"Oh," Remus says, perplexed both by Harry's physical shift and by his advice. But all right. He's out of his depth in every way and disinclined to be impolite even when he isn't. He'll call them something else, or nothing at all. 'Not wizards' is easy enough.

After a moment he asks, "How long have you been here?"

Remus hums, equal parts unconvinced and unwilling to argue—though when he's feeling a little less kidnapped and a lot less shaken, eating better than he has in months, and realizing how relatively little he has to hide, he might be more inclined to agree.

But over a year and Harry's still alive. That's a good sign.

"Do you know what they want with us?" he asks, turning to look down another corridor as they pass. That doesn't feel like the most important question. Remus feels like the most important questions are what Harry's been up to and whether his relatives were decent and how he knows for sure it was Peter—and really what he'd like to do is just gawk at him for a bit—but he knows they aren't, yet.

"Sirius and Severus didn't say much," he adds. "I mean, they said a lot, but it was a—" Clusterfuck. "—mess."

That's none of it terribly comforting, Harry, but points for being less alarming than you could have been.

"Of course," Remus says first, because the instinct to shove any problems with his friends out of sight runs as deep as anything else about him, but he relents. Half the passengers probably saw, anyway. "Or, maybe. I—" Tried to kill him. "—went after him. I didn't know he might be innocent. Severus had to step in."

Which doesn't mean Sirius won't give him a rundown if he asks for one. He's already offered to explain. But Remus doesn't want to talk to him. Maybe not ever, and definitely not before his face has healed.

"I'm glad you're all right, all of this aside," he goes on quickly, and if it's an abrupt change up subject, it's at least one that's sincere. There isn't anything he could have done for Harry, even if he hadn't listened when Professor Dumbledore told him—everyone—to stay clear, but he has worried.

As disinclined as Remus is to assume the best about the Ministry of Magic, given everything, he's less inclined to insult the possibly legitimately prodigious abilities of someone he barely knows. His raised eyebrows balance on the line between incredulous and impressed.

"I suppose it's a good thing when being an Auror is boring," he says, and then—still doing that balancing act—"How old are you?"

There goes the lid he was keeping on his incredulity. He says, "Congratulations," but he says it slowly, with questioning uptalk and a heavy undertone of are they mad?