Theodore gave her a friendly (and very gentle) tug of the braid in welcome, and glanced down at her jeans. He tried not to be judgemental, but there was a natural dislike for muggle attire that seemed to pervade him despite recent politics -- how much easier it would have been to embrace the government's love of muggles. But Theodore's enjoyment of ease was buried enough to be practically non-existent, and he made a mental note to take Astoria out shopping for proper riding trousers (assuming she ever made it onto a horse).
"Pardon my attire, I've just come from the office. I will be more appropriate dressed in future," he said reassuringly, leaving his hand at her back so he could guide her towards the pen. The horses seemed docile, even at a distance, and suited him well. The last thing he wanted was an over-enthusiastic horse catching Astoria's fingers in its teeth, but teaching her how to approach and feed them was all part of the plan.
He'd been raised around horses at a young age, probably with more familiarity than most of his colleagues. His father believed in discipline and getting dirty, and hadn't accepted his son's predisposition to weakness and poor health as any excuse not to understand the basics of care. He'd mucked out stables, been up to his knees in dirt and mud during the rainy season, and been bitten by skittish horses more times than he cared to remember. It was almost like coming home, albeit a bit more civilised.