Verity's eyes nearly pleaded with him but the longer she watched, the more she knew- he'd never seen it either. When he stepped closer she stepped back, she needed to be able to breath, to think. "He's six, Montague. An untrained wizard- you'd notice. I mean, what was your first sign of magic? Mine? I petrified my father, I've turned my brother's hair green, I made flowers grow in winter- you notice," Verity looked at him, trying to be the realistic one about this.