Neville sat next to Hermione, during the start of the year fest.
"Hey, Hermione," Seamus asked, "sorry to hear about Harry. Did you get to see him before he, you know…"
"No. I had wanted to, but Dumbledore was in a hurry to get everyone home, and said they wouldn't recognize me anyway."
"Ron seems to recognize us, to an extent," Fred said.
"I'm not sure if he knows exactly who we are, but he seems to know that we're family at least," George explained.
In the common room, the next day, Neville waited for Hermione to come downstairs. "Hermione," he greeted, "would you mind possibly being a little late for breakfast today? I want to talk to you in private."
"That's fine, but I'm not sure where to talk in private," she said, looking around.
"My dorm room is empty."
They went up to the third-year boy's dormitory and shut the door.
"When I was a baby my parents were tortured for information, but they wouldn't give in, and they went insane."
Hermoine gasped. "I'm so sorry."
"Thanks, but I don't want your pity. Anyway, they live in Saint Mungo's, and my gran and I have visited them regularly for years. I'm not sure if they know I'm their son, but they're always happy to see me, and they seem to know we're bounded. My mother and I have this tradition where she gives me a gum wrapper every time I come, which is clearly supposed to be a sign of affection."
Hermione looked down, slowly rubbing her hands together. "Neville," she said, "thanks for telling me."
"You're welcome. You won't say anything about this to anyone else, will you?"
"No."
"Good."