He seems to consider it, but there's something nearly theatrical about him right now. His expressions just a little exaggerated, a little false, telegraphed acting. Hmm, what a good question. Is he an illusion? Is he all in her mind?

Gee, sure beats the heck out of him. Total loss, who's to say? He shrugs helplessly, just a touch too casual about what should probably be a much bigger existential question for the subject of this quandary. Doesn't seem like it bothers him too much, as he ambles his way down the elevated pulpit, ever so slowly in her direction.

"Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean it is not real?"

Complete with subtle Albus Dumbledore voice and everything.

At length, when he makes it within arm's reach, he raises a tender hand to gently trail fingertips along the cut of her jawline. Sweetly, softly. They trail up, seeking the place her horns hide among her hair.

"I can see it, you know?" He murmurs, voice dipping low and twanging Texan more than it usually does. "Why he picked you. That dark place in you. Lemme ask you something... do you still wanna be a queen?"