[ What's that supposed to mean? Hardly the look of the Fair Folk, it could almost be an insult, except he's right that she doesn't belong here. Maybe none of them do. So she lets it slide and yes, maybe she's a little too on edge, and if he wasn't so bloody close to her, she'd be able to pass it off like she isn't—but as it is, she suspects he can tell that she's tense, and not just with the mild irritation that comes with chatting with someone as pretentious-sounding as this one. ]

Like the sound of your own voice, do you. [ Offhand, low, almost good-humoured but no doubt directed at him. Then, louder: ] No, I'm afraid I haven't got a handkerchief on me. Your boots look like they can stand a little wine— [ Maybe more than you can, she thinks. ] —so don't get fussy with me about it. [ Then Ginny crosses her arms, stepping away from him so she can face him properly, brows raised. ] And who're you to lecture me on wasting food, then? Maybe I've just got a massive appetite.