Oh. Oh. It's so beautiful. It's so worth every frustrating infuriating moment, months of them, it had taken him to perfect that charm. It's even better than he could have imagined. Ginny screeches at him like a banshee, clearly incensed, and she's stuck, and he'd lied, he absolutely will not step in, she's got herself into this situation and she can get herself out.

She does, hitting the floor so hard it sends a few things in jars rocking on top of his bookshelves, and although his eyes flare in mild alarm when she steams up to him like a locomotive, he doesn't back down either, going so far as to lean back on his desk, so when she stops a little closer than she might have intended, the height difference isn't nearly so pronounced. Hm.

"Almost the very moment I realized they were serious about allowing me to shape young minds through the wonder of teaching," he says, with, incredibly, a straight face, even managing to affect a bit of that posh pureblood boredom to top it off. "The desks aren't for sitting, Weasley."