Do Not Judge a Book by its Cover;; Open/Rosalie

It is a popular cliché to tell one not to judge a book by it's cover. The moral behind the whole thing is that you might not be able to tell the quality of a book just by the appearance of it's binding. However, thus was not the sort of phrase to be using around many people like Alexander Lyzander Catley. The young Hufflepuff had an...innate ability to judge a book by it's cover. More often, the boy could tell things about the owner at the time they had the book. It was a bit like a security camera that only caught emotions and extremely repetitive thoughts. In some ways it was a blessing. He could probably score a job working as some sort of detective official. Alexander would be quite suitable in those sort of things. On the other hand, it could also be as annoying as hell. For instance, Alexander found it quite distracting when brushing against people in the halls or touching the ancient walls of Hogwarts. Frustration could easily catch a hold of the fifth year student and it drove him mad that only certain things, generally his own objects, held a haven for him. However, not always did the bad moods plague him. Oftentimes, one might find him in a rather strange mood. He would seem to try to touch everything, feeding off of the tales they told to him. It was almost an addiction some days. It was strange, this kid. Maybe he was defected like a bad computer program. He hadn't yet met anyone like him, that was for sure. Not anyone that was a natural, anyway. Sure you had those people who took the elective, but still. Alexander struggled with this idea. He felt that his potential as a Psychometrist was being wasted. Maybe if there was someone like him but more experienced, he could learn to read more accurately and precisely. He hadn't approached the professor though. People in power made him uncomfortable. Was there the possibility that he could get distinct visions of the past rather than be bombarded with vague ideas? Was it possible to do the same with people? The thought both excited him and chilled him to the bone.

In effect to that stimulus, Mr. Catley's hand glided more quickly over the covers of the heavy-binded leather book. He held the book like he was reading it, his fingers lining up instinctively where the last persons' did; his eyes remained shut, his lips unmoving. Infact, he was not reading the book. He rather felt it an enjoyable past time to find a bunch of books without labels on their binding, which wasn't that hard in that musty old place, and try to guess what type of book they were by the thoughts he got off the book. Sad books were the easiest, duly followed by the mystery genre, which preceded the romance. He tried to avoid the romantic books like they were the plague. He couldn't understand why people were so prone to love. Even if he weren't strange, Alexander would still have found the idea of being committed to one person boring, alien, and trapping. It was almost similar to being signed up for a spot in a guillotine line.

Luckily no one would be up at the library at this time. It was very early, the sun was just now breaking a purple sky into a lighter pink. The air smelt of rain, which was hardly surprising with the extreme chance of rain for yet another day. This had been the fourth time it had happened consecutively. Inside the library it was dry though. It smelt of that old bookstore scent and was quieter than a coffin. The only sounds that were heard were those of the librarian (who's name Alexander managed to forget way more than was appropriate), walking around the library, putting books on shelves, etc. and Alexander himself. He had decided to wear something less formal that his robes and instead wore a pair of worn-in jeans and a shirt under a brown and green striped hoodie. Alexander's auburn hair looked darker than it had in quite a while, and he liked to blame it on the lack of sun he'd been getting lately. Inside his jacket his wand laid snugly to rest. Sleepiness gaining on himself, Alexander unknowingly let his head drift down on top of "Jeriope: The Tale of Twelve Trumpeters". Green eyes managed to flutter like a hummingbird's wings before they lost the battle to sleep.