As she listened, she went through her nervous motions again, the swallow, the swipe of her tongue over her lips, the smoothing of her skirts. She'd wanted to talk to Harry now for weeks and had no idea how to go about it. And now here he was, stood in front of her, and they were utterly surrounded by people that she didn't want overhearing what she wanted to say. It was always the way.
She frowned again, tilting her head. "Posh man?" She knew of no posh man in London who'd bother about her. No one cared that much. "I... I'll try and seek him out." Something he'd said stuck with her, though, and she glanced up at him, her expression somewhat afraid, nervous, her eyes curious, however. "You, uhm... you read my letter?" She'd been desperate to know his reaction to it. She wondered if she'd find out.