"Can you imagine the havoc that'd be wreaked upon that poor shop if they served beverages? Tea on all the pages, hooligans hanging around?" He smiled, overly familiar with the worries of book owners and their precious wares. "It's a wonder they can manage to part with their beloved texts at all." He played with the handle of his mug but did not drink, as if the steam alone was enough to invigorate him. He was tired it -- looked it, felt it -- but his appetite for even simple pleasures seemed to have gone dormant. Even the smell was making him uneasy.
A glance at her book raised in him a question, but he attended to polite formalities first.
"I thought I might either do some reading or catch up on quidditch gossip -- I seem incapable of focusing on both simultaneously."