He considers that with no evidence of irony. "That sounds about right. Less deadly, possibly."
Congenitally unable to take a compliment, he sort of ducks at the first part of that, and then says, expressively, "Sun."
A well honed survival instinct tells him not to ask. He stares into his tea, asking himself, instead, and comes up only with a vague impression of prolonged despair, being annoyed with Professor Slughorn, and sleeping only at his desk. Or someone's desk. And waking up with a bird on his head. Obvious nonsense.