She blinked at me for a moment before responding, "if anyone ever says you are a delicate flower who would never hurt a fly.. they need to get checked. You have a mean streak. I  like it." Her eyes were very suggestive. Clearing my throat and taking a sip of my butterbeer. It wasn’t as.. stale as I was expecting it to be. "While that is some added stress, I don’t think that would be what has you so frazzled like your hair in second year."