... James made a startled move toward her, hand raised in an almost involuntary gesture of alarm.
"... Do you need any help?" he asked, cautiously, after a moment. It wasn't so bad if he didn't think about how Diana had got those injuries. He'd been patching up wounded friends since before he'd got involved in the war (it didn't do to have your visits to the hospital wing coincide too neatly with the full moon, after all) and he wouldn't have batted an eye at far worse injuries under different circumstances; it was the thought of submitting to being hurt that sickened him.
" - I can do you breakfast, sweet," he added more lightly, his hand still held out in case Diana wanted to pass him the Dittany, "but you'll have to lend me your wand if you don't want black crunchy bits in it."
And he really didn't mind. Partially it was gratitude and partially it was friendship - but he also liked to have a good excuse to borrow a wand. In one sense he disliked taking it, because it left her without one; but not having a wand felt like wandering around with one arm chopped off, and any good reason to have one would do. Besides, he'd put his down that night, just for a minute, just because they'd been putting Harry to bed, and if he hadn't ... Well, he'd never know, now. But he was happier with a wand in his hand.