[Really, the only reaction Neville gives is that his eyes drop down to the table instead of watching Will anymore. The thing about his parents is that he told nobody, not even his friends, not even after they'd walked in on him in St. Mungo's. As soon as he was away from his gran and her constant reminders that he wasn't as good as them, that the memory of who they used to be was owed more than what he turned out as, he'd clammed up completely, never let anyone know what sort of thing bothered him. Except that one time he tried to punch Draco's lights out for mocking people like them, shut up for life with irreversible spell damage to the brain - but that was accidental and intensely embarrassing to think about after.

So he's quite used to pretending it doesn't affect him, casual mentions like that. He's not even certain Will knows: it'll take a little while longer in Asgard for Neville to really wrap his mind around the idea that such heated conversations are infinitely re-watchable, even by people not involved at the time.

Instead he offers Will an awkward, slightly wobbly, stretched-thin smile, eyes never really getting higher than his collar but making no comment on it one way or the other.]

I don't suppose there's much that's impossible here, is there? But that makes sense. [He reaches for his own glass of water and looks down into it.] You've talked to some of us before, haven't you? Other witches and wizards, I mean. [There hadn't been that note of mild bewilderment behind the word Muggle when he'd repeated it, like Neville had gotten used to hearing from people here.]