"Oh, for Slytherin's sake, Greg," Millicent said - slightly out of breath - as she let herself into the shop, "no need to take my head off." She huffed as a peeved-looking older woman bumped into her, then looked after her as she kept stomping toward the door, muttering in very small words about how someone was going to hear about this. "I take it a lot of people m-...are suffering." She turned her head back to look at Greg through annoyed, slitted eyes. "Well, I don't need to ask which Weasel did it, but is he the only one who can ma-...cure it?" After a moment, she let her eyes slide over him and curled her lip just a little bit at the corner. "Gods, that really is an atrocious shade of pink. The Fat Lady couldn't pick something more vile."
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finnigans_rpg,