"I am?" she asked, but her mind had gone back to stupid, worthless Potter and his potions.  He'd brought them over, and she'd had to haul herself off the couch.  Every step had hurt but she'd managed, though not before he'd hammered on the door again.  She'd been able to hear him muttering it would be bloody perfect if she weren't home and then she'd opened the door and looked at his irritating face.  He didn't own a brush, his glasses didn't fit right, and he'd stood there like a fool, a box of flagons in his hands.