Harry shrugged at Phaedra. "Hey. We play to our strengths. I'm good at pissing things off." But he grinned. "Still, the fucked-up hilarious little swords might have been worth it."
He squeezed Molly's hand as he linked his fingers around hers. She had to be tired already, poor kiddo, but she was so much better at the mind stuff than he was. Harry was thick, a pillar of solid defenses. Molly was the crafty one, the brilliant mentalist who could sneak in and around, in and out with barely a whisper to betray her presence.
He would never have the kind of delicate control for something like this. He would be more likely to smash his way into someone's mind. Probably not the best way to go. "You got this, Molls. Hit it."