Enough to not return again

"Oh, Harry," she repeated, spreading her arms, and without conscious thought he stepped into her embrace. She pulled him closer, resting her chin on his head, and Harry reveled in the first hug he could ever remember receiving.

"Lily?" asked a new voice. Harry spun around to look at the new figure, only to find himself confronted by his double, if his double was ten years older than him: same birds-nest black hair, same strong jaw, same copper-coloured skin, though his father's — his father's — looked warmer, undertones of bronze and gold shining through.

His father stuttered to a stop as he realised who was in her arms. "Harry," he said, voice strangled, before rushing forward to pick him up and spin him around delightedly. Harry felt like he should be more wary, should react, defend himself, but he couldn't bring himself to tear himself away from this, couldn't bring himself to isolate himself from their touch. So he clung tight, his smile splitting his face as for the first time he could remember, he felt loved.

"But– how–" he started to say, even as his father pulled back to hold him at arm's length, a proud smile stretching across his face.

"How?" his father repeated, and he smiled again, though this time it was strained, like shattered pieces held together. "Well Harry," he started, "Harry, Harry, Harry."

His mother huffed impatiently, having moved round so she could see his face too. "We're dead, Harry," she said bluntly, though not unkindly. His father winced.

"Lily," he whined, his eyes cutting back to Harry even as he turned to look at her.

"James," she said in the same tone, but her eyes were filled with an emotion Harry couldn't place. "You were stalling, dear," she told his father.

"Yes, well." His father humphed. "I was trying to be delicate."

His mother snorted, shoving his father in the shoulder, who adopted a wounded expression. Harry barely dared to blink, drinking in the sight of his parents, scared to look away for even a second in case they vanished.

"Is–" Harry started, before cutting himself off. Don't ask questions. Both his parents had stopped what they were doing to look at him, and Harry flinched preemptively from the blow that was sure to follow, throwing up his hands to hide his face.

But neither of them had moved. Harry peeked from between his fingers, still wary, but instead of rage he saw... sorrow, on his father's face? There were tears in his eyes. His mother wasn't crying, and there was a flash of anger in her eyes, but for once, Harry was certain it wasn't aimed at him.

"Go on," she said, arms outstretched but not too close. "What were you going to say, Harry?"

"Is this it?" he asked, then flushed furiously. "Wait, no–"

His parents laughed, and his blush deepened. He shrunk away from where he had unconsciously leant closer to his parents. Stupid, stupid. Of course they wouldn't be any different.

The two stopped laughing immediately. A pale pink blush coloured his mother's cheeks. "No," she said hurriedly, "We didn't– we weren't– oh bollocks."

"What your mother is trying to say," his father interrupted, smiling fondly at her, "Is that we weren't laughing at you. It's just your question is pretty much exactly what Lily said when we arrived."

A small smile crossed Harry's face, quiet joy at something else he shared with his mother. His father smiled quietly back.

Harry looked around, taking in more of his surroundings. Apart from him and his parents, there seemed nothing to mark any changes. There was only this white, misty emptiness. "So where are we, then?" he asked in a small voice.