[ The skepticism's there, an impulsive flicker; but it's quickly put out by the memory that follows the name. There's nothing quite so reassuring as reality, even if it's seen through someone else's eyes. Clint certainly believes in it, at least, and surely a wizard is the last person to be throwing stones.

Remus is distracted enough by the memory that he takes a moment to respond, thoughts lingering on the cold blue light. It's met by an idle memory, similar and different, a searing green light in the distinct image of a skull. ]

I'm not an alien or an experiment, if it's any consolation. [ Not that Clint seems all that bothered about either implication. The calm's appreciated, if slightly eerie. ] I teach at a school for magic. It's very common in my world, though its existence isn't known to everyone.