"Blueberry pancakes, and the personal chef is making his assistant wash the strawberries to feed our cranky Ravenclaw over there," Michael decided; he smiled brightly at Lavender before turning away to finish making the pancake batter. "S'all right, though, I think we like you plenty already. Oughta be grateful for that, Patil, she's got frozen steaks I coulda give you to gnaw on." 'Our', 'we' ... this was old patterns of behavior turning up without his permission, wasn't it.