"I knew Hermione missed you," he agrees, taking his hand back and staring across the table at two people he can see his best friend in so clearly. She looks like her parents -- a mix of them, of her father’s darker skin and bushy hair, her mother’s curls, their brown eyes -- and it’s strange to watch expressions he’s seen year after year from the daughter crossing these faces. "He’s willing to indulge me here. It doesn’t change his policy. It doesn’t change the views behind the policy."