It hadn't been a lie. It hadn't.
Omitting something- was it a lie or a truth still?
Watching his friends being tortured, the world pay for his mistakes- all of it weighed on him. But his parents absence from his life will always burn, will always mark him as different.
He hadn't lied- or outright lied anyway- to the professor.
He had seen his parents and his family. "I see my family, professor. My parents are beaming at me." I said.
What I omitted however, was who he saw as his family.
How could he very well confess to his professor, that along with his parents, his godfather was right there, clapping him on the back, despite being a convict, despite having never met him?
How could he ever explain, being surrounded by a family of 9 (not 8, never 8) whole, healthy red heads, loving him as their own?
How would Professor Dumbledore would take it, if he knew he, himself was an important part of the ragtag family he had gathered around himself?
Facing unnamed horrors had hardened him, a war-torn soul. So really shouldn't have been surprised to see the mangled remnants of his nemesis and his psychophantic followers; and yet he was. How would the professor take that, he wondered.
Yet, he still hadn't lied.
Civil wars, where children had to fight the battles or be tortured, friends and families slaughtered and literal falling through time- all of it- none of it would ever erase his longing for parents, to have his own people, to be cared for and loved truly.
So no, he hadn't lied. He felt like a cheat, a fraud and ever name they had branded him with, but not a liar, never a liar.
The professor could hide behind his socks, I have my parents, at least hear and now.
Omission- it wasn't a truth, but wasn't a lie either. Here, it was just a fact.