His head was beginning to spin. Was this how his mother disarmed opponents in battles of wits? He began to feel for his father's ghost greatly.
"If I'm in a good position, then what is this? Does this really simply boil down to the fact that I hadn't explained my thoughts to you?" Even as he said it, he knew that to be a large part of it. Perhaps not all.
"Yes, it was only by defeating me that Potter was able to defeat him. Yes, I've been pardoned. And I've even made decisions that would have disgusted me years ago in order to follow this wave as much as I've dared."
He sighed, "I'm sorry for not trusting you, confiding in you, Mother. It wasn't that I didn't trust you, but more that I didn't know how to tell you, and yes," he held up his hand to ask her to wait a moment longer, "I believed you far more lost in the grief of what happened with father than you are. I'm sorry."
He lowered his hand, "YOu always were a formidable woman, and I think the worst part of all of this was not knowing how to handle, how to approach the apparent loss of you as well."