[The door mends, slowly, carefully, because it wants to be whole again and Quentin and his magic is really just reminded it about this, reminding it of what it used to be and the magic shimmers dully in the golden glow of all the lanterns in the room as he releases it and the door smacks back down to the ground.

He turns more fully towards Matt.]

I, uh, am probably not the best to ask about that? I was still believing in magic when. When I was kind of lured in to magic school and shown that I'd been right all along? It wasn't-- I didn't live in a cupboard or, you know, find a magic clock to walk through? It was--

[It was following the pages of a book that couldn't exist in to an dark, dirty alley in Brooklyn and exiting on to a sprawling lawn in upstate New York, finding Eliot on a sign, telling him he was late like he was some kind of White Rabbit for Quentin to follow. It was weeks, months, years of hard work. Hard work and hellish nightmares of saving the world so many times over, saving the world, saving his friends, saving everyone else, but-- and the books always made it sound so easy. Life wasn't.]

It was school? But, uh, with magic. So. [he clears his throat] What, eh, did you do? Before?