Michael returned the smile, relieved for some reason he couldn't name. The thought of Ginny being nice to Voldemort, maybe serving him a hot cup of tea after a long day of death and torture and whatever else that sadistic bastard had in his appointment book, turned that smile into a short laugh, which stopped abruptly when his stomach reminded him that laughing was a bad idea. "Like if you brought him flowers and offered to give him a massage? Maybe he'd let you just because it'd be proof that you'd cracked."
... Like that poor fucking Bradley, and the thought of that made him sober right back up again. He buttoned her dress back up and moved in front of her, tugging at her sleeves. "Let's get the rest of this taken care of." She could do it herself but Michael wasn't averse to the chance to touch, even if it wasn't that kind of intimate. "Look, you know how I am, I'm never gonna be some James Bond spy. So I don't know how it works, but... if there's some other way to hit the Death Eaters where it hurts, I say go for it. Maybe not him, but there're plenty of Death Eaters in and out of here. And you're stuck in this castle..." He shook his head. "I dunno, but if it means you don't turn up at the next wedding looking like this," pointing at the scars on her arms, "I'm all for it."