“Don’t roll your eyes at me!” he yelled. “Where did this attitude come form? You were never like this before!”

“Wrong!” I yell back, shocking everyone into submission. “I was exactly like this! Bar the hair and clothes, I have always been like this!”

“Welcome to Florean Fortescue’s Ice-cream Parlour, what would you like today?” I said indifferently.

“I could think of a couple of things,” Black said bounding up to the counter and appraising my uniform. “Though I don’t think I could say them with your brother so close.”

I didn’t cut my hair to become a bigger whore than Missy Pringleton who has in effect shagged almost every male in a ten-mile vicinity. Teachers and Hogsmeade residence included.

Hunger. The incapacitating, painfully irritating, earthquake-worthy tummy grumbling starvation that makes you double over and cry “God I’m Hungry.” Which I guess is a pretty obvious statement in it’s own right and you really don’t have to be THIS ravenous to say it. It simply reiterates the point. Just in a rather obvious fashion.