Margaret Peregrine is a high school sophomore. Most of the time, she's either at school, at the school robotics club, at the school chess club, or doing schoolwork. Today, she's cleaning out her late great-grandmother's attic.
The only other magic-related things she does that evening are heal her dad's hand where he scraped it at work, and let Bella know she'll have more news on Monday. On Friday, she gets out her giant paper again and checks whether the Tikbalang medallion has a fifth spell on it.
Good. The four she has are enough to be going on with. Unless she has any more medical appointments between now and getting lunch with Mexican food boy Colin on Sunday, she spends a bunch of time staring at them and contemplating how to try to get the corresponding incantations.
Only if the circumstances are such that it would be feasible to heal them without them learning anything. Surprisingly fast recovery, fine; miraculous recovery where they see my face or the artifact, no.
I hope you can understand why I can't let someone I've never met borrow it. I'm sorry.
She looks at the front page of the Times, as a courtesy.
None of that proves that you're really his friend, and even if it did, if you tell him about magic and he tells someone else and they tell a journalist, I'm still going to be in a pile of trouble with the authorities if I'm the one who provided the proof.
She doesn't reply; she's inclined to agree. She emails Bella:
Critters having to be secret is awful. I just had to turn down someone who wanted their human friend healed because I couldn't be sure the friend wouldn't turn around and blow the masquerade.
Yeah. I'm not even sure what to target. There are a bunch of ways ending it could go--gradual, all at once, more or less involvement from critter governments, etc--and I don't know which ways to expect to have better outcomes.
Next to none, and the closest things are more in the vein of "what not to do".