"Of course, this is me being cruel, certainly. You found me out." Dry as aged parchment, that tone, as he clucks his tongue and continues. With a sing-song little hum under his breath, he reaches back for his pack to draw something else out. When he uncorks the bottle, the vapors from within sting.

"Although in a moment, I may lend some credence to that accusation. The needles went pretty deep, so a little dab of this ought to keep anything nasty from cropping up while it heals..."

He starts to offer her his hand to grip before his eyes flicker over the marks on her arm. The words. Carved, the same as the scars upon his own back. 'Mudblood'. His mind flickers through the possibilities before he puts them aside for now, propping his hand up further for her to grab without risking her shirt slipping any further.

"Don't worry about gripping too tight. I promise you, I can take it if you can."