basic Muggle history as it relates to our own, and learning about their sciences. While Muggles are incapable of magic, they have accomplished feats of technology which are genuinely astounding. This course is an accelerated Muggle curriculum and will cease to be mandatory upon the completion of your Muggle General Certificate of Secondary Education, referred to by its initials as GCSE exams Most Muggles finish this process by age 15, however, as witch-born you have certain advantages and so will be learning at an accelerated pace. Those who pass and wish to continue may do so to finish his or her A-levels, thereby allowing them to continue University studies if they so wish."

"I demand to opt out of this class," Malfoy said, standing. "I refuse to be taught by a Squib in topics beneath us as wizards."

"Demand denied, sit down," Babbage said without any indication she cared about his calling her a Squib. "I am well aware of your father's feelings on this topic. However, the I.C.W. has mandated this class regardless of whatever the Board of Governors or the Ministry might like, so you will take your lessons and you will pass, or you will be denied the right to sit your O.W.L.s. Do you understand, Mr Malfoy?"

Malfoy sneered and sat. Burbage, however, was not ready to drop it. "Mr Malfoy, I believe I asked you a question. Do you understand the terms and requirements of this class?"

"I understand you think you have power now," Malfoy said. "But you'll learn better soon enough when my father hears about this."

"That will be ten points from Slytherin, Mr Malfoy, and a detention tonight. We'll make sure your father learns of that as well. Now, I will ask you one more time before I contact your head of house: do you understand the terms and requirements of this class?"

"Yes, Professor," Malfoy sneered.

"A start," she said with a nod, "we'll work on your tone tomorrow. Rest assured, I can and will make your lives unpleasant if you give me reason. As I stated, this is an ICW-mandated class, which means my contract is with the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW independent of the Governors and the Ministry. If I am dismissed by the Governors, rest assured another just like me will be here the next day, along with ICW enforcers. Or has your father never informed you of the years following You-Know-Who's insurrection, when ICW enforcers locked down the ministry for two weeks until an entirely new Wizengamot was chosen by the covens?"

"I've heard of them," Malfoy said, sinking into his chair with a pout.

"I would hope so, as your father spent those years in Azkaban. Now, I know we have two students raised entirely in the Muggle world. How many of you have gone to Muggle day school?"

Harry was surprised to see Finnigan and several other boys from Ravenclaw raise their hands. "Very good," she said. "Today will be spent taking equivalency exams to see where everyone is. Your education for the next year will depend on how well you do. Nixy, if you please?"

Harry saw a blur of magic that looked faintly humanoid zip past, and moments later there were a pile of folded sheets on his desk, next to three sharpened pencils. "For those who do not know, these writing utensils are called 'pencils'. You may open your booklets whenever you are ready, and answer each question of the test by filling in the bubble next to the correct answer. Begin, we don't have all day."

By the time the two hours let up, Harry felt mentally and physically exhausted. He dragged himself along with the other first years as they were marched by Percy Weasley again back to Gryffindor Tower.

Once inside the common room, they saw the girls for the first time since lunch, all gathered attentively in the common room around Professor McGonagall.

"Welcome, please do come in and sit," she said. Harry did so, staying by habit now with Ron, Seamus and Neville.

"I hope everyone had a good first day. I was pleased to see no point deductions and several points awarded, well done! Ordinarily, this period will be an open study period for you. While I'm sure you've noticed that the classes are two hours apiece, this is in large part to allow you to complete your homework in class. You will not begin to receive significant prep until your third year. You will also have two extra study periods on Friday to allow you to catch up with any work you may have to do. Now, do we have any questions after your first day?"

Harry was not surprised to see Hermione's hand shoot up, nor was McGonagall who nodded to her. "Thank you, Professor. Can you tell us why we are not allowed to take potions until Third Year?"

"For the same reason you do not take Defense Against the Dark Arts," McGonagall said. "Your magic is in too great a state of flux. There are potions that are so delicate a stray erg of magical energy could catalyse them with disastrous, even lethal results. It was a safety precaution Professor Snape insisted on, and after having lost ten students just from my own house over the course of my first thirty years of teaching, I absolutely concur with his decision. Defense is the same way—you might be practicing an innocent stunning spell, but with an unstable core, the results could be lethal. I hope that answers your question."

"Thoroughly, thank you, Professor," Hermione said, sinking back down with a horrified expression.

"Make no mistake, children, that magic can be dangerous," McGonagall said. "That is why for this first year, especially, you shall be watched very closely. We take the responsibility of your safety very seriously. We ask that you respect us, and the danger that comes with this power. Each of you carries a deadly weapon in your wand. This school will not just teach you to employ your magic, but also when, where and how that magic should be used. Now, are there any other questions?"

"Where are the ghosts?" Ron asked. "Charlene told me that Hogwarts is the most haunted place in the world."

McGonagall smiled at him, but it was suddenly not a happy smile. "Are you so eager to converse with the dead, Mr Weasley?"

Ron paled so fast he looked almost faint. Harry, though, blinked as he saw a figure emerge from a portrait of Godric Gryffindor above the fire. He felt his heart skip at the single most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his life, and couldn't help but moan as he leaned back. The air around them grew so cold he saw vapor rising around him with their breaths, and even the fire dimmed as the figure floated down beside McGonagall.

"This is Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington," McGonagall said in a strangely hollow voice. "After being captured in France during the siege of Boulogne-Sur-Mer, he was brought back to London and executed on October 31st, 1492, for his support of the Pretender Perkin Warbeck, and drifted to Hogwarts thereafter."

Harry had no idea what the others saw, but what he saw was a cold, icy shadow of a person's magic without the body around it. The magic took a vaguely humanoid form, concentrating in sharp balls of eldritch, cold blue fire reminiscent of eyes. He tried to scramble up, but found his body frozen with fright.

"Don't worry, Mr Potter," a voice like ice sheets grinding together whispered. "I shan't hurt you. The others see a silver man in a doublet, but you see the true face of death, don't you?"

The others looked to see Harry frozen in terror. He did manage to nod his head. "I…don't understand."

"Ghosts, Mr Potter, are created when the magic outlives the body either through intent or accident," McGonagall said. "Aethers quite often have an affinity with ghosts—or an extremely opposite reaction. Only time will tell you with you."

The ghost laughed darkly, causing everyone in the room to shudder, before it floated back up through the ceiling. "Hogwarts is the most haunted place in the British Isles," she confirmed, "but they are also disruptive because of the effect they have on the living. They are allowed to stay here so long as they do not interfere in your education. Any other questions?"

The questions continued for a few more minutes before the day was declared done and the first years were sent to their rooms Harry heard older kids emerging into the common room behind him, but knew he and the other first years would not be welcomed there.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

It was easy to fall into a routine because the staff allowed no other option. When Elfaba joked about keeping a tight rein on the children, Harry didn't realize how serious she actually was. It seemed they were completely segregated from the rest of the student population, overseen at every moment by either a Prefect, the Head Girl, or the Professors, and worked constantly.

Muggle studies alone were more difficult than any schooling Harry had gone through, because of the sheer volume of material Professor Burbage covered. The other boys all acted like it was easy in class since none were willing to show weakness around other boys, but at night after dinner Harry watched Ron almost come to tears trying to keep up, especially given his home-schooled background.

Worst of all, Harry overheard Hermione talking to her roommates Jessica Rivers and Leah Thomas how refreshing it was to go at a faster pace and how much she was learning. He just knew that she or one of the other girls could help him, but not only were they segregated from other years, they were most definitely kept apart from the girls for reasons he could not quite understand.

By the time their first Friday arrived, Harry felt so emotionally and mentally exhausted he could barely drag himself out of bed. Fortunately, they had only single-hour classes of Herbology and Charms in the morning, with one hour study breaks in between that gave the boys a chance to catch up on their Muggle Studies work.

In Wizarding Studies, the boys listened intently as Professor Hooch talked about the structure of the Covens in England, why they came about, and how the structure continued to evolve with the times. After a few minutes of listening, though, Harry started to grow confused and raised his hand.

Hooch saw the gesture and nodded. "Mr Potter."

"Professor, it sounds like anyone can form a coven."

"Theoretically anyone can," Hooch allowed. "Now, here's a question for you—how many actually do? A new coven is defined as any group of four or more bound witches and their wizard. The modern covens grew out of the Great Shift, which began in the 5th Century right here in England when the witch queen Rowena introduced the first modern wands. Those wand-bearing witches who found a wizard formed a family unit. Those units who were able to produce the most children became the most powerful, simply because of the economics of the time. The most powerful were those with a wizard whose magic could handle four witches. Children born from these groups remained a part of the coven, increasing its practical and political power, until it gave rise to the current coven system.

"Most covens today are instead simply a group of families born into an older coven, and who appoint the oldest wizard as their elder and their oldest witch as their dame. Some covens in fact are quite large, consisting of several families. However, to form a new coven, four witches must bind themselves to the same wizard. Mr Longbottom, can you tell me why that doesn't happen very often?"

"It would like as kill the wizard," Neville said.

Harry turned and gaped at Neville. "Kill?"

"You think he's joking, Mr Potter?" Professor Hooch asked.

Harry shrank back into his seat. "Well, I did," he admitted. "Not sure, now."

Hooch looked at Finnigan. "Wizards are, on average, more powerful than witches, is that correct, Mr Finnigan?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so."

"Do you know why?"

Finnigan blinked. "Don't much talk about it at home, Professor."

"No, I imagine not. It is a subject that you will not cover in depth until your third year. However, the question was raised and we shall deal with it. The reason, Mr Potter, is simple. Sex and bonds."

Harry felt his cheeks burn. "Professor?"

"When a witch and wizard bond, the witch absorbs magic from the wizard. When my husband and I bonded, we formed a magical link. When he took his second wife, he formed another magical link with her we call a bond. The two of us are constantly pulling at his magic. While Professor Snape is in fact a very powerful wizard, if he were to attempt to bond to a third witch, the strain of forming a third link would almost certainly drain his magical core and kill him. In fact, the last legal coven was formed in 1962 by Elder Ganapti Patil, who still holds his Wizengamot seat. Before him was Headmaster Dumbledore in 1882, when he took on his fourth wife, Eustacia Potter—your great, great, great aunt, Mr Potter. The last known coven formed outside the law was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and as we know he promptly had them all killed."

Smirking, she said, "So tell me, Mr Potter, do you think you're the Headmaster's or Dark Lord's equal to form your own coven?"

"I don't even want one witch, let alone four!" Harry said, horrified.

The other boys laughed at Harry's sincere exclamation; even Hooch smiled. "And yet, Mr Potter, have a wife you will. Two at the least."

"But can a man even really love that many women?" he asked.

"Child," Hooch said in all seriousness, "that's what love potions are for. Now, I do have an announcement to make. Flying lessons begin tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Do not be late!"

The boys cheered enthusiastically, but even as he let a mote of excitement enter his chest, Harry dwelled on the horrifying thought of a wall of girls kissing him until his magic bled out and he died a cold, empty husk, or worse yet became a ghost like Sir Nick.

~~Firebird~~

~~Firebird~~

While Charms and Herbology classes were only one hour, Friday saw no relief with Muggle Studies that day. Harry read as best he could, struggling along with the other boys while Professor Burbage watched from behind her desk with pursed lips.

Finally, class ended and the other boys from the other houses gathered their books into their satchels and waited until their prefect came to gather them. As they were shuffling out, though, Harry lingered behind. Since they were into study time, he had no fear of getting a tardy note. At her desk, Professor Burbage was already marking papers. Without looking up, she said, "Is there something I can help you with, Mr Potter?"

Harry opened his mouth, but nothing came out. The last time he asked a teacher for help, he was withdrawn from the school and spanked with a belt until his bottom bled. He tried again, but once again no words came out and he suddenly found himself trembling. "Sorry, Professor," he finally said, giving up.

"Mr Potter," Burbage said in that clipped, precise tone of hers. "Please come here."

Suddenly fighting the trembling in his legs, Harry slowly approached the professor's desk. "Please place your book back on my desk, Mr Potter."

Harry did so, fighting his trembling. Suddenly, Burbage raised her hand over him, and Harry responded as he always did at home with nine years of intense conditioning. He covered his head with his arms

"I see," the professor said, standing above him. Harry, trembling, waited for the blow that usually came by now, but instead felt two gentle hands on his shoulders.

"I was not allowed to see your full file because I am not your head of house," she said gently as she pulled him off the floor, "but after watching you all week, I had my suspicions. You were Muggle raised, weren't you?"

Harry stared at her warily, still jumpy from the possibility of being struck. Slowly he nodded.

Burbage smiled sadly. "I wasn't going to hit you, Harry, but I apologize for the ruse regardless. I wanted to see for myself." She touched his cheek, and almost before he even thought about it, Harry had a hand on her chest, touching that raging, boiling pot of contained magic.

Rather than get upset, Burbage closed her eyes and sighed. "As wonderful as that feels, you need to remember not to do that, Harry." She gently lifted his hand from her breast, and then sighed. "Not often I actually get to feel my own magic."

Harry stuttered an apology, but Burbage merely smiled sadly. "I'm a Squib, Mr Potter. The magic is there, simply not the means to use it. While it would be considered a huge breech of etiquette and Professor Hooch would assign you a detention, the truth is I've not had my magic touched like that ever. So I can't find it within myself to be too angry."

She leaned back and studied him in silence, and Harry watched her right back. With a Veil, she looked just like any other attractive woman in her early thirties, save for her magic. However, standing so close he realized why she looked different. Compared to the light of her magic, her extremities looked almost dead. Her blood flowed through her limbs, but not her magic.

"You can see my blocks, can't you?" she finally asked.

"The magic is only in your chest," Harry admitted.

"A dysfunction of the lymphatic system, from what I've been told," she said. "Magic is, after all, highly disruptive. But enough of me. You had a question before you found yourself trapped by your conditioning. So, ask. I promise you, I shan't be mad. After all, you just touched my breast and did not even get a frown for it."

The statement was so ludicrous Harry found himself giggling with a touch of hysterical release. "I…I was just…how are we supposed to keep up, Professor? I studied through every study break and have been staying up every night trying to keep up with my maths and the biology book, and I'm still behind. I heard the girls say it was easy, but it's not! What am I doing wrong? How am I supposed to keep up?"

He was expecting a look of disappointment, but instead Burbage beamed at him. "You're not supposed to keep up, Mr Potter," she said, making it sound as if it were a brilliant concept. "You're supposed to come and ask for my help. This week has been not only a test for you boys, but a lesson as well. As good a job as Professor Hooch does, she fails to truly impart this one most important lesson to you boys."

"What, professor?"

"That wizards cannot succeed without the help of a witch," she said. "Boys like Draco see their father on the Wizengamot and believe that he is there because of his power and authority, and Lucius I'm sure propagates that theory. It will be a difficult lesson for Draco to learn that his father is there only because the coven he was born into chose for him to be. His eldest wife Elezeta is the Dame of the Malfoy Coven, and if she tells him to do something, he will do it, because he doesn't lead the coven, he speaks for it. And the moment he fails to speak for it, he will be replaced. But he will not do that, because he is smart enough to go to his witches for help. You, Mr Potter, are the first boy of your class to realize that you needed help, and that you had to come to a witch to find it. In fact, you're the first boy since I've begun teaching to come to me in the first week. Most are a month in before they consider it."

"But the girls…"

"The girls asked on the first day. Young Ms Granger asked ten minutes into classes how we would be handling the accelerated curriculum."

"She seems really smart," Harry admitted. "Her magic is really jumpy, though. She's nervous a lot."

"I imagine so. Being thrown, as she was, into a completely alien society with such outlandish rules." She stood and walked over to a large chest in the corner and opened it up. Over her shoulder Harry could see a row of beakers that seemed to glow with dancing magic.

She sat back down facing him with a potion in one hand and a palm-sized book in the other and said, "Do you know what this is?" She held up the vial.

"It's blue," he said. "But it feels kind of like…" He hesitated to say it. "It feels a little like you, and Hermione, I guess."

"Actually, I think it safer to say we feel more like it," she said. "This is a mind-ordering potion. Simply put, it makes it easier for you to retain information. It is also permanent—it was invented by a famous alchemist named Nicholas Flamel almost five hundred years ago, and has been used by almost every magical student since that time. The girls have already had theirs. Go ahead."

Harry took the cork off the potion and smelled it. "It smells like parchment and leather," he said.

"Actually, it has no smell at all," she said. "I think that's your Aether senses fooling your nose. Go ahead, Mr Potter."

With a deep breath, he poured it down his throat and swallowed quickly. It was much like water, with a slightly gritty, bitter aftertaste. He waited a moment, and then said with some disappointment, "I don't feel any different."

"Nor will you, until you study for Monday," she said. She then offered him the book. "And this…this is a book that you alone may benefit from most. I, along with most of the staff, saw how you were affected by the magical presence of the castle. While I did not teach your mother, I do remember our last Aether, Mary Carlisle. Mary's power manifested itself through audio perception—she heard magic as music. She walked through life dancing to a tune only she could hear—quite literally. She was picked on quite often when she would start dancing or swaying in place in the middle of the hall because of the castle's magic. This book helped her control that."

The book was bound in leather. On the cover was the title: Flying the Fifth Element: An Aether's Guide to Magic, by Lily Potter neé Evans.

Harry could not speak at first as he stared down at the name. "Lily…"

"Since you arrived, Professor Flitwick has commented several times about your resemblance to Lily. Not in appearance—I have it on good authority that you're the spitting image of your father. However, the ways your abilities have manifested very closely resemble your mother's experiences. And that made me think about that book. If you look further, you'll see that she actually wrote that as the thesis for her Charms Mastery, since most mind magics are considered an extension of charms. She wrote it when she was eighteen years old."

Eighteen. "Does that mean she was already married?"

"She was. She and your father bonded their sixth year and married upon completing Hogwarts. Your father would have been an ideal wizard for three wives, Harry. The headmaster himself confirmed James Potter had the power to handle it, but like many Aether witches, Lily was very uncomfortable with sharing her spouse. I'm sure in time she would have, once she assured herself of their bond, but they had to go into hiding before he could form any more bonds. The rest, as they say, is history."

Harry held the book to his chest. "I wish I understood all this. I mean … two wives? I just…it's crazy."

"Our society is dying, Mr Potter," Burbage said very softly. "Few wish to admit it, but that is the truth. Five hundred years ago, witches made up perhaps sixty per cent of the magical population. It was not so great a sin for a wizard to choose not to marry, or to have a single wife. Our laws permitted multiple spouses, but it was a magical and emotional challenge to have more than one, and most wizards, even if they had the power, simply did not have the inclination. In fact, there was a high incidence of homosexuality among wizards precisely because of the drain witches put on bonding. If you'd ever sat through a coven meeting, you would know why. But wizards…bless your souls, but you boys fight. Dark Lord after Dark Lord rose up over the centuries, and wizards went to fight the good fight and died in the process. The wizards that were left were not the winners, but the ones too weak to fight; the ones that would rather love each other than bear the strain of bonding with a witch.

"Worst of all is the destabilizing nature of magic itself. Magic is inherently destructive, Mr Potter. That's why older witches like McGonagall, or wizards like Professor Dumbledore, barely look human anymore. Magic has changed their bodies into something no longer human. There is no pain—it is a part of our life cycle and I have no fear of it. But that means that after a certain point we can no longer interbreed with base humans to increase our numbers. And when we do, the results are almost always female, which just complicates the issue.

"And so we come to our current state—a government that on the surface is run by wizards while in fact wholly controlled by the covens behind them; a world where wizards are a commodity sought after fiercely by witches. Have you ever wondered why your every step is controlled, and why you're constantly watched?"

Harry nodded, though he feared the answer.

"The reason, Harry, is to keep you from finding yourself bound to a witch before your magic matures. There are witches who would do that—especially to you because of your unique powers and your role in the war. They wouldn't care that doing so would render you as a vegetable for the rest of your life by shattering your magic. And so our job is not just to educate you, but to protect you until you are mature enough to safely handle a bond."

With a look over his shoulder, she took his hand and placed it right back on her left breast. "Do you know why everyone has told you not to do this?"

"Because I'm…" His cheeks flushed as, whole subconsciously, he touched her magic. "Because I'm touching your boob."

"While that might be a good reason for a Muggle, you'd be astounded at just how touchy witches and wizards are. No, you're not supposed to do this, Harry, because of how astoundingly good it feels to witches. The sensation is so powerful, that a young girl without control of her magic might bind herself to you if it went on too long." She took his hand away, and his palm felt tingly, and yet it felt cold as well.

"Is that why we don't get to see the girls?" he finally asked.

"Absolutely," Burbage said, smiling. "Like I said, witches and wizards are amazingly sensual beings. I have no doubt in my mind that if we allowed co-mingling, you'd have half the girls in First Year rubbing up against you constantly like a pack of kneazles, just because of the feel of your magic. And that, my young friend, is something we don't want when there's a chance of accidental bonding and all of the negative aspects that bonding has."

"Has it happened before?" Harry asked.

"It has, and the poor lad spent the rest of his life in St. Mungo's Hospital, mad from a broken magical core. Worst yet, the Ministry still let two women bond with him so he could father children anyway. The expectations of society, after all." She sounded slightly bitter at the last. "Read the book, Harry, but know it would not help anyone else—the magic discussed in it is simply not possible for most children your age."

"Should I…could I let the others know about the potion?"

"Yes," Burbage said. "In fact, I would encourage it.'

"Thank you, Professor." He started to gather his bag, when on an impulse almost impossible to control, he turned and wrapped the startled woman in a hug. He felt her burbling magic bouncing against his, as if he were hugging a warming, soothing fire.

Blushing brilliantly, he backed away, grabbed his bag, and all but ran from the classroom. Burbage sighed, touching her breast and the tingle there, before nearly shouting in alarm to find Professor Dumbledore standing right in front of her desk with a twinkling smile.

"Professor!" she nearly screamed. "What…how long have you been there?"

"Long enough," he said. The ancient wizard walked toward the cabinet, his wand bouncing in his hand behind his back. "How has your first week gone?"

Cheeks flaring, she said, "Well enough. The witches are bright this year, and Mr Potter promises to be a leader among the wizards."

"Excellent news," Dumbledore said. In an old, wispy voice he said, "Professor McGonagall has told me that Mr Potter's touch has quite the soothing effect on a witch's magic."

"It does," she said tightly. "No excuse for me, I suppose, but…"

He turned slowly to her, and then smiled. "Dear, you have nothing to be ashamed of. His touch was not in the least bit sensual, rather it was entirely magical. And given your condition, I would be the last person to condemn you for that. However, I do think it wise not to make a habit of having under-age wizards fondling your breasts."

Burbage sighed. "Honestly, Papa, get your mind out of the gutter!"

Dumbledore laughed in delight. "Oh, if only I could find the gutter, much less enter it. Regardless, Charity, you did a truly wonderful thing today. You have made a genuine connection with the boy. When Professor McGonagall reported his conditions at home, I'm afraid I despaired that he would fail to flourish. And I must say, it was inspired to give him Lily's book."

"Who better to teach an Aether son than his own Aether mother?" she said.

"Hmm," he said. "If I recall, you knew Mrs Potter personally, did you not?"

Charity blinked, before smiling. "Yes, yes I did. I wasn't as close to her as Alice Longbottom or Selena Lovegood were, but we were friends. Of course, it turned out to be a good thing I wasn't that close."

"And that you were my last living descendent," Dumbledore said. "Many eyes are watching Mr Potter, dear. The news that he is an Aether has not been met with enthusiasm by the covens. While I encourage you to cultivate your relationship with him, please be careful in so doing."

Clearing his throat abruptly, he continued, "Well, I am off. I hope to see you tonight for dinner? I would love to spend time with my great-great granddaughter, after all. It is amazing that we live in the same castle and yet see so little of each other."

Burbage smiled. "Of course, Papa. I'll see you at seven."

After he was gone, Charity opened her desk to remove her own copy of Lily's book and stared at the picture of the witch within. "And now it begins, Lily," she whispered.

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Author's Note: Very special thanks to Teufel1987, JR and Miles for beta reading. I appreciated the Brit picking this time around!