Harry was impressed with Hermione's restraint. When he had walked out of the Great Hall, he didn't think he'd make it ten steps before she was walking beside him, wanting desperately to interrogate him about what had just transpired but also wanting to provide silent support for the burden that Harry had just undertaken.

He had actually made it thirteen steps.

Hermione slid her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder, conveying everything that needed to be said at the moment with just that action. Together, the two walked silently down a flight of stairs before approaching a familiar painting of a bowl of fruit. One tickled pear later and they were in the kitchens. Most of the elves were busy with the dinner rush; platters, plates, and bowls floated from prep stations to the tables to be elevated up into the Great Hall above. However one elf in particular, upon seeing them, verily hopped, skipped, and jumped over to the pair.

"Harry Potter sir! It be doing Dobby so much good to see you!" the excitable house elf said as he skidded to a stop in front of them.

"Hello, Dobby," Harry said, smiling down at the large-eared elf bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of him. "How are you?"

"Dobby is doing very well, Harry Potter sir. Dobby is being saving his wages in order to buy a ball of wizarding yarn to be doing more knitting." Dobby's eyes seemed to light up at the idea of more socks. All Harry and Hermione could do was keep smiling. "What can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter sir and Hermione Granger miss?"

"If it's not too much trouble, I was wondering if you could bring us something to eat," Harry replied. "Things got a little . . . intense in the Great Hall and we'd prefer it just be the two of us eating together right now."

"Of course, Harry Potter sir," Dobby exclaimed and with a snap of his fingers a small table in the corner slid away from the wall, the two chairs upon it flipped themselves over and settled on either side of it, a tablecloth floated over, and two full place settings came over and rested in their appropriate places. Harry escorted Hermione over to the table and, with a smirk on his lips, pulled out a chair for her. She shook her head at him before settling down into the offered chair. He helped push her in before taking a seat himself. Once Harry was sitting, a series of dishes began making their way over to the table. Harry began serving himself some shepherd's pie while counting down in his head. 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

"So what brought on what you said in the Great Hall?" Hermione asked, and Harry couldn't help but smile internally. "I mean, that was quite a departure from your desire to not be the Ministry's poster boy and to have everyone pretty much leave you alone. How all of a sudden did that change to 'a dragon whose roar would strike fear into the hearts of the wicked?'"

Harry blanched slightly. "I said that, didn't I?" She just nodded. "I guess I got a little dramatic there at the end."

"A little?" Hermione retorted. "I guess so, if in the same way Grindelwald has a 'little' issue with Muggles or Urg the Unclean started 'a spot of bother' with wizards." As Harry reached for his fork to start his meal, she suddenly reached across the table and took his hand. "Seriously, though, Harry; what was that?"

Harry held her hand for a second before leaning back in his chair and tilting his head up, staring at the ceiling as he tried to formulate his response. Finally he looked back down at Hermione, and she immediately stood and shifted her chair next to his when she saw the tears in his eyes. "I was thinking about Ron," he choked out as she sat back down. "I was thinking about him and Sirius and Cedric and everyone else that these bastards have taken away from us. I was thinking about how Dumbledore seemed to just dismiss him, how we're just supposed to go to class on Monday as if nothing were different. And I couldn't take it anymore. I can't take it. I can't handle any more deaths, Hermione. I can't deal with Dumbledore sitting there doing nothing when I know he knows something. I can't deal with Scrimgeour putting people like Stan Shunpike in jail while refusing to act against people he knows are at least complicit, if not outright guilty. I can't deal with looking across the Hall and seeing that little blond prick smiling when he heard that Ron was dead." Hermione gasped when she heard about Malfoy's reaction, the tears having already started in her own eyes when Harry had started talking.

Harry turned in his chair and took both of Hermione's hands in his own. He stared down at them as he spoke again. "I made two promises while I was in the Hospital Wing, Hermione. My life's missions, if I want to keep up with the dramatics," he said, trying to inject any amount of humor into what he was saying. He wasn't looking up so didn't see her small smile at his cheek. "And while I didn't make them to anyone but myself I'm more than willing to affirm them to anyone. The first was that I will end this. I will end them. I know that sounds terrible on the surface, and maybe it is. I'm sure revenge isn't one of the things that makes you a good person. But regardless of the why, I am going to fight. I am going to learn everything I can and I am going to have justice or vengeance or whatever it is you want to call it. For Ron. For Sirius. For my parents. Cedric. Amelia Bones. Emmaline Vance. Everyone else that they've killed. I can't do anything less now; my conscience won't let me sit by any longer."

Hermione nodded as she processed what he had said. While she, like most people, knew the slippery slope vengeance could be, she'd be lying to herself if she said she didn't feel the same deep in her heart. She wanted whoever had killed Ron, intentionally or not, to pay. She wanted Voldemort and the Death Eaters to pay for everything they'd done, especially to Harry. Because of them he'd lost his parents. Because of them he'd spent over a decade living in that hellhole with his relatives. Because of them he'd been hurt; physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually. And, because of them, he would now take the weight of the world on his sixteen-year-old shoulders. She looked up at him, and he stared back at her intently as she whispered, "You're going to war."

He lifted his hands and placed them gently on the sides of her face, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away her tears. "I guess I am."

She reached up and laid both of her hands on his, which stayed caressing her cheeks gently. "I'll go with you."

Harry's gut reaction was to deny her inclusion in what he was about to do. It was his other mission, after all, to keep her safe. But in the same instant he realized that if he did that he would be demeaning her. She was a proud and powerful witch, a strong and independent woman, and it was not Harry's place to dictate what she could and couldn't do. In a perfect world, Harry would wade into the coming battles with Ron at his left hand and Hermione at his right. They might have robbed him of Ron, but he would be damned if he robbed himself of Hermione. He would just have to get good enough to ensure that the safest place in the world for Hermione was at his side.

He processed all this at the speed of thought as she watched and waited for his reaction.

"Together," he stated finally.

"Together," she responded, matching his determined look.

{-}

After Harry and Hermione had left the Great Hall, the volume picked back up dramatically; even hushed whispers, when multiplied by several hundred, created quite a racket. Two people who were not at all interested in participating in those whispers were Neville and Luna, who ate almost mechanically at the end of the Gryffindor table. Neville did occasionally turn to examine his dinner companion. Luna was being very . . . normal, which for Luna was very odd. He wasn't used to a Luna who wasn't saying off-the-wall things about imaginary creatures. If he was being honest with himself, he was quite unnerved.

Finally he couldn't take it anymore, and he put down his silverware and he turned to regard her. She had her long hair pulled into a loose braid, and as he turned she also laid down her knife and fork before demurely wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Yes, Neville?" she asked simply.

This caught Neville a bit off guard, even though it was he who had turned to begin the conversation. Caught out like that, he blurted the first thing that popped to the front of his mind. "What's going on with you?"

"What do you mean?" she responded. If she was at all upset by his bluntness, she didn't show it.

"Well," Neville began, a slight pink on his cheeks, "it's just that normally you're so . . . so . . ."

"Loony?" Luna said. "Loopy? Dippy? Flighty? Taken to fancy? Not quite playing with a full deck?"

"Well . . . yeah," he said sheepishly. "And since this afternoon you've seemed so . . . so . . ."

"Focused? Cogent? Coherent? Together?"

"Do I even need to be here for this conversation?" Neville snarked playfully, a smile on his face.

"Of course, silly. How in Merlin's name could I complete your sentences if you weren't here to start them?"

"That's a very Ravenclaw response."

"Then it's fortunate I'm a Ravenclaw," she quipped back without missing a beat.

"Getting back on topic," Neville continued, knowing that he was wholly outmatched in a battle of wits with Luna Lovegood, "yes, you've seemed quite different from what we've come to expect from you. Care to explain?"

Luna stared off to a spot above Neville's shoulder as she tried to gather her answer. Shrugging, she looked at the sandy-haired boy and said simply, "I think it was Harry."

Neville's head cocked to the side at that. "What do you mean?"

Luna's lips pursed as she tried to articulate something that, at its heart, defied words. She began her story slowly and quietly, speaking only loud enough for Neville, sitting right in front of her, to hear. "I . . . broke . . . when I saw my mother die. There's no other way to explain it. It was the worst pain you could ever imagine, combined with a million other sensations. Fear. Loss. Hopelessness. Nine-year-old me didn't know how to handle it and so I lost myself in another world, one partially encouraged by my father's incredible stories, which in hindsight part of me wonders if they weren't just bedtime stories that he kept using to distract me. I could assign all of those feelings that I didn't know what to do with to being caused by my creatures. I could deflect and divert any new pain or insult away from . . . from what was left of the me that had been there before Mum died." Luna seemed to be struggling, and without thinking Neville reached out and took her hand in his.

"It's alright if you don't want to talk about this, Luna," he told her simply. She smiled at him, and in that moment Neville saw the bright young woman that had been hidden beneath the persona Luna had wrapped around herself.

"It's okay, Neville. I'm actually a bit relieved to be getting this off my chest, though I would prefer to continue this somewhere that the entire school can't eavesdrop. Would you walk with me?"

"Of course," Neville responded immediately, taking his napkin off his lap and standing. The two of them exited the Great Hall and started up the Grand Staircase; they weren't dressed to head outside.

When they reached the second floor, Luna continued her story. "I fell into the cocoon of the Luna that you've seen up to this point. Oh, I'm still her, and she was always me, but I guess it was simpler to be a bit crazy than to feel hurt, or to let anyone see the me that had been so damaged by Mum's death. I'm not sure if that makes a lot of sense."

"Maybe not entirely, but since I haven't lived your life I think it would be hard for me to understand completely. And I think I do understand a bit. I remember a couple summers ago Gran asked me to expand my reading material beyond Herbology books. She'd handed me my mother's favorite book, The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. Have you ever read it?" Luna shook her head. "I would be surprised if you had; he was a Muggle, and an American one at that.

"Anyway, there's a quote in that book that really struck me. It goes 'No man, for any considerable period, can wear one face to himself and another to the multitude, without finally getting bewildered as to which may be the true.' I think that might be what happened to you. You buried yourself in the mask of who everyone else called 'Loony Lovegood' in order to escape your pain, and somewhere along the way you forgot what it meant to be Luna Lovegood, or rather this Luna Lovegood."

"That's amazingly profound, Neville," Luna said, smiling brightly at him. "And more than likely quite correct. In trying to run from the hurt, I ran so far I forgot how to be who I really was."

Neville smiled back. "But that still doesn't explain how Harry changed anything. I mean, you haven't seen him any more than I have today." They turned a corner and headed up a back stairwell to the 3rd floor before continuing their conversation.

"I fell behind that . . . mask, as we seem to be calling it, to avoid my pain and my torment after Mum's death. Today, when Harry did what he did to Cormac, you felt the wave come off of him, right?" Neville nodded; it would have been impossible not to. "Was all you felt the pressure around you, pushing you?" He nodded again. "I felt something else. For the first time in that wave, in Harry's soul given form by his magic, I felt someone else who was feeling loss the way I had felt it. Whether he realized it or not, or whether he could describe it or not, Harry loved Ron like a brother, almost like a piece of himself. And his death, again whether Harry realized or not, struck him just as profoundly as if he'd watched a flesh-and-blood brother die right in front of him. That was very similar to what I had felt those years ago. Helpless. Hopeless. Afraid. Broken. But where I had taken all of that anguish and diverted it away from myself, Harry embraced it, used it to fuel a new fire within himself. And when he did that he also found my solution, my salvation even. When I felt that wave wash over me, I knew it was okay to feel those things, that I could take the mask off and still be safe. I knew I wasn't alone. I still feel all of those things that I've denied since I was nine, and I'm sure that I will have some bad days as I try to assimilate all that into this . . . this unmasked me. But I know now that it can be used for something useful, as opposed to the younger me who just thought it was all there only to torment me. Because of what I felt from Harry, I'm not afraid of it anymore. Get it?"

Neville smiled and nodded before stopping to take in their surroundings. Without even realizing it, they had made it up to the Fifth Floor and had come right to the door to Ravenclaw Tower. "Well that was fortuitous timing," he chuckled.

"Only if you believe in such things," Luna replied. "But thank you very much, both for walking me back to my dorm and for letting me get all of this off my chest. It's been a very long time since I've had what most would describe as a normal conversation, even if the subject matter wasn't very cheerful."

"Maybe not, but it was still very enlightening. Inspiring, even. We can work on cheerful for the next one."

"Oh, are we having more walks just the two of us, Mr. Longbottom?" Luna asked with what could only be described as a saucy smirk on her face. Neville felt himself blush.

"If you'd be willing, I would like that," Neville answered honestly.

"I would like that too," Luna replied. She lightly grabbed both of his shoulders, stood up on the tips of her toes, and kissed him softly on the cheek. "I'll see you in the morning?" Stunned by her actions, Neville could only nod dumbly, his brain having shut down at what had been his first kiss of any kind from a woman who was not a relative. "Excellent. Good night, Neville," she said, before turning and walking toward the door to the tower. Neville, brain still in neutral, turned like an automaton and shuffled his way back toward Gryffindor Tower, his hand occasionally moving up to touch the place on his cheek that still felt warmer than the rest of him.

Once she was alone inside Ravenclaw Tower, Luna leaned up against the wall just inside the door. She blew a long sigh as she stood there. "Well, that was different," she finally said to the empty room, and a wide smile crossed her face before she headed towards her dorm. A long soak in the tub and a long night's sleep seemed to be in order, two acts that would allow her the time to properly process the literally life-changing events of the day.

{-}

"They're still waiting," Harry said as he continued to examine the Marauders Map. Since they had finished dinner they'd wanted to leave the kitchens and either go back to Gryffindor Tower or to the Room of Requirement where they could continue to sit and talk and comfort each other; after all, it had been less than half a day since their closest friend had died, and it wasn't like the rest of the day had been a whole lot easier. The rub was that Harry was sure, regardless of their current mental or emotional state, Dumbledore would want to track him down and berate him for his actions in the Great Hall earlier, which was something that Harry was not in a place that he could deal with right now. If he ran into the Headmaster after the roller coaster day he'd had Harry would be lucky to leave the encounter without trying to curse the aged wizard; he had no doubt that yelling would be involved whether the inevitable conversation took place today, tomorrow, or a week from now. After all, the last time Dumbledore had tried to talk to him after someone close to him had died, Harry had ended up trying to destroy the Headmaster's office.

Harry's theory that Dumbledore was looking for him seemed to be born out by the Map; Snape appeared to be lurking in the hallway where the door to the Room of Requirement was, and McGonagall appeared to have parked herself in the Gryffindor Common Room, presumably at the Headmaster's orders. They needed a plan to avoid both professors, and Hermione was at that moment formulating, examining, tweaking, and discarding plans at a rate Harry couldn't hope to keep up with. She really does have an amazing mind Harry thought, not jealous but rather in awe of her. Finally, her eyes lit up and she looked over at Harry. "Is anyone out on the grounds?" she asked.

Harry perused the map before answering in the negative. "Okay, today must have been harder on me than I realize because I'm going to suggest a plan that I don't think I'd even consider on any other day." As she explained her plan to Harry, he had to agree; if he'd had a million tries he would have never guessed Hermione would suggest the plan she was. But her plan had merit, and so they began their way up to the front doors. They had to cram underneath the Invisibility Cloak to make it past Filch in the Entrance Hall; the close quarters made Harry have to remind himself again that Hermione was his best friend and was very vulnerable in order to keep his body from having its desired reaction to having her repeatedly bump up against him as they squeezed together.

They made the lawns without incident and, as soon as they had cleared the light of the doors they threw off the Cloak and headed toward the Quidditch Pitch. Once there, Harry went to the broom shed and grabbed his Firebolt while Hermine kept a watch in case Hagrid or anyone else happened by. Returning to her, he mounted the broom before reaching a hand out to her. Now that the moment was upon them she seemed to be re-thinking her plan, eyeing the racing broom with a look somewhere between disgust and fear. "Hermione," Harry began, and her gaze lifted to look at him and to his outstretched hand. "Trust me," he said simply.

That seemed to work, as she immediately took his hand and settled herself behind him on the broom. He heard her give a quick incantation before he felt her chest press strongly to his back and her arms snake around his waist. "Sticking Charm," she said simply, "just in case."

I've got Hermione's . . . Hermione's . . . Hermione stuck to my back Harry thought. Damnit, knock that shite off he berated himself before kicking off the ground with less force than he normally would, so as not to scare Hermione too badly. He knew that this experience would frighten her for several reasons. The biggest one, however, was that she didn't like heights; or, more specifically, uncontrolled heights. She was fine with tall buildings or airplanes, where there was glass and steel around you. But a tree or a broom, where there was nothing between you and the open air, terrified her. That she was behind him, even if he wasn't doing anything crazy, was a testament to the level of faith she had in him. He did his best not to break that trust by moving slowly, though with two riders the flight characteristics of the broom were shot to Hell. He was constantly having to make adjustments to their flight to account for the unbalanced weight, so there were many small jerks and twists to their ride up to Gryffindor Tower in general and the window to the Sixth-Year boys' dorm in particular. Still, they made it without too much trouble, though Harry could feel Hermione trying very hard not to hyperventilate as her head rested on his shoulder. Upon reaching the window Harry looked in, very relieved to see that Neville was already in the room. Harry tapped on the glass of the window to get the other boy's attention, but Neville seemed to be lost in thought about something. Harry tapped harder, again with no response.

Finally, with Harry pounding on the window almost hard enough to break it, Neville came out of his stupor and looked shocked as he saw the two of them at the window. He rushed over and undid the latch, and Harry slid the broom back slightly to allow the window to swing open. Fortunately the opening was large enough for him to manipulate the broom through with a little creativity; he was sure that if he asked Hermione to let go of him while they were still off the ground he would have heard the most vociferous combination of 'No' and 'Hell No' that the teenage witch could manage. As it was he was able to get them inside and, with solid ground under them once again, Hermione ended the Sticking Charm and climbed off the broom, only to immediately crawl into his bed and turn away from the both of them as she tried to get herself back under control. Neville quickly closed and re-latched the window as Harry stowed his Firebolt underneath his bed.

"What was with the entrance?" Neville asked. "Not that it wasn't dramatic, though not quite as dramatic as your exit of the Great Hall earlier. A flapping cape would have been better, though." If Harry didn't know Neville better, he would swear that he had just been teased by the taller boy. He knew the boy's confidence had been growing steadily ever since the DA last year, but he still had some social awkwardness to him. Harry smiled, though; it was good to try and keep things light considering all that was going on, and he inwardly made a note to thank Neville for that later.

"Well, it would seem my theatrics have caused a stir in more ways than one; McGonagall is down in the Common Room, I'm assuming to take me to Dumbledore. That is not a conversation I'm interested in having right now, so we needed to get a bit creative in order to avoid her."

"Blimey," Neville responded, looking over toward the closed door that led down to the stairwell. "She wasn't there when I got here, but then again I'm not sure what time it is."

"Almost curfew," Harry answered. "Speaking of that, you seemed pretty distracted when we got to the window; what was that all about?" Harry was surprised to see Neville blush.

"Oh, yeah. Well, after you two left Luna and I got to talking."

"Talking doesn't make someone blush like you are right now, Neville," Harry teased.

"Well, I walked her back to her dorm and she . . . well, she kissed me."

"Really?" Hermione said, turning back on the bed to face them and joining the conversation.

"Yeah. Right here," Neville said, pointing to his cheek. "I guess I've been a bit out of it since; I don't even remember the walk back to the Fat Lady."

"Was that your first kiss from a girl?" Hermione asked, to which Neville just nodded, his eyes on the floor. "Neville, that's great," Hermione said, standing and squeezing the boy's arm lightly. "I remember mine. It was Viktor after the Yule Ball. It was on the cheek, too. I never said anything about it because I knew Ron would give me a hard . . ." she trailed off as her demeaner changed entirely, and she was suddenly sitting on Harry's bed with her head in her hands, her bushy hair obscuring her features. Both boys saw her shoulders start to shake as she started crying again.

Immediately Harry was on his knees in front of her, and her arms went from guarding her face to latched around his neck in an instant, her face buried in his shoulder as she sobbed. After a moment, Neville sat on the bed next to Hermione and tentatively put his arm around her shoulders. "Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."

After a few minutes she had collected herself enough to speak. "You didn't upset me, Neville. Far from it. It's a wonderful thing to happen, and that it's got you so flustered shows that you really like her." Neville blushed again as a small smile crossed his lips. "It's just . . . still raw, you know?" Neville nodded. "It's going to be a while before I can think about Ron without it hurting so much. Neville, would you see if Madam Pomfrey would be willing to give you a Calming Draught for me? I think I might need it to get through the night."

"Hermione, if I go downstairs McGonagall will ask if Harry is up here. She'll find out."

Harry ended any discussion on the topic before it could start. "I'll deal with McGonagall if it comes to it," Harry said curtly, and both Neville and Hermione could see the fire in his eyes. "If this is something Hermione thinks she needs, then she's going to get it." Neville, hearing the determination in Harry's voice, just nodded before leaving the room.

"Harry, please don't go all . . . dragon-y on Professor McGonagall," Hermione said. "She's just doing what she's been asked to by the Headmaster."

"I know, Hermione," he replied. "If it comes to it, I'll do my best to calmly and respectfully make sure she completely understands my stance and why, at least for the moment, Dumbledore can go fuck himself."

"Harry –" Hermione began.

"You," he interrupted her, "are the most important person, the most important anything, in my life. That you are alright, that you are safe and taken care of, is . . . is . . ."

"Mister Potter," said an older voice with a Scottish brogue from behind him.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he said, temporarily ignoring Professor McGonagall and looking at his best friend, "you're my other promise," he finished softly. He didn't give Hermione a chance to respond to that before standing and turning to face his Head of House.