A claw lifts, tapping the tapered point of their mask. Whatever could he mean?

With a rustle, the eye disappears.

Only to be replaced with another one.

And then two.

And then a whole miniscule moth head, sticking out the tip of their snout to stare Quirrel in the face.

Ghost sweeps their hand down to catch them in case they fall. Which, predictably, they nearly do, when they stick a fuzzy paw out to reach for Quirrel's invoice. Their end-pronged antennae fan out. A paper? A paper for Pepper?