Painting, art, writing -- none of this offered any sort of relief for Luna. Instead she was lost, so very lost - how was Dumbledore's Army anything without Dumbledore?
She found her feet shuffling through the hallways and tunnels, no reprieve or asylum to discover. While she had with confidence felt that Harry, Hermione, and Ron were alive and innocent, the sort of confidence that emerges from the depths of one's soul and is unshakable, she had no such outpour of faith for the safety and welfare of Professor Dumbledore. Could he be really dead? The signs whispered softly to her, yes, and she would have continued to wander the halls that so reminded her of her beloved headmaster until she stumbled upon a mess of brown hair. It was Neville.
She approached him silently and slid down next to him. "Hello," she said softly. "Are you alright?"