"Something like that, he started saying stuff and it got more and more like the teachers on Charlie Brown." Thomas had minimal skills when it came to magic. When Harry did magic it was like the man was painting the Sistine Chapel and Thomas was still finger painting on the floor with a bunch of five year olds. He didn't care why things worked, only that it did. Sometimes. And sometimes it worked pretty okay. He wasn't a wizard.
But he stayed silent on the topic of her last question, his face a perfect mask of neutrality. He shrugged with the nonchalance of a cat, better than a cat would, really. "Sometimes I forget about it," it was a natural desire of his to stroke her hair, or take her hand. Things he wanted to do to convey a simple affection. Sometimes he remembered, other times he did it spur of the moment and got burned. But not since he'd started feeding on her again.
He stared at the road ahead, turning down a street that took them out of the city.