No one called her that... name. At least, not to her face, for although she made no secret of her Muggle lineage, for the day that Delana Dobbs was ashamed of anything related to herself would be a day far, far from today, this was the first time she had felt shaken. At school she was a veritable ruler, royalty, and now she was the rising queen. At home she was the adorable youngest girl that her parents and brothers treated her like the princess that she was; so you see, the girl was raised to believe that she was supposed to have preferential treatment! Or at the very least, she deserved respect.
Although she was a bit of a volatile young woman if she felt that occasion called for it (and being called such a deplorable name deserved to be shown her full wrath), Delana was indeed a Ravenclaw at heart, and at the man's words, she felt her anger deflate a little. Because really, what was she going to do? She couldn't use wand magic at the moment, she was still underage and it would be a long three months until she would turn seventeen. She could dash after the horrid crone and give her tongue lashing that wouldn't fall short of epic; the Dobbs girl's ability to deliver the most wicked of tongue lashings became the stuff of legend.
She straightened up to her full height; the throb of pain at her stomach fading. It wouldn't do any good to lose any more face nor dignity in front of this man. "No, I quite agree with you on that," she said, her tone considerably less clipped and sharp than before. She gave a shrug, a pretty gesture. "Though haven't you wondered how crones like that manage to sense out who's pure and who's not? A sixth sense that Muggleborns like me lack, I suppose?" The words were spoke flippantly, for any lingering sense of anger was now fading in the presence of this kind-faced man.
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