Neville wanted to take her hand again, to hold it and reassure her, but she was still in the kitchen and the counter stood between them.
"It's got to be tough. But it might be good to let them know, about her I mean. Family is important, and she'll need to know her dad's family someday, just knowing that there are people that love her and care for her."
His expression was wistful, thinking of his own experience. He didn't know his mum's side of the family very well; it wasn't something his Gran had even discussed. And with his parents in St. Mungos, it had not been the easiest childhood, not that he knew any better. There had been moments, when he was young, of feeling wanted and loved. Usually, it had been mostly about being a disappointment. His Gran had done her best to rectify that sentiment over the past few years; his determination during seventh year and there after had her expressing her pride in him in ways he'd never imagined.
"Hannah, don't beat yourself up," he said quietly, wishing there was a way he could put an arm around her without it being taken the wrong way. And he suddenly decided that he could; they were friends after all, and friends could do that for each other.
He approached her, and reached a hand out, tentatively, to touch her's, "You've been berating yourself about this for the last few years? You have to stop, Hannah, you have to. Feeling guilty is no way to live," he said, offering something he knew a whole lot about. His parents were in their state because of him, really because of the day he was born. If he'd been born the previous day or the next, they might be about. Not that it was anything he could do anything about, but there had been a bit of guilt when he could understand it all, puzzle it out and put the pieces together. They were protecting him and now lived in a permanent state of suffering. That was something that could rule a person's life with guilt.