Harry stood, scattering little vials of makeup in his startled haste. "Yeah, Ron, right. Come in!" He saw Ron peek his head around the door, and Harry summoned the bright holders back to the table before his friend came all the way in and slipped on one. "Sorry. I should get out there, Reg is probably waiting. Did you bring Leila?"
It was a stupid question. Ron wouldn't want Leila around such sorrow, or the drinking that was likely to happen, and Harry agreed with that. But not talking meant answering questions about "how he was" and Harry knew he had no answers.