As swiftly as the flash of irritation darkened her features, it was gone; proof that things hadn't changed all that much, since their Hogwarts days. Any bit of awe she may have felt, in the presence of the Falcons team member, dissipated like a Felix Felicis high. "Please, don't spare me another thought. Otherwise, you might strain a hamstring," she drawled, in a not-so-terrible impression of Draco, himself.

The impressions an older Slytherin Quidditch player, and Draco's former teammate, might have weren't lost on her, but they weren't back in the dungeons, were they? She did her best to maintain the detached, cool expression expected of all shopgirls employed in haute couture. "Enjoy the wares, Montague," she murmured, slipping past him, accompanied by the soft whisper of silk. A few children lingered on the doorstep, goggling at Montague, and that was bad for business. She headed in their direction, glad to have an opportunity through which to vent her ire.