The lie is transparent if you know what you're really looking at. Harry's witnessed it a hundred times before, experienced it once or twice - the shallow breathing, the pale skin, the sheen of sweat. Hypovolemic, if he had to hazard a guess; anaphylaxis is generally quicker.

(This does knock a hole in his 'curiously bland afterlife' theory, if only because it doesn't seem like someone would arrive with the same wounds that brought them here. He himself certainly doesn't have the hole in his skull he was anticipating.)

"With respect, sir, I don't believe that's true."

He's standing a few steps below him on the staircase; it places them level. He enunciates carefully:

"I think you're going into shock, and I'd like to help you. Are you bleeding?"