Richard still felt a painful sting of anxiety deep in his chest as he realised he'd have to go through all these papers later (each suffering from varying levels of dampness) and determine if any were missing. But for now it looked as if they'd done a good job, between the two of them, of retrieving his flyaway novel. The people-pleaser in him wanted to thank her further, but integrity prevented him. It was partly her fault that this had happened, after all.

And partly his for choosing such a haphazard writing location to begin with.

He accepted the papers appreciatively nonetheless, and looked to where she was pointing. "Oh. What a sweet cat." Granted, Richard's tone was somewhat unconvincing, but he did rather like cats. And that one looked like it would be quite amiable -- when asleep.

"Of course -- the Gryffindor seeker. I didn't recognise you stationary." Like her cat, she seemed pleasant when still. "I'm Richard Everly. Not a Quidditch player, but I rarely miss a match."