I smile at him. "Indeed," I say. I trail the useful end of the crop over his arm and open the next package. Another book. Just by looking at it, it's easy to see it's probably about as old as the school. It's written in old English, almost closer to old German. "This might not be such a good idea to play with," I allow, setting it carefully on the bedside table before opening the last box. About a month's supply of chocolate. I smile at him. "You know me so well," I tease.