Ron did not like Malfoy. As a rule, he had never liked him. This had been the boy who had attempted to bully him and his best friends throughout school. Malfoy had insulted his appearance, his family, his poverty, had been responsible for poisoning him, had become a death eater, had idly watched as Hermione had been harmed by his fucking aunt and Ron did not like Malfoy. There wasn’t a redemption in all the world that probably could make Ron like him.
And yet, Ron felt something like pity. And that would probably have to be where that emotion stayed.
“I feel sorry for you,” Ron said simply with a shrug, better shouldering the bag he’d been carrying. “You could’ve stopped a lot in the war. You could’ve helped us then. Instead, you were the little prat you always were and made everything worse and now you’re actually pretending to be a muggle. Seriously. I feel sorry for you. Go get your tattoo or whatever, will you?”