Edgeworth is actually larger and stronger than Sirius--when he chooses to be. Being punched by him is like getting kicked by a bastard hippogriff, but he so rarely punches, no one actually knows about it. And this isn't a punch, right, this is just being pushed aside--but Sirius stares around at Edgeworth all the same, more dull than offended. Like: you're not actually serious, are you?

But he is, and in earnest, and Sirius lets his eyebrows raise just a little.

"All right," he says, but lest Edgeworth mistake that for actual agreement, he adds, scathingly, "girl. What's gotten into you? Have you got one of these murals hanging around somewhere? Oh, hang on--is it offensive? Is that why you're so fussy right now? Because this--" The marks on the mural, the dark lines scratched out on its face-- "is a joke, Edgeworth. I mean, really."

Overreacting. He doesn't say it. He doesn't have to. Instead, he holds up his hands, like he's surrendering--wand in one, open knife still in the other.

"But if you're actually pretending as if you can order me around, I s'ppose I could be convinced to humour you."