He is incredibly bloody proud of everything Nymphadora's achieved. He remembers quite easily how the auror department had reacted to his joining up, and he can only imagine it would be harder as a half-blood, as a metamorphmagus, as someone so patently, unapologetically themselves. He remembers trying to hide the darkness in his veins, pretending he'd never use dark magic, trying to act like it was harder to throw off the imperius than it was, just so they'd think he was a little more like them.
He can't imagine Nem doing the same thing, not for one second.
Under the kitchen table, he curls around her legs and tries not to bark or whine every time his name is mentioned. What has he ever done to earn this level of faith from this family?
Love is not an unfamiliar emotion, even in Azkaban, but hope? Hope is a miracle.