Initially, there's a set to Harry's jaw that suggests he will not be diverted. He's certainly fudged his way through enough egregious injuries and questionable symptoms to recognize when somebody is being squirrelly about theirs, and maybe it's just because they're coming off all this Dark Arts, Auror, ok but what about if a strictly hypothetical witch were just medium bad, Mr. Auror, what then, very subtle kinds of talk, but he's rather stuck in that track for a moment.
"Well hang on here," he says, a little loudly. "You know, I'm really not--" about to judge you, he means to say, speaking as a man who bore a crimson fragment of a maniacal mass-murderer's soul around inside of him for the better part of his childhood.
But her query about water seems so reasonable that he stops short for a moment to retrieve the canteen from his belt, and then she gets all metaphorical in a way that makes his eyebrows climb and climb on his forehead for a long, precarious few seconds, before he realizes. She's probably just referring to the heat, still. By then, he has the cap off the water vessel and is holding it out to her. The combination of activity and confusion create a lull that is long enough for Harry to remind himself that he really doesn't know her well, that medical problems are often of a private sort of nature.
And frankly, a hazy recollection of a fair number of times that he or Ginny emphatically did not want to talk about it is probably bearing more influence on this situation than it properly should. "Um," he says, trying to latch onto what she's saying instead of inferring wildly from whatever's going on with the slimy skin tension around her (still pretty) eyes. "When you say 'rose' you don't mean there's an actual flower I ought to be watering, do you?"
Look, there is APParently all kinds of weird magic.
wow i accidentally turned u into a him in my last tag. remind me to tag stop rushing
"Well hang on here," he says, a little loudly. "You know, I'm really not--" about to judge you, he means to say, speaking as a man who bore a crimson fragment of a maniacal mass-murderer's soul around inside of him for the better part of his childhood.
But her query about water seems so reasonable that he stops short for a moment to retrieve the canteen from his belt, and then she gets all metaphorical in a way that makes his eyebrows climb and climb on his forehead for a long, precarious few seconds, before he realizes. She's probably just referring to the heat, still. By then, he has the cap off the water vessel and is holding it out to her. The combination of activity and confusion create a lull that is long enough for Harry to remind himself that he really doesn't know her well, that medical problems are often of a private sort of nature.
And frankly, a hazy recollection of a fair number of times that he or Ginny emphatically did not want to talk about it is probably bearing more influence on this situation than it properly should. "Um," he says, trying to latch onto what she's saying instead of inferring wildly from whatever's going on with the slimy skin tension around her (still pretty) eyes. "When you say 'rose' you don't mean there's an actual flower I ought to be watering, do you?"
Look, there is APParently all kinds of weird magic.