That's what makes him look so old and weary, she thinks. Carrying that sort of weight--and she knows he does, he's not the sort who was ever good with using those feeling words, as she'd once teased--for how long, now?

She tucks her wand away (never will she make the mistake of not having it on her person... even here) and turns to face him. Her hands are reaching up, gently cupping his cheeks, coaxing him to lean forward so that she can press a soft kiss to his forehead.

"I know." Her fingers tuck some errant locks of hair behind his ears. "We spoke with Sirius earlier. He explained what happened, with you and Wormy--" A sharp inhale. "With Peter."

Her darling Remus, how can he possibly look so ragged? Her hands slip down his shoulders, smoothing out any wrinkles she might've created by pulling him down. Then she's looking up at him, frowning.

"I'm sorry too," she whispers. And she looks it. Green eyes darting as she studies his features, looking a little glassier. "I'm sorry for doubting you. For believing that you could--I'm glad you weren't there, that night." That much, she knows. It would've been a slaughter, and now with the knowledge that Harry survived the night, she's come to terms. Or is on her way to. In time. "You were there for him when he was older. When he needed a friendly face. That means much more to me than you'll ever realize."