A/N: Switching between posting this and the Harry-adopting-a-daughter story. Nice to get back to the mystery stuff and away from family fluff, so I hope you enjoy. Do comment/review your thoughts!

Without further ado, enjoy!

Season 1 Episode 11 - Ghost of Christmas Past (Part 4)

After meeting with Granger and hashing out the new details of the case, mainly that Atlantis was real and that some random shopkeeper knew a lot more than he let on, Harry had thankfully managed to get Christmas presents for the rest of his friends. Granger had mentioned getting presents for her friends too, as well as some decorating competition taking place among the girls in Ravenclaw Tower.

"Have fun with that then, eh?" Harry had said before leaving. "I know you're itching to get a handle on the case, but please can we do it tomorrow. Time's running out, I know, but I'm starving and tired and need a lie down before quidditch practice."

And quidditch practice in the cold was hell on earth. And not just any hell, but the seventh one right at the bottom.

"Fine," Hermione had said. "Meet me at Ravenclaw Tower tomorrow morning—we can speak to Rowena Ravenclaw then. That should, all things going well, be easy enough."

"You know how to get in contact with her?"

"Weren't you the one who said she's Nick's secret admirer?"

"Well, yeah. But I didn't hear it from her. It was in a book I read that she once admired a noble who'd nearly lost his head. I just put two and two together, that's all."

Granger looked so doubtful about the fact that Harry had read a book it wasn't even funny. But she thankfully accepted the tidbit of info and nodded.

"Tomorrow morning, then," Granger said. "After breakfast."

"Tomorrow morning," Harry had confirmed.

Then they had gone their separate ways. Harry bundling off with Neville to purchase the rest of the presents, whilst Granger's two friends—Fay and Farah were their names—dragged her off to do something else.

Harry couldn't lie to himself—Granger had been a day one loner. So to see her with friends now, and smiling and laughing and actually talking about mundane things instead of goblin wars and old magical laws—it put a smile not just on his face but in his heart.

Not that he would mention that to her, or anyone else. Thank you very much. The castle already had enough rumours fuelling its halls to last Harry's lifetime. He didn't need more whispers swirling around about how he and Granger were engaged in closed-door mystery-solving.

Or lessons in chemistry and biology, as Seamus put it once Harry was back in the dorms after a gruelling quidditch practice.

A swift comeback of how Seamus would never engage in either chemistry or biology with Melanie Sanders, the Hufflepuff girl he'd asked out and gotten brutally and publicly rejected by, shut him up real quick.

"Hey, she's looking at me again, though," Seamus then protested.

Ron snorted. "McGonagall looks at you every day, lad. You're saying she fancies your pants?"

Seamus choked on an invisible object and covered his mouth whilst the rest of them laughed—laughed their arses off.

When the Lads finally stopped (after a considerable amount of time, mind you), Seamus protested his case further.

"M'being serious, though," he said. "She's been shooting me these proper hard looks, staring at me straight when she thinks I can't see. Been driving me mad, I tell ya."

"I think you been snorting the good stuff," Dean said.

Harry, who'd grown up in the muggle world, definitely had zero idea whatsoever as to the 'good stuff' Dean was talking about. Zilch. Not a single clue.

In any case, he agreed with Dean's sentiment in full and utter totality, as Granger would put it.

"You're in over your head, mate," Harry said, whilst settling onto the soft covers of his bed. "There's loads of girls out there, and you're not half bad looking. No need to get hung up on this one 'Puff."

"Says the guy who's never dated a girl in his life," Seamus grumbled. "What d'you know?"

Harry recalled his last conversation with Sirius about girls and love and all that. And how Harry viewed it almost as something sacred, something precious, like a secret energy that you couldn't just scatter around. Only concentrate in one place and one place only for it to prove true.

But he wasn't about to tell his mates that. They'd rub his face in it till the end of seventh year, and probably after that too.

So he kept his silence as the laughter and chatter droned around him. Then his mind, as the winds of winter lashed against their dorm windows and the moonlight glinted against glass, shifted to the case and finding this bloody lost turkey.

Tomorrow, he and Granger would reconvene and figure out the pressing details. And they had to do it quick, since Christmas was shortly approaching. And he didn't want this case to stretch to the new year, since proper preparations for the first quidditch match of fourth year would commence.

And also, a lost turkey would be a nice Christmas present for the ghosts of the castle to feast upon.

If only they managed to find a way to get it. Wherever the hell it actually was.

Harry sighed, tuned back into Ron ribbing Dean a new one because apparently West Ham had gotten battered away at Chelsea. Not that Ron knew anything about football—but he did know a thing or two about losing since he supported the worst quidditch pro team in the world, so mocking Dean was par for the course.

Harry laughed along with them, joined in a couple times in ribbing Dean, and even managed to beat Neville in a game of wizarding chess later.

All whilst one eye trained itself across the castle grounds, to the spiralling Ravenclaw Tower and its many glowing windows outside.

Harry wondered what one particular bookworm goblin-war-fanatic was up to.

Right at that very moment.

He wondered if she was—

—arguing with Fay and Farah over the bloody Christmas decorations. Hermione definitely didn't want to get into this, especially not after the long day she'd had at Hogsmeade and a bit of extra reading and trying to mentally get to grips with the case. But the dorm room's temperature rose to volcano ground heights as Fay and Farah and (sadly) Hermione sat around Fay's wrinkled bed with prospective decorations spread out like a table in the Great Hall during dinner, whilst Hermione's back ached and her legs hurt and her mind just wished to rest, and all she wanted was to lie down and go to sleep for crying out loud.

A rather long-winded way of saying that Hermione was tired and…well…perhaps more than a little pissed.

"Those pearls would do well at the back," Fay said, hands waving like she worked overtime at a circus…as the chief clown, of course. "Lord, you're such a plum, Far. Have you got brains in there or is it just empty space for the shit you come out with?"

"You said what to me? All because I thought the Atlantis-looking shiny sacks o' shite would look better actually shining for the judges. You know, the way they're s'posed to, by bloody design."

Farah and Fay stared daggers at each other, whilst Hermione just sighed in exasperation. Whilst having friends meant laughter and excitement, it also meant…whatever the hell this was. Not entirely a new experience for Hermione, given her many such arguments with Potter, but still as unpleasant as the very first.

"Remember when we went round singing carols, yeah," Farah said. "Went round all the houses in the area, and what happened? You were terrible at singing, Fay, so what did we do?"

Farah waved her hands for extra effect here, then revealed—

"We stuck your arse at the back—"

"Can the three of you just shut the hell up?"

A voice, cold and sharp, from Hermione's left. Cutting through the arguing like a well placed silencio. And instantly the room plunged into a deep freeze, like Ravenclaw Tower had fallen over and been sunken into the icy Great Lake.

It was Lissa Fran's voice. Their hostile yet mostly silent fourth dormmate who seemed concerned with studying and only studying, eyes always buried in a book whilst hating the world around her for a reason Hermione had never found out. Hermione had often thought of her as someone who reacted more than acted.

And…well, that was a hell of a reaction, wasn't it?

"Whassit to you?" Farah said, turning to Lissa, trading one heated argument for another. "Not like you're helping with anything, but you'll get the credit anyway when we win this competition and beat Sarah."

Sarah, for those not in the know or who couldn't remember, was Farah's little second year sister who she definitely couldn't lose to. In anything in life. Ever.

"You think I actually care about stuff like this?" Lissa Fran hissed. "Sprinkling Christmas decorations yet you're here arguing like a bunch of melting snowflakes."

Her eyes were murderous, like a beefed up niffler with red eyes on the hunt. Hermione recalled Potter's escapades in the Hogwarts ventilation system as a tiny rat, and she winced at the memory of almost losing him that day.

That wince, however, caused Lissa Fran to gun for her. And Lissa wasn't just firing strays, but the entire hundred round mag.

"Think something's funny, do you?" Lissa said, and Hermione's face went red. "Not like I wanna be in here with the three of you, anyway. Bloody annoying, useless bunch of melts with hollow brains and firecrackers up your arses, the lot of you."

"Lay off her," Fay said, standing up and approaching Lissa. "Hermione don't deserve your bullshit right now. Not with how busy she is. Whilst you're here reading random crap and acting all high and mighty, she's solving mysteries."

"Yeah…the entire castle knows that after breakfast the other day," Lissa said. "Find something new for me, won't you?"

"How about Atlantis and Rowena Ravenclaw level of new then?"

Lissa Fran's entire body froze at Fay's words. The stunned look on her face sparked for the smallest millisecond, before she schooled it into neutral like her mind had the gears of a car engine.

"What did you say?" she whispered.

In a flash—as if a ghost who'd finally found this ruddy lost turkey—Lissa dashed off her bed, covers tumbling to the ground, and glared at Fay.

Then at Hermione.

God, those eyes were chilling. Frightening. Like a monster niffler in a nightmare trying to gobble you up alive.

"What did you say?" Lissa said again, voice coiled up like a bomb about to go off. Or a gun about to fire.

Whichever deadly simile took your fancy.

Lissa's hair was all over the place, as frazzled as Hermione's thoughts right now, and Lissa took another step towards them.

"You talked about Rowena Ravenclaw, right?"

"Don't see why I have to tell you," Fay said, folding her arms. "You weren't there, were you? And not after you've just told us to—"

"Shut the hell up," Lissa said, not taking her eyes off of Hermione's. "I was speaking to her. You're investigating something about Rowena Ravenclaw?"

It was more of a statement than a question, but Hermione nodded anyhow.

No sooner had that nod finished did Lissa lunge at her—almost as if to grab her throat. But Farah jumped in the way—when they had all stood up Hermione didn't even remember—and blocked it.

"The hell's wrong with ya?" Farah said, now holding Lissa back by the arms. "Jumping at her like that—you got a screw loose or somethin'?"

"Tell me everything," Lissa growled, shrugging out of Farah's grip and squaring off against her and Fay. "And tell me everything now."

Hermione palmed her forehead, then rubbed her temples, trying to gather her thoughts, mind in noisy disarray after the tumultuous events of her day—

"Why does she have to tell you, what if she don't wanna?"

"Why shouldn't she tell me?"

—and Hermione just needed a break, a night of sleep, time to rest her eyes, but she couldn't whilst they were arguing, voices swirling and smacking her eardrums like they were swimming in the canals—

"Crikey, you're a right foul git, did you know that?"

"You said what to me?"

—all whilst Hermione's legs were almost collapsing from under her due to exhaustion, and these bloody voices yelling weren't making anything better, constantly attacking her when she'd already tired herself out from arguing about decorations of all things—

"You wanna scrap or something?"

"If she don't tell me, I might have to."

—she'd had enough.

"Can the three of you just shut your bloody mouths?"

Hermione hadn't even realised the words tumbling out of her mouth until they did. And then she smacked a palm over her lips and her eyes widened so far she thought they would burst from the pressure.

The rest of them, even Lissa Fran, all stared back at her with shock in their eyes. Heck, Fay and Farah had their mouths hanging open, bodies mid-motion, as if hoping to catch flies.

Tense silence gobbled up the dorm room, and Hermione just wanted to be eaten alive as the redness of embarrassment flooded her cheeks.

How could she have had an outburst like that? Hermione was meant to be the calm one, in control of her emotions, and here she was shouting at two of her friends.

"Umm…sorry," she said, before turning to face Lissa fully. "I'll tell you everything tomorrow after breakfast so long as you agree to help with the case. For now, though, I really need to sleep."

Lissa's glare didn't lessen one bit, but she seemed to be relieved. She nodded, then returned to her bed without a word. Closed the curtains. Like a child in a strop when their mum didn't buy them that high street toy they wanted or strange, alien, blue ice cream.

(Hermione was not speaking from experience on that one, your honour.)

"Guess that settles that," Hermione said, heading to her bed and giving the biggest yawn of her life.

"You sure?" Farah asked. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Ain't like she's your friend. Ain't the case got secret stuff?"

"Yeah, isn't it like, super confidential?" Fay asked.

Hermione sighed. "I guess so, but…I don't know. I just felt like it was the right thing to do."

Because, despite her hostility and anger, there was something else in Lissa's glare. Some other glimpse of feeling that Hermione had seen in her own eyes, throughout her entire life.

An emotion she could never mistake.

An intense, yearning loneliness.

Since it was Christmas holiday, that meant no classes (thank God for that, since no classes entailed more time to recover from last night's gruelling quidditch practice).

What Harry hadn't expected, however, was Granger to stand up side by side with someone Harry had never seen her with. Then Granger's eyes met his over the typical noise and bustle of the Great Hall, and she signalled for them to head to the library.

To their secret spot—the Den.

(Formerly known as Hermione's Den. She still called it that, but Harry didn't confer and preferred the new name. It would henceforth, in his mind, always hold the name of the Den.)

But something irked Harry a little.

Were they heading to the Den with someone else tagging along?

Harry didn't know how to feel about that. Wasn't that their space, just for the two of them?

Confusion. Very confusion. Harry was very confusion.

His mind was scrambled more than Ron's eggs.

Regardless, with his belly full of deliciously sweet pancakes and a side of orange juice, Harry said his farewells to the Lads—some of whom were winking for some reason—and headed out of the Great Hall.

The halls were quiet now—most students were either still at breakfast or had overslept and decided to stay in their dorm. Portraits stared at Harry and whispered, circulating rumours about him—nothing new, really. He was this so-called saviour of the entire wizarding world, after all.

Harry couldn't save his brain from doubting that one. He'd been a baby, for crying out loud. And he couldn't even remember what happened other than a flash of green and a scream.

Useless portraits. Nothing better to do than gossip.

But Harry let that thought go.

The quiet scent of the castle's charm tickled its sweetness across every step Harry took—a poetic way of saying Harry thoroughly enjoyed his walk. Probably because he knew this'd be the only cheerful time he had today, because Granger bringing someone else along spelt trouble.

Trouble Harry didn't know if he wanted to entertain. They did have a case to solve, after all.

Madam Pince greeted Harry warmly when he entered the library—ever since he'd put in a good word for her with Dumbledore, she'd been all smiles and everything. Very unlike the narrow-eyed banshee-like strictness she'd had before.

Harry was relieved to find that Granger hadn't gone and exposed the Den to other people—they had sort of informally agreed that, unless that person was cleared to help them on a case, no one else would enter that place. Not that random students would ever stumble across it—the Den was pretty well hidden, after all.

Instead of the Den, Granger took up a seat near the back side of the first floor, right next to the staircase leading up. Since it was a holiday and just past the morning, not a soul breathed in the library besides Madam Pince, Harry, Granger, and the Ravenclaw girl she'd brought along with her.

Harry decided to greet that other girl first.

He knew her well, after all, and for way longer than Granger.

"Hello, Lan," he said, grinning. "Fancy finding you here, in a library of all places. Typical Raven, eh."

The look on Granger's face was priceless. Absolutely priceless. If Harry could capture that moment of shock and frame it forever—he could lord it over her for the rest of her life, and have a daily laugh in the process.

Assuming—ahem—that they did spend the rest of their lives together.

Big assumption, that.

Anyway Lan, or Lissa Fran as everyone else called her if they ever dared speak to her, smirked. "Hello, Harold. Seeing someone like you in a library's a surprise, ain't it?"

"It must come as quite the shock," Harry said, sitting down at the table and tucking his chair in like a well behaved student. He flicked a hand to Granger. "Maybe she's been rubbing off on me after all."

"Must be all that reading for mystery solving," Lan said. "Castle's worst kept secret, what with how that idiot Nick blew the whole thing wide open. Bloody ghosts can't keep their mouths to themselves."

Granger glanced between them looking like Hedwig on six drugs till Saturday. Not that Harry knew anything about drugs, of course.

"Them ghosts can't keep anything to themselves," Harry said in a light voice. "Which is where this case comes in, actually. So, shall we get down to the brass tacks?"

He looked directly at Granger, who just stared at him, disbelief buzzing in her gaze. She turned to Lan, paused as though a machine attempting to find the right output, then turned back to Harry.

"How…o-on earth do the t-two of you know one another?" Granger asked.

Harry shared a look with Lan, and they both (mentally) agreed not to share the real reason, and instead tell a white lie. A truth, but not the true truth beneath everything.

After all, whilst Harry trusted Granger, Lan likely didn't. And her story was hers alone to tell. Harry believed that people had the right to control where their truths landed.

Not that those pesky portraits shared that belief.

"We have Astronomy together, right," Harry said. "Gryffs and Ravens, I mean, and we've got to share the telescopes. She's my partner, and it's been that way since first year."

An unreadable look, a mixture of disbelief and wonder and something else, phased through Granger's eyes. So quick that Harry had almost missed it, in fact.

But then her expression turned back to its typical neutral set in the direction of positive (or negative, when it came to Harry), and she pulled the case notebook out.

"T-to get to the brass tacks, as you so put it," Granger said, flicking through the pages. "Let's just quickly recap the case for Lissa's benefit."

"Call me Fran," Lan said, voice about ten times more hostile than it was with Harry. "I hate the name Lissa."

"For F-Fran's benefit," Granger corrected. She coughed, cleared her throat, and finally returned to normal.

It took a while to catch Lan up to speed—after all, Granger's connection with her wasn't as strong as Harry's, and Granger clearly wasn't wired in properly. And that sense of disbelief in Granger's eyes didn't quite entirely leave, or even subside, during her explanation.

Lan, thankfully, didn't interrupt or send death threats throughout the whole thing—Harry had seen more than a few of the latter in his time as Lan's friend. Instead she listened with a quiet intensity, one that defined her exterior but not her true self.

After hearing everything, Lan only had one question, asked in her typical harsh tone that anyone who never knew her would think represented her true personality.

"What's that little timer for, then?" she asked, or more like ordered Granger to tell her the answer.

"Huh? What timer?" Harry said.

Lan jabbed a finger at the case notebook, directly at the page's corner.

The timer which said—

Two days, sixteen hours, thirty-three minutes, and twenty-one seconds.

Not much time. Not much time at all.

"That's how long we've got left on the case," Harry said. "Wanna get it done by Christmas."

"How long has it been since you started?"

"Like a couple weeks, I think."

Lan's eyes rolled, almost on their own. Just like they had done when she and Harry were eight. "Seriously, this is all you've got in a couple of weeks. What happened to Mr. Seeker?"

Harry laughed, both at Lan's question and Granger's shocked face at Lan actually making a joke.

"He's in here somewhere," Harry said. "Maybe he'll come out sometime or other." Harry then turned to Granger. "Then…uh…why did you bring Lan here? She don't seem the type that'll be interested in the Lost Turkey of Atlantis, no offence."

"Offence currently pending," Lan said, interlacing her fingers against the table. "I'll decide whether to take it later."

"Actually, your question is one I'd like to ask Fran herself, if that's okay," Granger said, turning to Lan. "Why are you so adamant on joining the case? You're almost feverish about the whole thing, it's rather disconcerting."

"Can I not just join the case or something because it's interesting?"

Harry, who knew Lan wasn't the type to join strangers because of 'interesting' things, recognised her answer for what it was—complete bullshit.

"Interesting?" Granger said, an incredulous look in her eyes. "When you nearly blew down the whole dorm room with how you were huffing and puffing?"

Harry watched the interaction with amusement, light grin on his face. It wasn't every day you saw Granger getting pissy with someone that wasn't the main target—one (Harry) Potter. It was kind of cute, in a niffler getting angry and squeaking all over the place sort of way.

Actually, scratch that. Nifflers were horrifying, if Harry's experience in that vent was anything to go by.

Lan looked like she was about to explode on Granger, and Harry nearly stepped in to stop an imminent fight. But in a twist of fate greater than if Dumbledore himself actually crushed hard on Madam Pince, Lan schooled her expression into an even face and decided to answer calmly.

"I couldn't care less about the lost turkey," Lan said, tone straight and levelled. "Actually, I don't give a toss about them ghosts either. What I'm really interested in…is Rowena Ravenclaw."

Now that spiked Harry's interest, since it was a part of Lan that even he wasn't aware of. And he was pretty much the only person she actually interacted with at school, and only during their Astronomy lessons.

"What about Rowena Ravenclaw?" Granger asked.

Lan looked away, choosing to stare at a random shelf of first year Potions textbooks. "I have my reasons, and they aren't the same as yours. That's all you need to know for now."

"For now?" Harry asked.

A hostile tone: "I meant what I said."

"That's all well and good," Harry said, tapping his fingers on the table, "but we don't have a clue how to actually find this Ravenclaw ghost."

"Good," Lan said. "Cos I do."

The day before Christmas Eve. December twenty-third. Morning. Breakfast.

Hermione Granger sat in a Great Hall decked with a variety of various decorations, much of which mirrored those that tingled Farah's decor-addled brain. Baubles, Christmas trees hung at rather odd angles with strange pointed stars at the top. Smells of fresh pancakes, pumpkin juice, and the clearness of anticipation filled the air—and Hermione breathed it all in.

Though she barely ate a thing.

Above the Christmas decorations, plastered against the ceiling, was a sheet of moving stars, likely reflecting the constellations that moved beyond the windy winter skies outside. Beautiful, mesmerising. Utterly breathtaking, and Hermione let the sight soak her eyes as she stared upward.

And then another thought struck Hermione.

That Potter and Fran, for over four years, had partnered up together. Shoulder to shoulder. Gazing at the stars above.

The scene was so…romanti—

No.

She was not going there. Not at all. She'd gotten Fran involved as a matter of goodwill, and now she was paying the price. The ultimate price.

But how are you paying the price, huh, Hermione?

She ignored that voice in her mind as laughter and cheers floated around her, as well as Farah and Fay engaging in yet another argument. And a silent Fran eating scrambled eggs and brooding to Hermione's left.

Sure, Potter was friends with girls. Lavender, Ginny, the Patil twins in Gryffindor and another house respectively, though Hermione couldn't remember which one. And that didn't irk her one bit, even when Lavender had joined a previous case as part of the Photography Club.

So why did Fran knowing Potter bother her so much?

Hermione had invited Fran because the girl reminded her much of herself. A lonely girl, who deep down needed human connection yet denied herself the possibility of it. And repelled it the way Potter repelled thinking before acting.

Hermione invited her because she'd felt that visceral emptiness deep in her soul, like you were internally bleeding out but death never came. Just constant bleeding, until nothing remained except a husk of a person.

Someone with that sense of loneliness…only opened up to a human they found special. And for Fran—that special someone was one (Harry) Potter.

In a similar way that Potter had dragged Hermione out of her shell.

Did that mean Hermione found him special too? Did that mean he occupied a place in her heart similar to that of Fran's?

Confusion mixed her mind into a beverage of thoughts, served shaken rather than stirred. And only now was Hermione beginning to get a taste of what her subconscious had flavoured the drink with.

She knew there was more to Potter and Fran's story, more history, a deeper thread to their tightly woven fabric. The stargazing at midnight for Astronomy class wasn't the beginning, and Hermione wanted to find the truth out, even if Fran's story wasn't Hermione's right to know.

Ughhh, emotions frazzled the mind. Far, far too much.

No matter. Often had Hermione pulled down her emotions for the sake of productivity—her countless Outstanding grades proved that time and time again. Particularly in that very first case where her History grade was on the line because a niffler had desecrated an old book on goblin wars.

So she could do that here again.

Despite the thoughts pounding her mind.

After breakfast, her and Fran looped across Hogwarts to its uppermost floor—the seventh. Fran never explained why they were here—getting her to explain anything was a task even Hercules would cower at. How Potter had managed it Hermione hadn't a clue.

She and Fran stood in silence, a tense silence, less comforting than underwear made of sandpaper. And it took every ounce of control within Hermione not to let those thoughts bother her—thoughts of Fran and Potter being special to one another.

Why is it bothering me so much?

As if I bloody know! the other side of her brain promptly blew up.

Regardless, Hermione waited until Potter rounded the stairs at the far end of the corridor. He walked towards them, before Fran stopped him.

"Wait there," she ordered, voice echoing. "We'll come to you. No one followed you, right?"

Potter nodded, albeit just as confused as Hermione.

"Good."

Fran and Hermione strode to Potter, then the three of them walked back to the other side of the corridor, then back to where Potter had stood. In total, three times across, and then, in the centre of the corridor, a set of doors appeared opposite the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy.

Out of absolutely nowhere.

"What the…" Potter said.

"I expected as much from you," Fran said with a roll of her eyes. She turned to Hermione, and her voice was noticeably more tense. "What 'bout you, Granger? Penny for your thoughts."

Hermione decided to pointedly ignore the pointed way Fran spoke her surname. She did however note that Fran used the muggle form of the phrase, rather than the typical 'knut for your thoughts' that half and purebloods used.

"It seems like a secret room," Hermione said. "But how did it appear out of nothing like that? It doesn't make sense."

"It's called the Room of Requirement," Fran said, voice still coiled tight. "Walk across the corridor three times thinking of what you want, and that door gives it to you. Got it?"

"Anything you want?" Hermione asked, curiosity sparking like a flame.

"I don't want to repeat myself," Fran said, tight-lipped.

"We understood you loud and clear," Potter said, grinning at them both and gesturing to the door. Defusing the tension about as well as cutting the red wire first. "Ladies ahead, if you will."

"Fancy yourself a gentleman," Hermione scoffed. "As if." Potter was about as gentlemanly as a troll…when it came time to defecate.

Definitely not the image Hermione needed right now, so she flung it from her mind.

"I do try, my lady," he said, before directing them both to the door. "Definitely not because I prefer to be out of the firing line of anything dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Hermione squeaked.

"I have a feeling about these things is all," Potter said. "And I've learnt to trust my feelings is what I'm saying."

All throughout, Fran didn't say a word. Just opened one of the doors, then let them both enter. She followed them into the strangely flowing darkness beyond the doorway, and the door slammed shut behind them. With finality. Like it was sealing their fate.

When Hermione turned around, the doors had disappeared. Nothing but black brick wall met them. When she gasped and whipped around again, the entire world was a black void, and fear curled itself around her chest.

Silence, utter silence. Except for the pounding of her heart and rapid breathing.

Until—

"Welcome to the Realms of Ravenclaw," a hollow, female voice said, shuddering the blackness, words echoing with a fullness opposing the emptiness of everything around them. "My, has it been a far longer time than I had imagined. No matter, for you three will be adequate. More than adequate, in actuality."

Hermione turned to Fran—or at least, where she thought Fran stood. "The hell did you do? And who is that?"

"I said I'd get you in contact with Rowena Ravenclaw," Fran said, tone betraying the tightness of a tensed jaw, of utter determination. "And I've done that, haven't I?"

Well, Hermione couldn't deny that. But she certainly hadn't expected this void to meet her.

"You tricked us," Potter said from Hermione's right. "Lan…Lan, how could you trick us like this? This isn't—"

"You know me, Harry. Longer than most. Don't say this is a surprise for you, because you know it ain't. You know damn well it ain't."

Potter didn't deny it, likely because even he knew deceit like this was on the table when it came to Fran.

For God's sake—why had Hermione trusted the girl? Why did she make that mistake? Why couldn't she have just solved this whole thing with Potter and her alone, or with someone else they trusted?

Potter just sighed, and that darkness ebbed around them all. And the female voice—evidently Rowena Ravenclaw—hadn't spoken again, almost as though waiting for them to make a move.

So Hermione did, with a Gryffindor's level of bravery. She stepped forwards, and right then a universal light switch flicked on across the entire Room of Requirement.

And the Realms of Ravenclaw finally burst into view.

A/N: Well…I know for sure this chapter opened up a can of worms, and lots of questions. Lots and lots of questions. They shall all be answered, fear not. And don't worry, as a reassurance to diehard Harmony shippers, this story is most certainly pure HHr with no detours in between.

Exciting stuff, and I can't wait to delve into what the Realms of Ravenclaw really are and how that ties into the Lost Turkey. And, of course, that little tidbit of Rowena being Nick's secret admirer, lol.

Anyway, back to the adoption fic next. So look forward to that, and thanks for reading! Do comment/review your thoughts, since I love reading and replying where I can!