If she was making fun of him, she was really going to a lot of trouble. The paranoid streak that had been beaten into him over the last three years told him that anyone who wanted to take him inside and perform any kind of spell on him was definitely up to no good, but his gut instinct was that she was simply crazy. He didn't need any training to recognize that. "You're mental," he said, standing his ground. He wasn't going in there. "Leave my hair alone. You want a color sample, you just walk right down the street and ask for Fred or George." He pointed to the next storefront over, the Weasley Wizard Wheezes flagship. "They've got much better hair. Promise. Not pink at all."
And they were both a bit mental, so it only stood to reason that they'd be better prepared to field a request to let a stranger point her wand at their heads.