Reading was an art—was all Torquil could think about as he thumbed through a book on wizarding psychology. It was a rather unknown paperback edition, as it had a rather scatterbrain commentary on those who have fallen under the effects of an imperius curse, cruciactus curse, the confundus charm, and memory charm, and compares and contrasts it with that of a normal wizard. There were even commentaries about confrontations with magical creatures and maladies, and through the rambling rubble of nonsense, Torquil could only find a measly commentary about lycanthropy.

Torquil slid his glasses down his nose, and then pushed them up onto his face again, making sure he didn’t miss anything on the page as he earmarked it—and then perused the remainder of the book, looking for another reference to them under some other character defining chapter.

He had chosen to sit in a rather quiet corner of the Leaky Cauldron on a similarly silent workday, in order to sit back and just try and dig his nose into a book, to try and get a direction for his werewolf research—of course that was until the soft voices in the pub rose to a murmur, and suddenly a rather ranting and distracting discussion filled with a few obnoxious laughs.

Torquil softly laid his book down next to his drink and scornfully removed his glasses. He then twisted around in his chair, surveying the small pub for the cause of the commotion and hoping to add his two bits to the hubbub and silence it.