"No, probably not," he responded into the tea, because he couldn't pretend otherwise. "I was young." It didn't make sense to be upset about it. She probably dealt with people who just lost their parents, and he couldn't even remember his, wouldn't have known them even without the amnesia. It probably wasn't something that bothered him before, a whole lifetime to get over it. Now he was just latching onto any stupid reason to be unhappy. He was eighteen. He was an adult, which meant he didn't need parents anyway. Except he really didn't feel like somebody capable of making his own decisions, and he supposed that was why the Bureau was keeping him on a rather short leash.
The details of his life had been delivered to him matter-of-factually from a piece of paper he still had folded up somewhere, and he had been far too numb to make sense of reality at the time. He had just wanted to go home, only to find out such a thing didn't exist for him, and there really was no choice but acceptance. The muggles who had been taking him in between school years thought he was dead, and they didn't intend on informing them otherwise. He had agreed, still did. Didn't make sense to involve anyone. It wasn't like he knew them well either.
"I think it's better, that they are," he sounded resigned to the conclusion he kept coming back to, fingers wrapping a bit tighter around the mug.