Oh, ow. That, rather literally, hurt to hear. Mel cringed, hiding the look only by looking away. She couldn't hear the misspeaking in English nearly as clearly as in her birth language. It took a moment before she could respond.
"It's an opportunity, to learn."
Now was not a good time to be under a muse's wrath. Keeping her touch on the girl, she let inspiration flow in, ideas and images of the most tragic things imaginable that sat within the girls own mind. What the images were, Melpomene did not bother to try to consider. Truly being a prep? To watch her beloved Draco fall in love with another prep and become one himself? To see anything she cared about drawn away from her and unable to stop it... It mattered little what the images were, and how unbelievable they were. Like all things, it was the planting of the idea, the thought, the seed of doubt that said 'it could happen' and nestled deep into the mind to haunt dreams.
But how would the girl express such a thing? She was now divinely inspired, and powerfully so, with tragic ideas. Melpomene stepped back. She reached into her pockets, and fingered the covered exacto blade there. There were also sharpies, pencils, pens... The main reason she wore cargo pants, really.
Of course, the other option was to block it, and see if she could be driven insane. Well, further insane.