[James chokes on his coffee, too busy coughing and nearly dying to even defend himself to that old Muggle, to say that no. No no no no he's not engaged to this harpy. She's a ginger and she's evil and annoying and a liar apparently, though part of him marvels at how easily she did that.]

I'm British. And a bloody wizard. I can get scones whenever I want.

[But is he protesting any further than to hiss that at her under his breath? No. He clears his throat, fairly certain that he has coffee in his lungs at this point.]

But whatever you want. Darling. Do I at least get a snog for this?