"Yes."

Though this conversation was the precise reason she had asked her friend to come, Persy found she could not quite meet Ivy's eyes. Even as she had discovered the ritual, readied herself for it, the witch had known she should have confided in someone. Not Cleon—she loved her brother, but he was... Cleon—but Ivy, even Kelly at a push. Reviving the dead was not something to be undertaken lightly. Her uncertainty, her pride, had stopped her: she had failed thus far, and did not wish to have others bear witness to her failure.

"I—I tried to find her afterwards, I even went to the Ministry, but I couldn't, and now—" the words stumbled out of her like water from a faucet, but came to an abrupt halt. Here, the witch managed to meet her friend's eyes, the look in her own a mixture of horror and despair.