Something like resigned disappointment covered in an ever-present layer of irritation simmers on his expression, and though Severus doesn't seem surprised to hear that, he also doesn't look like everything makes perfect sense now. This is not his (world's) Harry, but then, he doesn't think there's many of his kind running about the place. (It's not a relief.)

"My condolences," he says finally, chill in his voice for reasons that both mirror Harry's and stretch beyond it in a very different direction. He lapses into silence after, staring at him and the cracked lines of dead spellwork and old curses he can see with something that's not much like ocular vision at all. There's two ways to take the incident that's left them in the position of texting Death Eaters and cleaning up the mess Severus has so recklessly made - either he's an impulsive fool, or he's someone who's not used to leaving survivors to witness his more creative stunts. The truth is he'd planned on killing this man if he turned out to be a Death Eater, and modifying his memory if not. Severus isn't sure which of those assumptions he'd prefer Potter to make.

"I know how the war goes," he hazards, "in several instances."

It looks like he might say something more, but when he does, it's a topic swerve: "I'll need a list."

Of his injuries.