Al sat down stiffly on his usual seat: the rightmost cushion of the sofa.
He missed this.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I think, I am slightly tired."
He rubbed his face, pushing his glasses up and pressing his knuckles against his eye sockets.
He saw stars.
"Dad," he frowned, trying to figure out how to phrase his next question. "When I -" No, I probably should not talk about myself right now "- when Mum started working for The Daily Prophet, what did you think about it? Were you worried?"