His eyes narrow incrementally, but he supposes this is as good a response as he can hope for from whatever rubbish ghost this is. Just to demonstrate how little he cares for her or her opinion, Draco strides right through her en route back to the snack table. There's an unpleasant shock of cold as his shoulder clips through her, and his steps falter as if she has the consistency of something like honey, but he grunts and gives himself a little heave, and then he's free and striding onward as if nothing happened. See? Easy.

"As I said," Draco says as he makes a show of perusing the table's contents, "he wouldn't let you anywhere near the place." He has his cubs to think about, after all. This ghost would only upset them. "I don't suppose he could kill you, seeing as that's been done," he muses, building a little sandwich out of crackers, cheese, and neat little slices of pepperoni, before concluding: "He'd have to do a hexorcism."