Harry wished that he could take a peek at how Luna's mind worked. She was no ordinary woman. He doubted very much that Hermione was at home right now, baking for the person who'd done this to her. Only Luna would do something like that, and in the moment, Harry loved her for it.
"I'd be sad if I left too," he replied, and then, deciding that he had spent enough time standing idle in the doorway, he stepped inside, still keeping a bit of distance between them, only too aware of the spot on her shirt that had finally dried. "Can I help you, with the baking? Of course I have to warn you, you'll have to be very, very brave to eat it." She shouldn't have any problem with that...