"Oil on velvet, 'Promise of the Peaches'," the shopboy volunteered, nodding at the portrait.
The subject presenting her wares was dressed in rather tight lawn and smirking in an indecorous manner.
Severus frowned more deeply. "It's ghastly."
"No, it's ghostly."
"Miss Lovegood, what—"
"This is spectre work, you know, and it's not nice of you to be unkind in the presence of the artist."
It was then that Severus realised the "shopboy" was well and truly hovering.
"Shouldn't you apologise?"
"Forgive me," Severus said, quite at a loss to understand why he did so—until Lovegood smiled warmly at him.