One of the sleeves on his tee was rolled up. Frowning, she moved towards him, unfolding the white fabric with delicate fingers. "I wouldn't say that exactly," she replied and pondered the truth herself. If Plymouth Morgan wasn't scary than maybe Daphne Hopton was just a big coward. Which was making her question her place in Gryffindor. "More like because of you I make myself wrong?" That made absolutely no sense. "You have pretty arms, and eyes and teeth, and you're incredibly distracting. You have no sense of personal space and you're overly flattering."

....

"It makes me feel...." wobbly, jittery, frightened? "Kind of a little..." she finished squinting her eyes and clapping her hands together. "I'm not sure how to handle it."

Or explain it. At all. "But I'll figure it out." That was a promise. "Now where is that Celandine Toussaint? I barely see her anymore, you know." Ramble. Ramble.