[Well, perhaps it isn't an insult; in a way, spider is almost a compliment. Quick, stealthy, calculated—it's all a Quidditch player ought to be. But the drowned rat bit could be offensive if she didn't know how she looked at this very moment or how she will look when the clouds open up and shower them with more rain. She's filthy, very well could have crawled about in the dungeons, and her hair's a mess. But it's all in good fun so she shrugs, laughs, lets her broom drift down until she can dismount—less of a stepping off, more of a leap down to the ground for that last taste of flying.]

You can call me whatever you like just short of something rude. And I'd let you know if it was. [Ginny swings her broom over her shoulder and inclines her head to a bit of pavement so she doesn't have to do her cool down stretches in the mud, too, and has him follow her.] But Incy-Wincy could suit me fine. It's no secret that I'm small.

[She laughs again, leaning her broom against the fence and dropping down onto the ground so she can stretch out her calves, breath starting to settle again.]

Have fun?