Re: Al and the various Potters
Al released a deep sigh and looked down, supporting his head in his hands.
"He understands," he protested, as soft as the reeds and the violin of the orchestra on the stage. "He reads people like books. And he's brilliant at it. One has to know more than 'a few' emotions to do that, and one certainly has to feel them on oneself first before identifying them on another human being."
Al's lips thinned. "Whether the human in question is normal or not.
He can read me. Just as fast as he reads anyone else's pages. As if I'm not -" full of broken thoughts "- written in some quirky dialect." Al slumped against the arm rest of his chair between his and Jamie's seat. The fight seemed to drain out of him at the sleepy sounds of the orchestra.
"What can I say? I'm like any of my books. Being read makes me happy."