Remus thought back to the egotistical, snarky, brat of a child he had taught. One that he had, perhaps mistakenly, thrown off as a perfect replica of his father. Maybe at the time, Draco had been, yet before him was a young man who had grown. He listened with folded hands, elbows on his thighs, as Draco looked like someone who was grateful to get things off his chest. Had he no one to speak to other than his parents? He had always seen Draco with students around him, but then again, so much had to be kept under wraps given what his parents were.

Did he believe that Narcissa had actually wanted to avoid Voldemort upon his return? The Order knew now well enough that Voldemort would have hunted down the Malfoys had they run, and his success in killing those that had not returned to him had been all too high. There had been many witnesses who had said the Malfoys had not remained during the final battle, that they had not fought, and it was part of the reason they were pardoned. Many had yet to care that they had run and instead called them cowards. Remus did not entirely agree, but he wondered also if Narcissa had wanted to protect her boy from a battle she believed to be lost.

Draco's words put doubt into certain things Remus had believed to be true, and he was uncertain on how to walk this new ground.

"...Friends is a difficult word," Remus said slowly, trying to think how much he was willing to tell. "A werewolf often has very few friends, or none, which is why many went over to His side. Anger. Revenge. I was... more fortunate than some in my circumstances." But only a very small handful of people knew the truth of how terrible his life had been at times, when Muggle jobs had been the only way to get food and shelter or to hide.

But he had no real desire to linger on those words, so he pushed past it. "But you're right, and unfortunately, so was your father."