"Good, and you?" Al delivered the standard socially-accepted response as he edged his way around her. "You don't have to get up."
He fought the curtain for a second to press his nose to the window and examine something outside.
"Brilliant. Owlet five and eight have officially achieved a fledgling status," he continued with the tone of a Quidditch commentator at a Chudley Cannons game. He checked something off in his notebook and glanced back inside the room. "I've been waiting to confirm that all week."
He flashed a brief smile of a task well done and closed his notebook shut. "That's all of them for the year."