She flipped through it and he sat down next to her, leaving, as his mother would say, room for virtue between them, and stretching his legs out. She slowly settled down against him and he pretended not to notice and instead looked at the scrawling text of the book.   It had been handwritten rather than printed, and looked to be the collected notes of one, obsessive researcher.  At least whoever he'd been, he'd had a neat hand.  Some of the books Draco had poked at in the family library were nearly illegible.  