Harry never thought of himself as the hero other people did, since half of the time his "heroic" deeds were Ron or Hermione, and the other half he'd just managed to bungle through, somehow. But he was, even if he didn't realize it, fast under pressure and quick to assess things. He'd had to be to survive this long.
The woman had looked at Hermione and Ron like she'd been trying to recognize them, before, and now she was screaming about them being dead. So. . . the hair came from dead people. Who'd been Hermione's neighbors. . . which meant it was a really bloody good thing she'd sent her parents away, no matter how odd it had been.
"It's all right! Nothing to worry about, they've just been in hiding!" he yelled hurriedly, hearing the odd sound of his own voice in this body. He caught Hermione by the wrist and then started to hurry away. He hadn't wanted to just apparate out of the crypt and leave people wondering where they'd gone - but getting out of here seemed loads more important than HOW, so they'd just. . . duck behind and apparate. He twisted his head to make sure Ron was following.