When the light returned to Harry's eyes it was like slivers being pushed into his corneas. The pain was sharp and prickly and he tried desperately to blink it away, only to find that his eyelids responded too slowly.

"Harry?"

The voice was familiar. He managed to shift his vision slightly and caught sight of blurry, tangled red locks. Ginny, he thought numbly. He was in a bed. It wasn't his, so he was probably in the Hospital Wing. The antiseptic-smelling sheets he was wrapped in supported that assumption.

He tried to open his mouth to reply to Ginny, but found that he couldn't.

She must have seen his jaw muscles flex. "Don't try to talk, you'll just make it worse."

It was already as bad as it could get. Every part of him hurt, including parts he didn't have a name for. Stubbornly, he fought against the pain and the lassitude and managed to croak out, "Ginny."

"Yes, it's me," she said softly. Harry felt fingers brush against his forehead. "Please don't talk, Harry, you really shouldn't…"

"Hurts already," he said through lips that felt like lead. "Where's…"

"Ron and Hermione went back to the tower to check on everyone else. Prefect business, you know," Ginny said with a trace of humour. "They're fine, they're all right."

Even through the agony the relief still broke over Harry like a cool breeze. "Thas' good." Another thought wiped it away. "Dumbledore… he's-"

"I know," Ginny interrupted, a haunted look crossing her face. "Hagrid found him out on the lawn, after… after he brought you in."

Harry wished with all his heart that Hagrid hadn't learned of it that way. He started to close his eyes against the heartache when he heard Ginny sniff, and looked back up to see her in tears. "Ginny…"

"I thought you were dead." She said it suddenly, and so quickly that Harry almost didn't understand her. "Hagrid brought you in, and you weren't moving and there was so much blood, and… Oh, God, Harry, I thought you were dead."

Her tears fell freely and Harry was stunned to realise that it was him, not Dumbledore, who was the source of her anguish. "'m okay," he managed.

"No, Harry, you aren't." She took a deep breath and stared Harry straight in the eye. "If you had seen the way you looked when you came in… Your face, split open like that… I was so scared. I still am. All that blood, and the look on Hagrid's…"

Harry tried for a reassuring smile, but was unable to manage it. "Not dead, Gin," he settled for saying.

"I know," she sighed. She leaned forward and rested her cheek on the top of Harry's head. "I'm so glad you're safe."

For now, Harry thought grimly, but didn't say it. Instead he tried to focus on Ginny's warmth rather than all of the hurt.

"Oh, Harry, I forgot." Ginny leaned back upright. "Do you know what happened to Scott? Nobody's seen him."

What happened to Scott? The dull ache in Harry's heart flared back up again. He had been trying very hard not to think about what had happened to Scott. Images of his friend fallen lifeless before the Death Eaters crashed to the forefront of his mind. But he was too damaged, too numb to grieve for either Scott or Dumbledore. That was yet to come.

"He's gone," he managed to say in a barren tone.

Ginny's hands tightened, her knuckles whitening where she gripped Harry's sheets. "I'm so sorry, Harry," she whispered. "I didn't know."

Harry knew that Ginny and Scott had never been close, but she wouldn't have wished this on the Kharadjai boy. Her hands went back to Harry's hair, stroking through it in motions that seemed more reflexive than conscious. He let it lull him, taking all the comfort in her presence that he could. Maybe it was selfish, considering what had been lost, but he couldn't help but be incredibly thankful that she was unharmed.

Sleep seemed a needed escape when it came to take him, and Harry surrendered to it willingly.

"Scott, you friggin' retard."

Lila's sighed insult echoed slightly in the stone surrounds. Despite the offence Scott offered no rebuttal, mostly because he was dead.

His pale corpse rested limply in Lila's arms as she carried him through an empty hallway, trying to remember where the Hospital Wing was located. More importantly, she was also trying to figure out how she would cover things up.

The Astronomy Tower hallway had been rapidly vacated following the departure of the Death Eaters. The arrival of reinforcements from the Order of the Phoenix had evened the odds somewhat, and what had been a retreat turned into a rout. Some of the fleeing Death Eaters had escaped off the grounds and others had returned to the Room of Requirement to make their exit. Lila knew that many were dead or wounded, though there would be time for an accounting of that later. The Order and the professors were diligently searching the castle for any remaining intruders who hadn't been able to escape, and the students remained confined to the safety of their dormitories.

News of Dumbledore's death hadn't made its way around yet. Lila didn't know if his body had been recovered, or who exactly had been informed. She herself would not have known if it weren't for the shape and of the two people who might have shed some light on the situation, one was comatose in the hospital wing, and the other was dead in her arms.

"I bet you didn't even try to dodge," Lila muttered, giving Scott's blank face a dark glare. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

It was quite a conundrum, to be sure. She needed to give Scott some time, but she knew that Scott also needed to be with his Primes, even in corpse form. It was important that he not simply disappear only to come back later with no explanation. Unfortunately, being a teen significantly increased the amount of time he would need. Lila didn't know exactly what sort of time frame she was looking at if she left Scott to his own devices, but she was sure it wouldn't be fast enough.

Ideally, she would have liked to deposit Scott in the Hospital Wing, leaving him there for everyone to see that he was down but accounted for.

The problem with that plan was Scott's lack of life. Lila didn't know how advanced wizarding medical practices were but even a quack could determine if a patient was still breathing. With no vital signs worth mentioning they'd probably have Scott six feet in the ground before he wrenched back.

That brought up an interesting point, though — there was a body to bury. Her brother was most certainly dead, but just as certainly in one piece… which meant there was a possible out. It was a gamble, no question, but a solution all the same.

It had been awhile since she had jolted anyone, and she wasn't one-hundred percent sure that she remembered exactly how it was done, but it didn't matter. Scott had gotten her into this mess, and she was going to try to get out of it. If it went wrong, it was his fault.

The aperture Lila opened took her straight back to her apartment, where she carelessly dumped Scott's body on the couch. Glancing around the room, she tried to think about where she could get what she needed.

The answer, as was becoming readily apparent from her cursory examination, was that she couldn't. Power was in adequate supply, but not at the voltage she required. Unless… She frowned in thought. Unless… Scott's teen form was less resistant, as it definitely should be.

Well. There was only one way to found out.

Jolting was not something that was commonly performed. If a Kharadjai still had sufficient strength to revive themselves without delay then they would. If not, then it was best to let them rest in oblivion until their strength returned. The effect jolting created was premature.

Assuming it worked, Scott would be almost completely expended, his already diminished reserves depleted by the heal before he was ready for it. If his corpse had not been fully intact then she wouldn't have tried to jolt him, as the energy required to replace limbs and organs would have exceeded what he had available. Lila was counting on his death being a result of nerve damage. There wasn't anything about the body actually easy to heal, but at least that was easier. All of the minor lacerations and bruising she could see would just have to go unhealed for awhile.

There was a caveat. Scott's healing from his current state might not take as much energy when compared to massive tissue damage, but as a teen he didn't have much energy to begin with. He might wrench back in a state of absolute exhaustion and immediately die again.

That was a chance Lila was willing to take.

Stripping off Scott's clothes, she tossed her brother into the empty bathtub with a cheerful, "In you go!" She started to run the water and went over to the kitchen to get what she needed. When she came back, she held a toaster in her hands. "Cliché, I know," she said a bit self-deprecatingly to Scott's unresponsive form. "But it's a classic for a reason. I think this will work. I've got a good feeling about this electrocution."

Once the tub was filled and the toaster was plugged in, she was all set to give it the old college try. The shock was the catalyst, but she would also have to energise Scott in the shape, if she remembered correctly. Difficult, but not impossible. She didn't have to be precise.

"You'll thank me for this," she told him. She lifted the toaster up over the bath and let it go.

The effect was immediate and very dramatic. With a sparking hiss, the toaster fried itself in the water. There was a bright flash and Scott's body violently seized, his head cracking against the tile wall. Lila thrust out into the shape, trying to impart energy.

All of the lights in the apartment went out, plunging the bathroom into darkness. The smell of burning plastic permeated the small room. Lila wrinkled her nose, but moved forward to check on Scott.

The next thing she heard was a heaving splash, followed by the sound of Scott vomiting on the floor.

"Gross," Lila said, taking a quick step back.

"Fuuuuuuuuucckkkkkkk… " Scott didn't say it so much as he breathed it. There was another splash as he subsided back into the water. He groaned again, this time wordlessly.

Lila leaned against the edge of the sink and waited for him to recover, trying to ignore the stench of melted plastic and puke.

"…Lil?" Scott said finally, his voice gravelly and weak.

"Yeah?"

"What the hell are you doing to me?"

Lila rolled her eyes. "I jolted you, Scott. Has it been that long since your last one?"

"I guess…" There were a few light splashes, and then, "I don't think I can get up."

Stepping carefully over the puddle of vomit, Lila pulled a towel from the rack and helped Scott to his feet. He was trembling so hard his teeth chattered, though Lila didn't think it was related to temperature. She wrapped him in the towel and picked him up, bringing him out to the sofa.

He limply fell onto the couch and just sat there for a moment, breathing hard. Lila frowned as she took in his appearance, better illuminated now by a street light shining through the window. There were deep circles under his eyes, his skin unnaturally pale and his muscles devoid of their usual strength.

"I gotta get back to Hogwarts," he said between breaths.

"Can you dress yourself?"

"…Maybe. Just hand me my boxers, and we'll start from there."

It was a slow process, but Scott managed to dress himself with some assistance. "Am I drooling?" he asked her at one point, to which Lila could only nod an affirmative. He sighed.

Dressing had apparently used up whatever reserves Scott had been clinging to, and he slumped over on the couch. "Element casualty," he slurred. "Medevac, can you respond?"

"Copy that," Lila said. "We are Nu Iota, ETA, right now. Go to sleep, Scott. I'll drop you off at the infirmary."

"You're a peach," Scott sleepily replied, and then his eyes closed and he was out.

Lila was careful not to jostle him on the trip back to Hogwarts, well aware of how close to death he was again. His body desperately required energy. Sleep would do, but it would speed up the process if she could pump some calories into him. Before opening the aperture she had rummaged through her closet to find her emergency box, and had grabbed an intravenous stimpack. The fluid was crammed with nutrients, more than enough to make a normal person extremely ill. Scott's healing body would rapidly burn through them, and she'd leave some super-concentrated E-ration bars by his bed for when he awoke.

The Hospital Wing corridor wasn't difficult to find. There was a lot of foot traffic coming and going, no doubt due to all the wounded and dead. Lila resigned herself to the fact that there wasn't going to be any way to get into the med room without being seen.

As she approached the door she saw a boy standing nearby. He held up a hand for her to stop. She didn't think much of that, but heeded the warning.

"Another Death Eater?" the boy asked, apparently under the assumption that Lila had been hunting down the scattered invaders. He halted and a look of concern crossed his features once he drew closer. "Oh… Is this a student?"

"Yes," Lila said simply, not volunteering any further information.

From the boy's expression, Scott must have looked even worse than Lila thought. "Is he…?"

"Still kicking," Lila assured him.

"That's Kharan, isn't it? From Gryffindor? Thought I recognised him, hope he's all right…" the boy trailed off. He appeared distressed for a moment, though considering the circumstances he certainly had reason enough to. He shook it off. "This way, please."

Lila followed him through the double doors. As soon as she had passed over the threshold a strong antiseptic smell assailed her. It was clear that a hospital still smelled like a hospital regardless of whether it was magical or not. The large room had been divided by a low row of wooden barriers that appeared to be repurposed tables, magically welded together somehow to form a makeshift wall. She assumed the wounded Death Eaters were being held on the other side.

She was glad to see that only a few beds were occupied on her side of the divider. She didn't recognise any of the patients or know why they were there, save for Harry. She spied his shock of black hair out of the corner of her eye as she followed her guide through the narrow corridor between the cloth cubicles. Ginny was sitting next to him.

"Madame Pomfrey!" the boy called out.

A short, harried-looking woman turned from where she had been folding a set of sheets — her eyes widened when she saw Scott. "Oh, my goodness… Anthony, go back to the door and let me know if anyone else arrives."

"I will," the boy said solemnly, and left to go back to his post.

"Put him over here, there should be room enough." Pomfrey went into the closest cubicle and pulled back the sheets on the bed. "Take care when you put him down."

"He's okay," Lila told her. She carefully placed Scott on the bed that Pomfrey indicated.

"The poor dear," Pomfrey murmured. She passed her wand over Scott's still form, clucking sympathetically at whatever readings she received. "He's completely exhausted. Did he take part in the fighting?"

"Yes."

Pomfrey shook her head. "Terrible times, when children fight our battles… What kind of monsters attack a school?" She put a pair of blankets over Scott and tucked him in tightly, and then extracted a vial from somewhere in her robes and handed it to Lila. "Here, give him half of this now and then the other half when he wakes. Can you sit with him?"

"Yeah, I can stay."

"Good. It's always nice for them to see a familiar face." Pomfrey turned to leave. "I'll pop back to check on him in a bit, but be sure to shout if he starts to have trouble."

"Okay."

With Pomfrey gone, Lila was free to handle Scott's recovery in her own way. Lifting him up slightly, she tugged his pants down to his knees and slid the needle of the stimpack into a main artery on his right leg. A pull of a tab on the pack activated the pressure mechanic, and she hid it beneath Scott's shirt and rolled his pants back up. She didn't want Pomfrey to question exactly what she was pumping into her brother's veins.

With that out of the way, Lila figured she ought to pick up some of Scott's slack. She poked her head out into the aisle, and, seeing it was clear, made her way back to where she had spotted Harry and Ginny.

The red-haired girl was slumped in a chair next to Harry's bed, her hands twisted in the blankets that covered him. At first Lila thought that Ginny might be asleep, but her eyes fluttered open at the sound of footsteps.

"Lila?" she said curiously, her voice hoarse. Up close, Lila could tell that she had been crying.

With Scott temporarily out of the picture it was up to Lila to handle Prime morale. "Hi, Ginny." She motioned to Harry's still form. "He'll be okay. The shape would let me know if he was in real trouble. He's going to be just fine."

Ginny nodded, but her expression didn't change. "I know. It's just…"

"A lot to take in," Lila finished. "It was a rough night, to be sure."

"Lila, I'm…" Ginny took a deep breath, appearing hesitant. "I'm really sorry, about Scott…"

Lila raised one eyebrow in question. "About Scott?"

The look of horror that took over Ginny's visage was doubly confusing. "You mean you don't… nobody told you?"

"Told me about… Oh." Lila understood what the problem was. Apparently Scott's death had at least one witness, most probably Harry. "Scott's fine. He's right down there, I just tucked him in."

Ginny stared at her. "But Harry said that he'd been killed!"

"As if," Lila scoffed. "I've tried harder to kill him than the Death Eaters did."

That managed to bring a small smile to Ginny's tired face. "That's some good news, at least."

"Yeah. But enough about that. I came over here to thank you."

"Thank me?"

"For putting in some good work. You were a great help, Ginny. And I appreciate it."

"It wasn't a problem, I wanted to help," Ginny said, but she seemed pleased by the compliment. It faded when she looked morosely back at Harry. "I don't get to help that often, and it's not likely to happen again."

That was an interesting outlook, Lila thought. "How's that?"

"They're planning something. I know they are, but they won't tell me what it is. I think they're going to do something about You-Know-Who… And I won't be invited." Ginny sank lower into her chair, despondent.

An obvious desire to get back in the fight? Lila was growing to like this girl. "I could use you."

That captured Ginny's attention. Her head shot back up. "Really?"

"Sure. I don't know the culture like you do, and with a little training you could be combat effective. You've got the nerves, you just need the experience."

"Mum would never let me run off to fight Death Eaters." Ginny bit her lower lip, and then asked quietly, "Do you really think I could be a, um… warrior?"

"Soldier. Warrior is for when we use swords, I think."

"A soldier?"

"The specifics come with time." Lila shrugged. "You were looking at death in that hallway, and you stared back. That's a good place to start."

Ginny's eyes were distant in thought and she didn't reply, instead turning back towards Harry. "You'll let me know, if… if I'm needed?" she said softly after a long moment.

"You're a Prime," Lila told her, standing to leave. "You're always needed."

Predictably, Scott was still comatose when Lila returned to his bedside. She didn't know how much longer he would sleep, but she had the feeling that the stimpack wouldn't speed his recovery at the rate she had hoped. He was unlikely to wake before morning and she would prefer to not hang around much longer. Without Dumbledore to cover for her, Lila would probably be receiving some pointed questions that she was not in a position to answer.

There didn't appear to be anything to write on nearby, not that she had a pen, so instead she ejected a round from her pistol, placing it in Scott's palm and closing his hand around it. If he was confused when he woke up in strange surrounds the bullet would let him know that Lila had been there.

Hermione had always suffered a bit when it came to admitting a wrong.

Over the course of her life — and, admittedly, it wasn't the longest of lives, not yet — she had always attempted to be correct. Correct in school work, correct in arguments, in decisions, in her state of mind. It was a need she possessed which she didn't entirely understand, but knew that it definitely drove her. That was who she was. A problem solver, an impartial intellectual, someone who could be counted on to find the answers required, someone who had the ability to apply research and draw the right conclusions.

Therefore, it was extremely difficult to accept that she had been wrong, completely and utterly wrong, about Professor Snape. And as a result of that, her best friend was in a hospital bed, beaten half to death, and the Headmaster had been killed.

Why couldn't she have been prepared? Why didn't she see it coming? That was her role, her purpose, her self-designated task to function as the voice of reason. To pierce through the lies, dispel the disinformation, and deliver the truth to those who needed it. To help her friend through his trials, his difficulties.

And when Harry had needed it most, she had failed to listen and act. She had dismissed him.

She had been wrong.

If only she had prevented Snape from reaching the tower, following his Death Eater cohorts to the top unrestricted. Unimpeded by the very people he had betrayed. When the Death Eaters had come, if she had sent some sort of warning to Lila, stopped the Kharadjai from responding to whatever effect the running battle was having on the shape…

These thoughts were so hard to grasp, sitting by Harry's bedside in the dark hours of the morning.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Hermione whispered, placing a gentle hand on his. He felt cold, and she worked part of the top blanket free to drape it over his arms. "I let you down."

She sniffed wetly, fighting the tears. It wouldn't do any good to cry. Harry would need her to be strong. He would need answers, when he woke up. She had been keeping the sequence of events fresh in her mind, ready to relate and fill in whatever he had missed. She could do that, at least.

Even with the gift of hindsight what had occurred that evening was difficult to understand, and Hermione was not feeling especially rational. She was tired, her eyelids heavy as lead and threatening to close without her consent. It hadn't been easy to convince Ginny to get some rest and let Hermione take her place next to Harry; even after she had relinquished her position, she had refused to return to the common room. Instead, she was asleep on an unused bed nearby.

Hermione knew that Scott was located a few beds further down the aisle, having visited his still form earlier to assure herself that he was present. During the battle and after the retreat Hermione hadn't thought of the Kharadjai at all, the entirety of her mental resources devoted to the frantic search for Harry.

She didn't know what had happened to Scott. Ginny had said that Harry might have witnessed something, but that he hadn't been specific. Nobody else had seen anything and Lila was nowhere to be found, which left Scott's state a mystery.

There had been a few clues. Hermione nervously shifted in her seat, thinking of what she had hidden in the trunk by her bed. While passing through the Entrance Hall with Ron she had found one of Scott's guns discarded on the floor. Ron had been reluctant to touch it, but Hermione had insisted they not leave it there. Scott would want it back, and if it was discovered by anyone else it might raise some uncomfortable questions. Hermione had taken it back to her room, holding it the way she might have held a live bomb, and carefully wrapped it in a towel before placing it in her trunk.

She hoped that Scott appreciated it when he recovered. Keeping a loaded firearm in her room was a safety hazard, to say the least, and she didn't want it to be there for any longer than it had to. If Harry had been awake, he'd have probably volunteered to hold on to it himself.

If he had been awake. The thought brought Hermione back to the edges of despair. She loosed a tremulous sigh and gripped Harry's limp hand through the blanket. She knew that he had to rest and heal, but, selfishly, she found herself wishing he was up and alert, if only to reassure her.

Footsteps from the aisle preceded a familiar head of red hair as Ron approached. There wasn't anywhere else to sit down, so instead he stood next to Hermione and looked down at Harry with a morose expression.

"He wake up at all?" Ron asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "Not since he spoke to Ginny."

"It's probably for the best," Ron said stoically, though Hermione could tell that he wished Harry would wake, even if it was just for a minute. "You should get some sleep, Hermione."

She brushed off his concern with a quick gesture. "You're just as tired as me, and I don't see you in bed."

Ron's jaw set in a stubborn fashion. "It's my turn to watch him, anyway."

"I suppose…" Hermione made no move to stand. "Did you check on Scott when you came in?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't look like he's moved. You reckon he'll be up tomorrow?"

Hermione sighed. "I don't know." Harry was currently in no shape to explain and Lila was nowhere to be found, so it seemed as if there wouldn't be any answers until Scott regained consciousness.

"Look, Hermione… Just go get a couple hours sleep, I'll sit with him." Ron placed a warm hand on her shoulder and she leaned into it, a state of exhaustion surging over her.

"All right," she relented. "But not for too long."

On the way out of the infirmary she took a detour, peeking into the curtained space where Scott's outline could be seen in the dim light. Even with the lack of illumination she could tell he was pale, his skin tinted with an unhealthy pallor. Nervously, she approached him and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. He was warm, and she felt a bit of relief at that.

She couldn't help but wonder where Scott's healing factor came in. Of course, she didn't understand the mechanics of it (for which Scott was to blame, per usual) so she didn't have any real idea when he would fully recover. She turned to leave, hoping that Scott would be able to talk by morning.

Each step was a mile on the way up to the tower. The effort required made Hermione aware of just how tired she really was. By the time she reached the portrait entrance, it seemed almost too much trouble to go up to her dormitory. The couches and chairs of the common room were an inviting thought, indeed.

When she walked into the common room she wasn't surprised to see some students still awake, huddled in groups, trading what little information they had. Everyone looked scared and confused. Hermione's appearance immediately drew attention, but she brushed off their questions with terse excuses and went straight to her bed.

The darkness surged over her the second her head touched the pillow, and she didn't dream.

It wasn't an unusual sight, seeing Harry in a hospital bed, Ron thought with a tinge of humour. But despite its frequency, it was no less affecting.

Harry looked awful, his lower lip and chin marred by an enormous gash and the rest of his face battered as if a set of bludgers had taken turns running into it. He was pale and dirty and despite Pomfrey's cleaning there were still smudges of blood, mostly around his arms, and his fingernails were ringed red.

Ron didn't know exactly what had happened to Harry. He'd only heard bits and pieces. He knew that Harry had been up in the tower, that Scott had gone in as well and then Harry had run down by himself, following Snape. Ron had seen that much, had even called out when Harry had raced through the battle. After that, nobody knew except Harry, and he was in no shape to talk.

Ron ran a tired hand through his hair, almost wishing he hadn't talked Hermione into letting him take her spot. He was tired, but perhaps not tired enough to fall asleep in such an uncomfortable chair. He reckoned he might reach that point if given a bit more time. Sleep was a comfortable alternative to his thoughts.

The way the mind worked was odd, he reflected. All that had happened was so terrible it was nearly overwhelming; he felt like curling into himself and ignoring the state of things. Dumbledore was dead, Harry was badly injured and the school was in shambles. Nothing seemed certain if Death Eaters could enter Hogwarts so freely.

But despite that, all he could think about were the men Lila had killed in the hall.

He had never witnessed a death before. He wasn't sure how to feel about it, was rather numb, really, though the idea hurt a bit if he concentrated. He found himself actually looking forward to seeing the Thestrals, and wondered if that made him sick. It wasn't a normal feeling, probably. But the curiosity couldn't be helped.

Other thoughts were even more difficult to grasp. Most pressing was the question of whether those Death Eaters had deserved to die. How did someone decide that? Who could possibly judge whether or not they had it coming? He supposed that's what You-Know-Who did all the time. Maybe those men would have killed Ron, given the chance. Or maybe not. Did that matter?

He wanted to believe that it did. He wanted to know that they deserved it, that they were evil and vicious. The first Death Eater had looked at Lila like he'd wanted to… It didn't bear thinking about. Ron didn't know much about that sort of thing, but he knew that a gentleman didn't allow it to happen. That was just how he'd been raised.

It was a bad job, to be sure. He doubted he'd find any sort of closure a mere few hours after the fact, and so he tucked his chaotic thoughts away and focused on his sleeping friend.

He sighed and awkwardly patted Harry's shoulder through the thick blankets. "You need to wake up, Harry. Everybody's going mad without you to tell them what happened."

Harry offered no response, not that Ron had expected one. Harry was in a bad way but at least he was still breathing. There were a number of people who could no longer say the same.

There Ron went, back to the death again. He needed to sleep. His eyelids were soft weights and every breath had a strong chance of turning into a yawn.

He couldn't leave, though. When Harry woke he might be disoriented, and he'd need someone there. Perhaps more importantly, Ron felt like one of Harry's friends should be there to see him wake up. It would be reassuring, to say the least. Apparently Snape had really done a number on him.

Snape… By now just about everyone knew the professor had turned traitor, even if the details were obscure. Whatever Harry had to say would clear up some wild rumours. Ron actually wasn't in a rage about it. Angry, sure, definitely that, but rage? No. More like… vindication.

If, say, Flitwick had brought Death Eaters in to off some students and then fled in the night, Ron would have been shocked. Instead, it was Snape. And in Ron's mind, who else would it have been? Anyone who was truly surprised had their head up their own arse. It had all been a long time coming, Ron figured. Snape was such a bloody bastard it was a wonder everyone hadn't expected this.

That was years worth of bottled hate talking. Ron had loathed the professor long before all this shite had rolled around. This was just the cherry on top. One more for the road, on the off chance Ron's hatred hadn't already been firmly cemented enough.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered. He didn't like feeling this way. Furious and helpless was an almost unbearable combination. He wished he'd had a shot at Snape.

He slid lower in his chair and tried to push such ruminations away, leaning his head to one side and stretching out his legs. It wasn't a very good position for his back, but his level of weariness ensured that anything roughly approximating a prone position was welcome.

Perhaps if he just closed his eyes for a bit, he'd be tired enough to fall asleep…

"I don't know what to do," Neville muttered. "But I feel like I should be doing something…"

Luna agreed. There was a quiet flutter of impatience somewhere in the pit of her stomach, a notion that was currently keeping her awake. She thought she might go to the Hospital Wing and see if she had swallowed a small Snutterbug by accident, but that was unlikely. Her restless mind had a much more probable source of agitation.

Dumbledore had been killed. Harry and Scott were in the hospital wing, both decidedly worse for the wear, and the school was in the midst of a full fledged panic. There had been Death Eaters in the halls and many of them had been killed in an awful manner by Lila. Luna had witnessed death before, but she wasn't pleased to see it again.

It was all quite horrible.

She was sitting on the edge of Neville's bed observing as he paced back and forth, his expression stormy. She supposed that she ought not to be in the boys dormitories at such an hour, nor in the Gryffindor tower, but Neville had refused to let her out of his sight. In the interests of not upsetting him, she had acquiesced. And, really, she preferred not to return to her own room when she could be with Neville in his.

"Wish I knew where Lila went, maybe I could… help, or something…" Neville mumbled. His shoulders slumped and he sat on the bed next to Luna, his eyes downcast. "Not that I did much, anyway."

Neville wasn't being fair to himself, not at all. Luna reached over and took his hand in hers, noting that it was cold. She rubbed his fingers, trying to impart some heat. "I think you did just fine," she said, and meant it. She was a bit uncertain whether any of her own spells had hit their targets in the hallway. It had been rather difficult to see.

The colour of Neville's face began to approximate that of a tomato, and Luna wondered if his collar was too tight or if her attempts to warm him had been more effective than she'd thought.

"Th- thanks," he stuttered, and while he seemed slightly nervous he didn't remove his hand from hers, which was nice. Luna would hate to think she made Neville uncomfortable.

She smiled at him, pleased that he didn't withdraw. She had noticed at times that people tended to keep their distance from her. She tried not to take offence, well aware that many considered her a bit odd, but it was difficult not to feel some slight hurt. Neville had reacted like that, at first. But it had been a long time since he had flinched away.

Sitting so close to him, it was hard not to notice how tired he looked. He seemed older somehow, dishevelled and worn. Luna focused curiously on the stubble dotting his chin. It was a surprising reminder that he was not the same boy she had met in fourth year.

She reached out and brushed his face with her hand, feeling the rough texture. He blinked, startled, but didn't stop her. "I like it," she decided. "It's interesting to touch."

"Wha-… Oh, this?" Neville self-consciously scratched at his fledgling facial hair. "There's not a lot, yet… I don't get rid of it often."

"You should let it grow out," Luna advised. "Otherwise you won't know if it's right for you."

"Grow out? Merlin, no," Neville laughed, his face creasing in a tired smile. "It'd be awful, it's not even all there."

Oh, good, she'd made him smile. That was a pleasant change from his dark expression only minutes before. Luna was strongly inclined to believe that the world would be a much easier place if everyone remembered to smile regularly. However, she lacked the power to ensure that such a thing came true, so it would have to remain a theory.

Having alleviated Neville's anxiety in her own small way, Luna turned to the other immediate problem. "Perhaps we should go to bed?" she suggested. "It is very late, after all."

Neville sighed. "I suppose you're right. Nothing else to do until Harry wakes up." He looked over at Luna, a frown creasing his brow. She gazed back at him, hoping to discern the problem with the proper application of staring. He opened his mouth, shut it, and then tried again, hesitantly suggesting, "You could take Harry's bed, I don't think he'll need it for awhile."

Now Luna understood the problem. He still didn't want her to return to the Ravenclaw tower. There was a small, toasty feeling somewhere deep in her ribcage at this thought, and while it might have been another Snutterbug symptom, she felt ready to discount this as well. Neville wished to keep her close, and that was a very nice sentiment, indeed.

Still, it didn't seem right taking Harry's bed. "I'd rather stay here, actually," she informed Neville.

"Oh. Okay, I'll sleep there instead."

Luna shook her head. That wasn't fair, either. "I wouldn't want to steal your bed from you, Neville. I only wish to borrow it."

Neville was clearly confused. "But, you said that… I mean, I could sleep on one of the couches, if you don't want me to be in here…"

Luna kicked off her shoes and lay back on the bed. It was quite comfortable, if just a bit too soft. "No, I don't mind sharing."

"…So I should sleep in Harry's bed?"

The canopy over Neville's bed had an odd wrinkle that looked somewhat like a Snorkack's crumpled horn. It was an interesting coincidence, and possibly a sign. "I thought we might sleep together," Luna absently remarked.

Neville made a sound that was something between a cough and a choke.

Luna raised her head curiously. "Are you well?" she asked the spluttering boy.

"Um, yeah, I'm fine," Neville stammered. "I must have misheard you, I thought you said… Well, something else."

"I only said I thought we should sleep together," Luna helpfully clarified.

Neville's eyes were wide as he gaped at her, mouth open. "…Sleep together?" he said weakly.

Luna began to be worried. Perhaps he didn't really want to be around her after all; maybe he'd like to be alone? She certainly didn't want to sleep by herself tonight, but he didn't appear to feel the same. "I thought we could share, but if that's not what you want, I understand," she said, trying not to sound hurt.

"Share…" Neville echoed slowly. "Wait, you mean just sleep in my bed? Um, together?"

"Of course. What else could I have meant?" Luna wondered. As a deep blush began to suffuse Neville's face, she thought about her previous statement. A boy and a girl in the same room, Neville blushing... "Did you think I meant sex, Neville?"

Neville's eyes were focusing on the bedside table, the window, anywhere but Luna as he nodded silently.

Sex? How interesting! And flattering, as well. She discovered that she was quite pleased that Neville saw her in such a manner. She hadn't given much thought to sex with him, but it was a pleasant possibility now that she considered it. She resolved to revisit the subject at a better time.

"We should discuss sex later, I've never had it before and I don't believe I'm ready just yet," Luna told Neville, letting him in on her train of thought. "I've heard it's quite wonderful, though. I'd like to find out for myself."

Neville's face was practically glowing by this point, and he didn't appear capable of speech. Luna helpfully leaned forward and took his hand, pulling him back on the bed. She patted the spot next to her, indicating for him to lie down.

After a moment of silence, Neville regained his vocal abilities. "W- we could sleep here tonight, that's fine."

Luna smiled happily, glad he'd agreed. "That would be nice."

It was easy enough climbing into bed and becoming contentedly ensconced beneath the covers, but as soon as the lights went out Luna found that Neville was lying on his back with his arms at his sides, his posture rigid. That simply wouldn't do. She had requested his presence for comfort, not for mere body heat. How could she be expected to sleep well when Neville was confusing the air with such uncomfortable signals? He needed to relax, or they'd both suffer for it.

She rolled over and scooted closer to him, noting how his breath hitched. "Neville?"

"…Yeah?" he said slowly. In the dim light of the windows she could see him blinking rapidly.

"Are you scared?"

"…Sometimes," he sighed, closing his eyes. "When I think about it. What are we going to do now that Dumbledore's gone? What's going to happen to the school?"

"No, I meant of me."

"W- what? Of you?"

"Yes."

He turned his head to look at her, confusion written on his features. "I'm not scared of you, Luna. Why would you think that?"

"Because I'm frightened tonight, and I wanted to be here with you so I could sleep, but it seems as if you don't like me this close," she said sadly.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I'm just not used to… um, sharing."

"This is my first time, too," she assured him, and then wondered why that statement had made his eyes a bit wild.

Still, he did roll over on his side to face her, appearing slightly more relaxed. "Good night, Luna," he said groggily.

"Good night, Neville" she replied, and then closed her eyes and waited for sleep to take her.