Charlie set down his fork and scrubbed his hair out of his face. It was a gesture Bill had seen on him many times when he was a boy and their father had caught him (or both of them) doing something he probably should have known better than to do.
"No," he finally said, staring at his cooling plate of eggs and pancakes. "You're right. I think she's mine too."
There was a peck at the kitchen window that was the Daily Prophet's morning delivery owl.