Dean let her go when she was steady, smirking a little at the aborted retort. "Suppose I should have watched where my foot was," he offered generously. Since really, it hadn't been out that far and she'd had ample room. But he didn't mind taking the blame.
He reached for the sketchpad, but she got it first, and Dean let her look, shrugging. "I've been working on the shoe bit - getting better. See?" he rolled a foot toward her to show battered tennis shoes, neatly tied. "And you can call that one of those hidden talents I have, Greengrass."
He wasn't quite sure why Daphne kept talking to him, really. He was about the opposite of the type she usually hung about with, as far as he could tell. But a pretty girl paying attention was a pretty girl. Dean wasn't about to complain. "What are you doing. . . reading about muggles?" he asked her, scanning the book title.