He sat in front of the fireplace, staring at a black-and-white photograph of his parents, smiling and waving at him, having no idea that someday soon their precious son would be orphaned by their deaths. The image began to blur and distort, and he started before he realized it was the tears in his eyes causing this. He sniffed softly, and firmly told himself to calm down and get a grip on himself.

"Harry?" He nearly dropped the picture in his rush to turn around and see—

"Hermione, hey."

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, setting her books down on the table as she made her way over to his side.

"Yeah," he lied, wiping his nose quickly on his sleeve, "I'm—yeah."

She came around the chair and sat on the arm-rest, looking down at the picture in his hands. "Oh," she said, very softly. He twisted around and looked up at her. "I know you miss them," she said quietly. He looked back down quickly. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

"You didn't do it," he said swiftly. He sat anticipating that strange emotion that rose in his chest whenever talk of his missing parents arose.

But it didn't come.

He looked back up at Hermione again. "I do miss them," he said softly. "I wish sometimes that I could just see them..." and Hermione knew he didn't mean seeing their picture. "I wish I could be with them, you know?"

"But they're gone, Harry," she said sadly. "They're not coming back."

"I know," he said quickly. "I didn't mean that."

Hermione shivered, feeling suddenly cold, as if someone had tickled her spine with a feather carved of ice. "What do you mean?" she asked tentatively.

"I mean I could–"

"Harry!" Hermione nearly fell off her armrest. "Are you saying you'd die just to see your parents?" Her eyes were impossibly wide.

"Well," Harry began uncomfortably, feeling his face burning, even though he was a safe enough distance away from the fire, "you wouldn't understand what it's like, would you?" His voice had found an indignant vein. "How would you know, you didn't grow up without a f–"

"Harry, we are your family," Hermione told him, putting her hand over his, under which lay his parents' flattened photograph. Harry glanced at their hands for a moment, then regarded her, losing himself in her eyes, deep with sincerity. "We're your family, Harry," she repeated. "I am your family. Ron, Lupin, Ginny, the Weasleys, Fred and George, we're your family."

"I guess I knew that," he said softly, staring consideringly into the fire. "Thanks."

"Anytime, my friend," she said, resting her had on his shoulder.