Afraid of a name, no, but was she afraid of all it represented? Did she hate it with every ounce of her being? Yes. Did she want to think about the man, thing, monster that had murdered and tortured innocents and had taken away a parent from her? No.
Roger wasn't like her. He'd earned the right to say Voldemort's name through sweat and pain and blood and tears while she'd been cowering away at school, young and stupid and afraid. But she didn't want to hear it. It reminded her too much of pain and loss. It reminded her that if He'd had his way, there'd be no one here to comfort her. There'd be no one here who cared. She didn't think that sort of person deserved to be spoken of.
For her faux pas, though, she ignored his patronisation, but wrapped her fingers around his arms, tight and secure. If she'd wanted him to leave she was doing a poor job of insisting.
"Aye." She breathed out frustration and tension, but it seemed to flood back in the second she sucked in air. "In a minute though."