Neville's hands formed fists in his lap. His jaw was clenched, and he stared at Headmaster Severus Snape with undisguised loathing.

Ginny was gripping his wrist under the table, her hand clenched around it tightly. Trying to prevent herself from getting up and cursing Snape? Or trying to prevent him from doing the same?

Maybe it was neither. An expression of anger. A need for support.

Snape wore a languid smirk, a look that boiled Neville's blood. Anger. Fury. A murderer was sitting in Dumbledore's chair, the Headmaster's chair, comfortable and well fed, powerful and in control, instead of rotting in a cell in Azkaban like he should be.

"Filthy murderer," he hissed to himself. Ginny kicked him sharply in the ankle. She had heard. He could see her from the corner of his eye, her lips pressed tightly together, her teeth clenched. Her hand was still locked around his wrist. She was as angry as he was.

But she knew better than to say it aloud.

"We'll be fighting, Neville," she murmured to him fiercely. "We owe it to Harry."

Neville could barely nod. For Harry. More than that, though - Voldemort and his Death Eaters had harmed countless people. They had tortured his parents into insanity.

They deserved as much trouble as a handful of students could give them. They deserved the agony they had caused.

All around him, he could see dark looks and clenched teeth, from Gryffindors, to Ravenclaws, to Hufflepuffs, and even some of the Slytherins. Even Luna's lips were pressed tightly together, her normally gentle, pale eyes hard. Next to her, Terry Boot was scowling, his anger made clear by the way he stabbed at his food with his fork, the way his knuckles whitened from his grip around his goblet.

At the Slytherin table, Malfoy didn't look happy, but not quite angry. He looked...anxious. His face was paler than usual, his shoulders slumped. Next to him, Crabbe and Goyle were grinning stupidly, stuffing their faces as usual. They were some of the few people actually eating, enjoying their food.

Neville shifted his gaze over to McGonagall. Her lips were a thin line, her eyes sterner than usual. Her anger was just as hot as Neville's, her hatred probably stronger. This was her school, her home. She was closer to Hogwarts than he was.

His eyes returned to the man at the head of the table. Neville's fists were clenched and he was very aware of the weight of the wand in his pocket. His fingers itched to draw it, to pull it from his pocket and curse the man who would kill him without a second thought, the man who could kill him without any effort. Nothing Neville could do would defend him against Severus Snape, the wizard who had murdered Albus Dumbledore.

That didn't stop him from wanting blood.

He wanted to take Snape's life just as Snape had taken Dumbledore's. He wanted to see justice done, see the Death Eater out of Hogwarts. No servant of Lord Voldemort would ever have a place there.

But Neville calmed himself, breathing deeply, in and out.

He focused on the wand in his pocket and the hand that gripped his wrist.

Stay calm, Neville.

He twisted his hand around to take Ginny's. Their hands locked together in a mutual clench of desperation. Ginny's face was inscrutable, but Neville doubted his was. What was he showing? Fear? Anger? Hatred?

Neville had never been one to hate anything. He had always been a mild mannered person, more than a little on the timid side. Excellent at Herbology, abysmal at everything else. Harry had been the spirit of Gryffindor. Always the brave one. He had just been...just been Neville. Just the student. Not the hero. Never the legend.

But Harry was gone, along with him, Ron and Hermione. Someone would have to carry on his legacy. If that person was Neville, so be it.

They would make Snape rue the day he set foot inside of Hogwarts.