It was difficult to resist that urge to consult his wriststrap and see what it made of that wand Hermione was holding, but he managed, even with the self-control of a jackrabbit. In fact, the man kept his arms exactly where they'd been and his eyes on the flimsy phallic object the entire time.
"Ooh, you're going to show me. Alright, I'm game. Lighter," he suggested, the object being the very first thing to pop into his mind that wasn't going to grab attention or get him slapped soundly. He pursed his lips waiting and sucked in his cheeks, struck maybe by a childish interest in seeing that very object appear before them, even though age told him to be drearily skeptical. And he would be, of course. There were countless ways to pull the wool over someone's eyes; he'd posed as a god once in ancient Greece (much to his partner's horror and/or amusement) for the fun of it. Was a witch any different?