After a mind-numbingly simple riddle (seriously, how do Ravenclaws expect to keep anyone out?), Hermione opened the door to the sunny blue common room. Though she had been sorted into the house over three months ago, it was the first time she had visited in this time. Gryffindor common room had never been her favorite place, so she expected her new common room to be the same, but perhaps she should have come earlier; her greeting was warm. Almost everyone left behind for the holidays were fifth through seventh years, except for the younger students who were staying all through Christmas. Since the Ball had passed, older students were preparing for the afternoon train. Most were already packed, so several were huddled in the common room, bidding farewell to their dear friends.

"Have any of you seen Lyra?" Hermione interrupted a group of fifth-years. One of them nodded and gave directions to the seventh-year girls' dormitory.

The rooms were down a long hallway, filled with large bronze windows looking out over Hogwarts terrain. Hermione took in the views as she walked, stopping at the final door and attempting to knock, but the door swung right open as it had not been properly closed. The room was a test in opposites. It soon became clear that Olive and Lyra were the only female Ravenclaw seventh years, as the room had practically been split in half. All that was missing was a partition. Olive's side of the room was neat and orderly with few additions. There was a moving photo of two people who looked like they might have been Olive's parents and one of Olive and Almus kissing and grinning at each other. Lyra's side of the room was wholly unexpected. Hermione realized in that moment how much she had filled in Lyra's personality with Luna's; she had fully imagined Lyra's room would feel similarly eccentric. Instead, if it could have belonged to any of her old friends, it would have been Ron. The room was covered from ceiling to bed with Quidditch photos; whole teams, seekers, and posed pictures. There appeared to be no team affiliation, but more of a general admiration and collection of crazy dives, silly tricks, and the teams associated with such players.

"Wow," Hermione let out as she looked over the wall wide-eyed. "I had no idea you were so into Quidditch."

Lyra shrugged. "You never asked." Hermione nodded and put an awkward hand on Lyra's shoulder. The dark-haired girl pulled her into a tight hug. Hermione could feel tears welling up in her eyes. She was trying to push Tom out of her mind, but realizing that she had been an awful friend in addition to an awful girlfriend was a bit more than she could bear right now; and the fact that she was making it about herself again just made things worse.

"You want to come back with me for the holidays," Lyra stated matter-of-factly as they pulled apart.

"How did you know?"

"You're crying. Something happened with you and Tom."

"Lyra, I do consider you a good friend. I don't want you to feel like I'm just using you to get away from Tom, but saying that out loud, I guess I am. Merlin, I'm sorry." Hermione's words came out in a tumble, running together as tears streaked down her face quietly.

Lyra considered her quietly for a moment. "Hermione, I can tell something is going on with you beyond problems with Tom." Lyra surveyed her for a moment, her blue eyes briefly turning to piercing. "You're welcome to join me for the holidays, but only if you let me give you flying lessons."

Hermione imagined herself falling from a broom to her death, but tried to dismiss the thought. If she could face Voldemort, she could fly, couldn't she? And besides, she really owed Lyra one. Or twenty. "It's a deal."

"You better pack. Train's in two hours."

And just like that, her plans for the next three weeks had completely changed. She felt a quiet kind of conviction as she headed back to her quarters to prepare for the trip. Hermione felt genuinely excited to spend some time with Lyra, and even to leave the castle. Over the course of the last year and a half, Hermione had only spent a couple of hours away from the castle looking for… well, for the Cup.

Yet despite the promise of fresh air away from the Hogwarts grounds and time with her new friend, Hermione felt torn apart at the idea of leaving Tom. She knew she needed space, though, to think. As Hermione packed up most of her relatively few belongings for the second time that year, she paused as she reached under the bed, looking at her own personal collection of Horcrux books. After a moment of hesitation, she shoved them in her bag, as much to keep them away from Tom as to read. Although her room was heavily warded, who knows what would come about in three weeks if Tom set his mind to it. The thought gave her pause about her trip for a second, but she shoved it away just as she shoved away the last of her clothes into the magically expanded luggage. She wasn't sure what to bring, so she had essentially brought everything.

As Crookshanks pulled on Hermione's robes, Hermione realized she hadn't asked Lyra if she could bring her. Hopefully it will be fine, Hermione thought as she scooped up the unruly ball of fur and left the confines of her room. Tentatively, she knocked on Tom's door. No response. "Tom!" No response. "Tom, may I speak to you just for a moment?" No response.

Hermione huffed and marched back to her room to scribble out a note, which she left on their coffee table. "Goodbye, Tom!" No response. "I'll miss you!" No response. Hermione gave up and made way to the Great Hall; she was late enough that she broke out into a bit of a run, but she made it on time.

"Lyra!" She called breathlessly.

"Hello. Did you bring a ball gown?"

"I have my Yule Ball dress and the dresses I wore to Slughorn's. Why?"

"For a ball." Lyra didn't expand and Hermione didn't ask as she followed her friend into the last carriage, which held Avery and Lestrange.

Both of their eyes widened briefly when they saw Hermione and then seemed determined not to acknowledge her.

"Hello Avery, Lestrange."

"Prewett," Lestrange nodded politely. "Lyra." Hermione's eyebrow shot up at the first-name basis, and Lyra didn't acknowledge it.

"Hello," she said simply. They sat in silence as the carriages approached the Hogwarts Express.

Hermione smiled at the sight.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Lyra asked.

"Yes, it is."

Lestrange and Avery jumped out as Avery shouted, "See you both next week!"

"Next week?" Hermione asked Lyra, laughing a bit.

"For the ball I mentioned," Lyra replied simply as she struggled to lift her large luggage onto the train. Suddenly, Hermione was feeling this was going to be a much more taxing holiday than she had anticipated.

"Legilimens!" Tom shouted, exhausted but pressing forward. It had been six hours since he found that insipid note Hermione left him and four and a half hours since he found Malfoy, the only one of his followers who had also stayed for the holiday as he was also the only one who shared his orphan status. Malfoy was on the floor again, looking like he was struggling for consciousness. "Fight back," Tom hissed.

"Yes, my Lord," Malfoy coughed out, sitting up but not trying to stand.

"Legilimens!" Tom easily pushed past Malfoy's meager attempt at a struggle but still could only access impressions and thoughts. All the books he had read on the topic told him that he should be able to view memories, but that had so far proved impossible. Tom shook his head at the increasingly fatalistic tone of Malfoy's immediate thoughts. "I'm not going to kill you, Malfoy, stop being so dramatic."

"Apologies, my Lord," Malfoy sputtered. He was on the floor again. Pathetic.

"Let's pick up tomorrow. Meet me here after breakfast." Tom heard Malfoy mutter something but ignored him; he had more pressing matters.

Tom charged toward the Head common room, quickly giving the password before being confronted with the letter again. When he first came across it, he lit a fire at the end of his wand, ready to burn it, before he remembered a potion that he had filed away in the recesses of his mind that this letter would be particularly useful for. The potion would take two weeks to brew, but he had already started the first stage earlier that day. How ironic that a letter of farewell may be what gives me access to your secrets, Hermione.

The train pulled into the station and Hermione felt a ripple of nostalgia run through her. As they stepped off the platform, a man who looked oddly familiar waved to Lyra, and the two of them headed toward him. As Hermione got closer, she realized who he looked like as she plastered on a smile on her face and shook his hand while pushing down the bile that rose in her throat. Lyra's father was the spitting image of Rodolphus Lestrange minus the crazed look that Hermione assumed the man had obtained from years in Azkaban.

"Hermione Prewett," Hermione heard herself say as seamlessly as if it were her own name.

"Henry Lovegood, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'll have the house elves prepare your room when we get in. I apologize that it's not ready yet, it seems it's slipped Lyra's mind to inform me of your arrival." His voice was pleasant, but there was a slight edge to it at the lack of notice. Hermione was also especially irritated at his mention of his house elves when she noticed one was there, hiding behind his leg.

"Sir, that's my fault—"

"No need to cover for me, Hermione. I simply forgot."

"Lyra's always forgetting something," Henry remarked lightly as they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione kept up with the small talk as the wheels turned in her mind. She knew Lyra couldn't be Luna's grandmother because witches seemed to always take wizards' names, but she never considered that Lyra might be Rodolphus Lestrange's mother. It was a horrifying thought, but the more she looked at Henry (or tried not to), she couldn't push it out of her head, or Lyra and Lestrange's odd interaction earlier.

The Lovegood home reminded Hermione of an extravagant Muggle one more than anything else. She had never been to any wizard's home other than the Weasley's and Sirius's, though, so perhaps this was just how most pureblood wizards lived. A house elf named Archie showed Hermione to her room, which reminded her more of the hotel suite she had stayed at with her parents in Germany than any room Hermione had ever lived in. Hermione initially insisted on packing herself, but desisted when Archie started to hurt himself. Hermione watched uncomfortably as Archie unpacked her clothes.

When he was finished, Hermione asked him to lead her to Lyra's room, and he perked up immediately upon being given a task, then solemnly insisting he must ask "Ms. Lovegood" first. Five minutes later, Hermione was sitting on a mauve couch in a room that looked like her grandmother's tea room, but it was Lyra's room. "It doesn't exactly feel like… you."

"I didn't decorate it."

"Your house is beautiful," Hermione remarked quickly, not wanting to offend Lyra after she had graciously allowed Hermione to insert herself at the last minute.

"It's not mine." Lyra looked thoughtful, but not upset. Lyra was draped horizontally on the opposite couch, staring up at the ceiling that was the only personal touch to the room. Although it the middle of the day, the ceiling was an inky black with moving constellations.

"Can I ask you something, Lyra?"

"You may ask something else, yes."

"Is something going on between you and Lestrange?"

"We've been betrothed since we were six."

"You hadn't mentioned it."

"That's because it's not happening."

"He seems nice enough," Hermione offered, mostly because she knew all too well the falsity of Lyra's statement.

"No, he doesn't."

"No, he doesn't," Hermione echoed, conceding.

"What's happening between you and Tom?" Although Lyra tried to keep her tone light, the attempt to change the subject was clear. Perhaps the fact that Hermione knew little about her friend was not only her fault.

"He's frustrated with me. I haven't been very honest with him."

"Why not?"

"I'm afraid of how he'll react. I'm afraid of what he'll do."

"You're obviously going to tell him if he wants to know. Why put it off?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're in love with him." Lyra had said it in the tone someone would use to describe the weather, and Hermione hadn't even been able to admit that to herself.

"What makes you say that?"

"Hermione, I've never seen two people so obviously in love as the two of you." Her tone was slightly annoyed, but also amused.

"So you think he's in love with me, too?"

"So you are in love with him."

"It's harder than it sounds," Hermione insisted as she tried to imagine the conversation and came up short.

"Everything always is."

"And it's not just about me. There are other people involved and I'm worried that sharing this… information might harm them." Other people being the entire wizarding world.

"What's the alternative?"

"Distancing myself from Tom?"

"Real alternatives."

"I guess I don't have any other than that one."

"So, none."

"Maybe," Hermione admitted.

"None," Lyra repeated as she sat up and sipped her tea. It all seemed so simple, discussing it in Lyra's lavish sitting room. But things were much easier said than done.

The days at the Lovegood residence passed by quickly. The first few were consumed with the promised flying lessons, although Lyra gave up on Hermione after three and a half days. Hermione was able to become airborne, but she couldn't shake an all-consuming caution that gripped her when she left the ground. After that, they chatted or Hermione read during the day. She caught snippets of Henry Lovegood's conversations with the house elves regarding the upcoming ball, which she learned would take place to bring in the new year. It sounded like every pureblood in the country was attending (and Hermione, although no one knew she didn't fit into that category).

Christmas for Hermione came and went like a strange dream. The day was the same as nearly every other day with the Lovegoods, except Luna's brother and his new wife were there. Lyra and Hermione exchanged gifts; Hermione had gotten her friend a Divination book and in return she received a Ravenclaw scarf. Staring down at the scarf, Hermione nearly burst into tears thinking of her missing Gryffindor one, but she suppressed them, at least until she was alone in her room.

Back at the castle, Tom's day was similarly uneventful, except that he canceled his Legilimency lessons once he realized the holiday. He told himself it was to give Malfoy space alone, but knew that he needed it too. He had always despised holidays, but he had been strangely looking forward to it this year. He had already picked out a present for Hermione: a copy of Slughorn's notes on all of his pending potions that Tom had obtained through a combination of magical talent, planning, and deception. It was a strange gift, but he knew it would have meant more to her than a trinket bought with stolen funds. She would have loved sifting through the notes, critiquing them, and discussing them; and he would have loved it, too. He thought about destroying the gift, or at least adding it to his own collection of books, but instead he kept it in its green wrapping paper while he sat on his bed, stroking the silver ribbon idly. Eventually, he shoved it under his bed, but he didn't work on any of his ongoing plans. Instead, he spent most of the day in the common room re-reading Hogwarts, A History.