She accepts that, a hovering grimness about her features finally settling in. Normally she'd exploit his honesty to find out more but that might confuse the results the experiment she's drinking. Asking if they were together would be pouring salt into the wound she's already basted with lemon juice. It's smarter to let them ride out the sting and resume a numbness to the pain they must bear around the clock. They've had a year to perfect their coping strategies, right? If she can hold out panicking about the fact that a year or more has gone by, she'll remember her usual method of staving off the horror.

Him taking a seat soothes a couple of her nerves. For a second there, he looked like he was trying not to spook a wild animal. She blames that on his Hagridian recluse beard of his body language, though.

"Try some," she suggests, slaking a sip for herself and then sliding it along the table to him.