(A/N: Thank you all for the views, favorites, follows, and reviews. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this story.)

"Good evening Professor," Harry said, trying his best to keep any anger out of his voice. No matter how much he might like or respect McGonagall he really didn't want to deal with any of the school's authority figures right now; that's why they'd come in through the window in the first place. But Hermione's needs trumped his own discomfort or inconvenience any day. "How may I help you?"

McGonagall took the scene in for a moment before responding. Miss Granger was sitting on the bed, her reddened, puffy eyes wide as she looked at Potter's back. Potter standing what could only be called defensively in front of her, a neutral look on his face despite the seemingly friendly greeting. She held in check her original question of how they had managed to get past her and into the dorms in favor of why she had actually been there in the first place. "Mister Potter, Professor Dumbledore has requested to speak with you in his office."

"No."

McGonagall's right eyebrow raised questioningly. "No?"

"That's correct, Professor. I said no."

"Mister Potter –"

"Professor," Harry said, interrupting the Transfiguration teacher. He knew that it wasn't the best idea if he was seriously trying to keep the peace, but he had to get his side of things out before she tried to pull rank, or before his barely in-control emotions spilled over and this devolved into a screaming match. "Ron died this morning. Our best friend died this morning. We are both, I think understandably, not dealing with it very well." Harry looked back at Hermione, whose eyes weren't wide anymore but was still looking at him oddly. He turned back to McGonagall and looked her squarely in the eye. "More than anything else we need each other right now, Professor. I am not leaving Hermione. Not for you. Not for the Headmaster. Not for the Minister of Magic. No one. If Merlin himself was downstairs and wanted to meet me, I'd ask him to come back tomorrow. Actually I'd ask him two things; if he could come back tomorrow and if Hermione could meet him too. I don't think she'd forgive me if I met Merlin without her."

Both women in the room snorted; Harry's attempt to bring some levity to the current detente appeared to have worked, if only to small effect. "Indeed, Mr. Potter," McGonagall answered simply. "Mister . . . Harry, Hermione," she began, and both teens saw probably the gentlest face they'd ever seen on the stern Scotswoman. "Please know that I grieve with you. Perhaps not in the same way but . . . I know what it is to lose someone you love. Someone that was a part of you. Ronald's death was a tragic loss that could have, should have, been prevented. When you brought the necklace to my attention all those months ago, while I may have dismissed your belief that Mister Malfoy was the culprit, I and Professor Dumbledore should have had the staff begin to be more mindful of other potential dangers to the students. Perhaps if we had . . ." she let the statement die, both because she wasn't sure if it would have prevented Weasley's death and because she didn't think her comments would truly assuage any of the pain the pair were feeling.

Harry studied the formidable witch for a moment. He appreciated her comments, even if he was still convinced that Draco had something to do with both incidents. He just wished it hadn't taken yet another death, and one that hit so close to home, for her to realize that they should have long ago started being more proactive about the protection of the students. He sighed; that line of thought would get them nowhere tonight. "Professor, please tell Professor Dumbledore that I'll be more than agreeable to seeing him at a later time, after we've had some time to process all of this; when what's happened today isn't so raw, to borrow the term that Hermione used earlier." He stepped back toward the bed and placed a hand on Hermione's left shoulder; her right hand came up and over her chest to rest on his. "I'm more than willing to have him, and you, deduct any points or assign any detentions that you think are justified for my defiance, but I know that Professor Dumbledore doesn't want to see me in order to try and make me feel better. He wants to talk me down from what I said earlier in the Great Hall. I'll tell you right now that is not going to happen. This has to end, and if no one else is going to step up to make that a reality then I will. So unless you're willing to draw your wand I am not going anywhere without Hermione, and I certainly am not going anywhere near the Headmaster tonight."

The simple yet clear threat took McGonagall by surprise, and she spent a long moment re-evaluating the young man in front of her. He stood as a dichotomy; his words and bearing towards her were powerful, defiant, even dangerous. And in the same moment, his hand resting gently on Hermione's shoulder and his obvious protection of her in her time of need showed a depth of emotion and caring that went beyond the understanding of so many people their age. As a teacher and as the Deputy Headmistress, McGonagall should be berating Harry for his comments and for his continued flouting of the requests of the Headmaster. As a woman who had lost two people who had meant more to her than perhaps any others, one to tragedy and one to her own fears, she respected the stand he was taking and why he was taking it.

In more ways than one. While she would never admit it aloud, she too had moments where she wished for someone to carry them through the coming storm. She hoped for a rallying point, a beacon to light their way through this darkness, as Albus had been when she was very young against Grindelwald. And, like so many others for good or ill, in those moments when she despaired the most she had listened to Albus and looked upon Harry to be that person. Now she was seeing the results of those moments; a man who knew the rest of the world looked to him to make it right, a man who had finally and with great reluctance accepted that mantle regardless of the cost to himself. Add in that she was seeing him in perhaps the worst moment of his life (that in and of itself made her cringe, for she knew how many 'worst moments' Harry had experienced in his young life) and she didn't have it in her to put her duty above her humanity. Here were two of her cubs, and they were in pain; her true duty in that moment seemed clear.

"There will be no need for any of that, Mr. Potter. I will relay to the Headmaster that you've already retired for the evening, and it would be inappropriate to disturb you." She stepped over and placed one hand on Harry's shoulder and, leaning down, placed the other on Hermione's shoulder that Harry wasn't touching. "I am so, so sorry for your loss, my dears. If there is anything either of you need, please don't hesitate to call on me."

Harry smiled for the first time since McGonagall had entered the room. "Thank you, Professor. I think, at least for right now, what we need most is some time and to be here for each other." He looked down at Hermione, who simply nodded her agreement at the statement.

Releasing both of the teens, McGonagall gave a stiff nod before turning and leaving the room. As soon as the door closed, Harry's shoulders sagged and he collapsed down onto the bed beside Hermione. He took off his glasses and threw them onto his nightstand before rubbing his closed eyes and holding the bridge of his nose; these moments he kept having today were really starting to give him a headache. He felt the bed shift as Hermione moved but didn't react at first. When he did, it was to groan in appreciation as her small but strong hands started massaging the tension from his neck and shoulders. "Damn that's perfect," he managed to get out.

"Well, you've been taking care of me all day; it's only fair that I return the favor," Hermione said with a smirk. "Besides, if I get you relaxed enough maybe you'll answer my question honestly."

"Keep doing that and whatever answer you want it's yours," Harry replied; it really did feel divine. He wondered cheekily if he had enough money in his vault to hire someone to just walk behind him all day doing this.

Hermione continued for a few minutes before the question that had been on her mind for the last few minutes finally came forth. "Harry," she began, "what did you mean that I was your other promise?"

Harry nodded slightly; he figured that was the question she would want to ask. He'd spent a bit of time thinking about how to answer her when her curiosity finally got the better of her, as he knew it would. "Can I answer your question with a question?"

"Only if you don't expect that to be the end of your answer."

Harry turned and sat cross-legged on the bed facing Hermione. She, in turn, took a similar position, their knees touching. Harry put his hands in the middle, partly on his own ankles and partly on hers. Hermione again adopted the same stance, her hands resting atop his. He stared down at them for a moment before asking his own question. "Did you mean what you said earlier today?" He looked up at her and saw her confusion. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me? Or did you just say it to get me to calm down?"

Hermione sat upright, pulling her hands away, and stared at her best friend hard. She figured that, eventually, she'd have to explain her comment, but she was shocked that he would think that she would have said something that personal and not have meant it. "Of course I meant it. What would make you think I didn't?"

Harry shrugged, his eyes still pointing downward. "No one had ever told me they loved me before that. I'm not . . . not sure I really believed anyone would ever say it," he admitted. Before she could say anything else, he continued. "I realized when I was sitting in the Hospital Wing that I'd never really told Ron how I felt about him. That no matter how much he pissed me off at times that he was the closest thing to a brother I'll ever have. I never told him how much I appreciated his friendship, of him and the rest of the Weasleys opening their home to me, welcoming me like one of their own. I know that, without Ron, that would never have happened, and I would have been stuck with the Dursleys even longer. He never knew that him walking into that cabin on the Express and sitting down changed my life, helped to restore my hope for a life that might just be worth living. He never . . . he never knew how much I loved him. And now he's gone and he'll never know, and that tears at me in ways that I can't describe."

Harry then looked up at Hermione, the teardrops sliding down his cheeks matching those on hers. "And, as I continued thinking about it, I realized that I've never told you any of those things either. I've never told you how much your friendship means to me. I've never said how much I have appreciated all of the help you have given me, whether it was correcting my homework or getting on Buckbeak's back to help me save Sirius. You've never known how much I admire you: your intelligence, your compassion, your dedication to what you believe is right, and so many other things. I've never been able to tell you how sorry I am for all the stupid things I've done, for how much I've gotten you in trouble, or for how many times I've gotten you hurt. I don't know how many times you've almost died because of me, but in every one of those moments my heart stopped, because I don't know what I would have done if . . . if you hadn't made it. I'm sorry for how much time you've lost with your family; the Christmases you missed to help me or spend time with me, or the summers you've cut short in order to be there for me.

"And so I promised myself that, while I may have missed my opportunities with Ron I was not going to squander a second of my time with you. I would tell you all of the things I just said; make sure you knew that I appreciated you and respected you and admired you. Every day I would make sure that, as much as was within my power, I would make sure that you were happy and safe and knew that you were . . . that you were loved." His next words came out barely above a whisper and were so full of emotion Hermione wasn't sure if she wanted to smile or sob. "Because I do love you, Hermione. I may have never heard it before today and I may have never said it before today, but I know with every fiber of my being that I love you. You are my best friend, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure that you have the amazing life you deserve." Harry took a couple of deep breaths as he finished his confession. His eyes returned to his lap and he was surprised to see that, without either of them realizing, both his and Hermione's fingers had entwined in the small space between them. He squeezed, and felt her squeeze back, and it caused him to smile.

"Harry . . ." Hermione started, but the arsenal that was her vocabulary failed her, and instead she leapt up and wrapped her arms around Harry, knocking him backward. They both collapsed onto the bed hugging each other tightly, foreheads touching and eyes closed. She struggled to find words to describe how she felt about everything he had just said, but only four seemed to really convey everything she wanted to say. "I love you too," she whispered.

That was how Neville found them twenty minutes later, arms holding each other tightly as they slept. He placed the Calming Draught and the vial of Dreamless Sleep Potion Madam Pomfrey had given him on the nightstand and pulled the curtains of Harry's four-poster closed around them before grabbing his, Seamus's, and Deans' pillows off of their respective beds and leaving the room, closing the door as gently as possible behind him. The three of them could kip on the couches in the Common Room tonight. If the other two boys didn't like it that was just too bad.

{-}

Minerva McGonagall walked with purpose through the hallways of the Seventh Floor to the gargoyle that protected the stairwell to the Headmaster's Office. "Licorice wand," she stated, and the guardian moved out of the way to show the spiraling staircase that led up to her destination. She took the steps quickly and walked through the already open doorway to see Albus Dumbledore standing near the French doors that opened up onto the balcony, apparently staring off onto the darkened grounds. The clicking of her heels caused him to turn and acknowledge her. "Minerva, excellent. Please send Harry in."

"I can't do that, Albus," Minerva responded as she took a position just inside the door to the office.

Dumbledore looked at her oddly. "It's past curfew. Am I to assume that Harry is out of bounds after hours? If so I need to make the prefects aware so that a search can be initiated immediately."

"That's not necessary," the witch said. "When I left Mister Potter he was secure in his dorm room."

"But then why –"

"Because he doesn't want to talk to you!" McGonagall said, her exasperation both at herself and Albus finally cracking through her normally steady demeanor. "For Merlin's sake, he watched his best friend DIE this morning; I think I can understand why he isn't in the mood to talk very much right now. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that the only was he was leaving Gryffindor Tower, and Miss Granger's side, was at wandpoint."

"Nonsense," Albus answered, "he's just being overly dramatic. Like that speech he gave in the Great Hall. I'm sure once he's had a chance to think things through he'll realize what a mistake it was to take such an extreme stance before he's ready."

The Scotswoman just shook her head. "Albus, I don't understand how you can continually be so obtuse when it comes to Potter. You know as well as any of us the trials that young man has gone through and the losses he's suffered. Well, now thanks in no small part to our actions or inactions, he's suffered one loss too many. He's drawn his line in the sand, Albus, the same way that you told me you did with Gellert. He will not be swayed from his course anymore."

"I refuse to accept that," Dumbledore said, letting a little of his own anger shine through in his tone. "I cannot allow him to walk that path."

"I think we're well past the point where he's going to ask your permission for anything, Albus."

"He's a child!" Albus said emphatically.

"Not anymore!" McGonagall retorted just as strongly. Her hands were in fists at her sides. "His experiences have made it such. For the love of all that is holy, Albus, step back and think about what Potter's gone through. How many people has he seen killed right in front of him, and not just any people but family and friends? His mother, Cedric Diggory, Sirius, and now Ronald. For Merlin's sake he saw Quirrell die when he was eleven, and that was by his own hand! How many others have almost joined them? His cousin with the Dementors, Delacour in the maze at the end of the Third Task, every one of his friends that went with him to the Ministry last year.

"How many times has he faced the impossible with nothing but his will to survive and succeed? Defending the Stone. Defeating a thousand-year-old basilisk. Driving away scores of Dementors with a single Patronus at the age of thirteen. Anything having to do with that train wreck of a Triwizard Tournament. Standing up to Death Eaters and You-Know-Who himself in the Department of Mysteries.

"Do we have any right to continue calling him a child after not only what he's been through, but how he has handled it?" she asked finally.

Albus walked over to his desk and collapsed into the chair. He suddenly looked every one of his one hundred and fifteen years. "How did it come to this?" the man asked morosely. He removed his glasses and placed them on the desk in front of him before closing his eyes and tilting his face up to the ceiling.

Minerva, seeing the defeat in her friend's demeaner, took one of the chairs facing the desk. "Has it been so long that you've forgotten, Albus?" she asked, and when he looked at her confused she explained. "Did you not once tell me that it was Ariana's death that finally started you on the path to being the man that you've become? Is it so difficult to believe that the trauma of losing a sibling would be the last straw to engender a similar reaction in Potter? Make no mistake, Albus," she said when the man's mouth opened to begin a denial of the depth of Harry's feelings for Ron, "Ronald Weasley was as much a brother to Harry Potter as Sirius Black was to James, and as you were to Ariana. You know as well as anyone that family is so much more than blood: you've just chosen to deny yourself that depth of attachment except in very rare cases, and even then only for very extreme reasons where the fate of the world hung in the balance. Is not Newt Scamander like the son you never had, or perhaps the relationship with a younger brother that you always wished you had with Aberforth? Is not Harry Potter like a grandson? You've spent so long in this tower pondering and trying to solve the problems of the entire world that you've forgotten what it is to fight for a single cause, for a single person.

"And that is where you fail to understand Harry. You have lived a long and illustrious life fighting for causes. The world begged you to, and you answered the call, and you've never stopped. You've dedicated yourself to trying to deny the worst that mankind has from gaining ground, whether that was through the teaching of the young or your attempts to convert and redeem the wicked. You've come to see the entirety of the magical world as your students, people who need to be educated and explained the error of their ways that they might walk a better path. And, in large part, you've turned away from that level of emotion for individuals that almost caused your downfall when you were a young man, and that you still blame for Ariana's death all these years later. You see the entire forest, Albus, but have forgotten the trees.

"That is not Harry. Despite what he said downstairs, and despite what he might currently believe himself, he will not fight for causes. He will not fight because the people ask him to. He will not fight this war to save the wizarding world. It's for the trees of your forest, Albus. He will fight to save Longbottom. To save Lovegood. The Weasleys. Remus. Me. You. And, most of all, he will fight to his last breath for Hermione. This world that You-Know-Who wants to build would see her dead or subjugated, and he will never permit that. So he will bring all of himself to bear; his will, his mind, and his magic, to see them undone. And he will succeed, because the alternative is so anathema to him that he will not allow it to become so." McGonagall, her throat slightly dry after the rarely expressed passion and vehemence she had put into her statements, stopped to let the aged wizard digest everything that she had said.

"I'm afraid for him," Dumbledore finally confessed after a few moments. "You're right that I care for Harry more than only a select few others in my life. But he has already suffered so much, and it scares me that the added burdens combined with all of the pains that you've laid out will be too much. I fear that he might descend into the very things that I've struggled with and against all my life, not only from without but from within. I know how easy it is to slide from justice into vengeance. I know how quickly the line between passion and wrath can become blurred. I've seen it. I've felt it. How do we keep him from suffering the same fate as Gellert or Tom or so many others that have allowed their rationale and humanity to be overridden by passion and emotion?"

McGonagall smiled genuinely at her old friend. She knew that in his heart he was a good man, but that he had carried so much for so long, his own guilt and shame on top of the hopes and aspirations of much of the wizarding world, that he couldn't help but have to devolve the world into a game of chess in order to keep from losing his sanity. But it was moments like this, where he was honest with his emotions and concerns, that reminded her of all those years ago, when two broken people had bared their burdens to each other and came out stronger on the other side. Sometimes he just needed to be reminded that attachment and emotion did not have to be paths to darkness; like magic itself, it was all about intent.

"We don't," she responded to his query. He looked at her with a shocked expression. "I understand that you're an intellectual, Albus, and that you can't help but see much of the world as black and white, light and dark. Harry is more . . . grey. He is all of the things you seem to be afraid of being yourself; passionate, impulsive, reckless even. He derives his strength from his ability to care, from his ability to love, something that you've said many times is the greatest magic in the universe. But it is that same love that will not allow him to fall, because to do so would rob him of his reasons for loving to begin with. He may not end up the paragon that we all envision but there is no doubt in my mind that, at the end of this, we will not have traded one Dark Lord for another." She smiled again as she thought of the display she had seen earlier in Gryffindor Tower, and of all the others she had seen over the last six years. "Do you honestly believe that Hermione Granger would allow him to be anything less than the best version of himself?"

Albus made a slight chuckling noise as he shook his head. "No, I suppose she wouldn't. She is as much a force of nature as Harry himself."

"That she is," Minerva responded. "I firmly believe that those two will shake the foundations of the world before this is over, and they will do so because of the depth of their feelings for each other and for those that are closest to them."

"So what do I do now?" Albus asked simply.

"Allow them time to grieve and find themselves again. Stop being afraid of who Harry could become and concentrate on who he is and what he's going through. Put aside your plans and your schemes and your chess board for the moment and be all the things you've always wanted to be. A teacher. A mentor. A friend."

Dumbledore looked down at his hands, one hale and healthy, the other blackened and withered. If Severus was right he did not have much time left, and instead of truly preparing Harry for the tribulations that were to come he had succumbed to his fear, using the Pensieve to show Harry a morality play about how easy it would be for him to become like Tom Riddle in the hopes that the boy – that the man – did not share the same fate as Voldemort. So much time wasted because of fear Albus thought to himself. What damage have I already wrought with my stubbornness and indecision, and how much of it can I correct before the end?

Albus turned his head to look upon the great Phoenix perched on its stand in the corner, then to the formidable witch who had never been afraid to knock some sense into him when he needed it. Time might be running out, but the sand hadn't run out of the hourglass yet. He reached for his glasses and slipped them back onto his crooked nose. There was work to do.

(A/N: McGonagall's history, specifically the losses of Dougal McGregor and Elphinstone Urquart, are from her biography published on Pottermore. Her comment about 'for the love of all that is holy' is also an intimation from her biography; her father was a Muggle minister, so it's not outside the realm of possibility that she would use a term like that.)