His long legs stretch indolently in front of him, but there’s an energy in him that disquiets her. It’s as if he’s twitching, just under his skin, and she fancies she can hear the magic flowing through him. His magic has always resonated well with hers. The first time she held his wand hand and guided him in the correct motion for a transfiguration, it felt as if they were two different musical instruments playing in the same key. She a clàrsach, he, at age eleven, a recorder. As he has matured, it has changed. A bassoon, she thinks, plangent and inquisitive.