“To…brew…potions,” Becky answered, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. Then, mentally, the witch kicked herself: how could her brother, with his induction into the magical world not as far along as her own, fully understand what that meant?

What Rebecca Grey was learning was countless uses for everyday ingredients she would never have thought of before, how to manipulate the attributes of several things to create one new concoction, to know instinctively when a cauldron had to be stirred or a fire stoked. She was learning to become a potioneer, yes, but only someone with a genuine interest—nay, passion—for the subject had a hope of learning what that meant.

“It’s a great deal more involved than anything I ever did at Hogwarts,” she added. “I wish that I could explain it properly—I’ve never been as good with words as Father was!”