Chapter 1: The Fourth Floor Bathroom

I hope it's very clear to everyone that I do not own the Harry Potter series, nor any of its contents.

Warning: mild Tom/Harry slash

"To sleep, perchance to Dream; aye, there's the rub,
For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause."

- William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Ignoring Ron's protests (it was a girls' bathroom, and haunted besides, and what business could a boy have in there?), Hermione reached for the brass doorknob and swung the door open. She marched briskly inside, followed reluctantly by Ron, who was still grumbling quietly, and Harry, who looked skeptical. When her shoes splashed in the numerous puddles on the floor, soaking the bottom of her robes, she began to pick her steps carefully, somewhat disgruntled.

"Blimey," Ron muttered behind her. "This place is a dump."

Hermione couldn't refute that. The bathroom was small and grimy, its tiled floor streaked with mould and strewn with shards of porcelain and rusted iron from a sink that had fallen off the wall. The remaining sinks were in almost as poor repair, and it seemed as if the slightest touch would send them crashing after their sibling. The doors of the stalls hung open, glimpses of their graffitied surfaces visible beneath the slime coating them. Several were hanging off their hinges, creaking at strange angles or gone altogether. The toilets within were leaking and dirty, none of them looking at all usable.

Hermione drew in a deep breath, and immediately regretted it. The sour, putrid taste of the air made her splutter and cough. When she finally recovered she glanced over her shoulder at the increasingly apprehensive-looking Harry and Ron.

"Come on then, you two. Stop looking so queasy," she said to her two best friends, somewhat more sharply than she had intended. " We need somewhere to brew the potion, and this is it. This is the last place anyone would look for us, after all. It's completely deserted!"

Before Hermione's lecture could truly begin it was cut off by a shrill wailing sound from one of the numerous stalls. As two startled boys and one rather resigned girl looked on, a ghost shot out of a nearby toilet, spraying them with water. She twisted around, bobbing in the air and peering petulantly at them for a moment, looking almost annoyed before bursting unexpectedly into tears.

"Oh, yes, deserted!" the ghost sobbed tragically. "Nobody would ever come near Moaning Myrtle, not if they could help it, is that it? They never liked me when I was alive, why would it change now that I'm dead? Since this place is so deserted," she snapped, annoyance returning, "why would you be here? Are you here to make fun of me some more? To laugh at the poor dead girl?"

Hermione turned to face Harry. "Say something!" she mouthed at him. He flailed for a moment, reaching for something to say. Finally, he seemed to come up with something, but as soon as he opened his mouth he was interrupted by yet another ghostly wail.

"Whispering behind my back now? Everyone always whispers about Myrtle, because it's so funny to make fun of a dead girl, isn't it!" With that, the teary ghost turned around in the air and dived head-first into another toilet, once again soaking the three children.

"So," Harry finally said, once the three students had wrung the worst of the water out of their robes, "this is our new secret Potions lab." All three of them exchanged glances and, as if by some unspoken consensus, burst out laughing.

Three days later, early on Saturday morning, the trio once again found themselves in the fourth floor girls' bathroom. This time they had brought with them a small brass cauldron found in a nearby broom closet, as well as a sack of stolen lacewing flies and a portable burner. Harry looked around, but the bathroom's resident ghost was nowhere to be seen. "Hey, 'Mione," he said, "d'you reckon Myrtle might mess with the potion?"

"No, Harry," the bushy-haired girl replied, "I talked to her a bit yesterday, when she was less… upset. I think she's in some other bathroom right now, she agreed to leave our little project alone."

"Great, thanks!" Harry gave her a bright smile, green eyes gleaming. "So, how do we start this off?"

Hermione glanced at the piece of parchment in her hand and a determined light sparked in her eyes. "First off, we'll need to stew these," she ordered, hefting the bag of flies, "for twenty-one days."

"Twenty-one?" exclaimed Ron. "But-"

Hermione cut him off with a look and continued as though he hadn't interrupted. "Ron, Harry, you go fill the cauldron with water while I set up the burner."

Harry nodded obligingly and grabbed one of the brass handles, but Ron muttered something about always being happy to let other people do all the heavy lifting. He cut himself short at Harry's poorly-stifled giggles and grabbed the other side of the cauldron, flushing pink. The two boys lifted it to the most stable-looking of the sinks, which then gave an alarming creak (accompanied by a "Blimey!" from Ron). Harry just grimaced, holding his end of the cauldron more firmly as his best friend reached out with one hand to turn on the tap.

A sputtering stream of water – thankfully clean – greeted them, and it took all of Harry's willpower to resist the urge to leap back as droplets sprayed in his direction. "How full does this have to be?" he asked Hermione. She was already halfway through assembling the burner's stand and only spared him a distracted glance.

"Fill it about halfway," she told him. "We can always add more." Harry shot her a skeptical look, but at her lack of response he murmured his agreement.

When the heavy cauldron was about half-full, Harry reached to turn off the tap. With the loss of his right arm's support his left buckled and the cauldron tipped threateningly, water sloshing over the side.

"Oi!" Ron scowled at his friend. "You've gotta do some of the work!"

"Sorry!" the dark-haired boy apologized, grabbing the cauldron again with his right hand. "Didn't realize how heavy it was. Come on, the stand's all set up, we can put the thing down."

The pair of boys set the brass cauldron down onto the stand Hermione had placed over the burner and stepped back.

"D'you need a hand lighting that?" asked Harry as the girl screwed up her face in concentration.

"No, I'm–" a small jet of flame shot from the tip of her wand, lighting the burner and promptly causing a very small explosion. "–fine," Hermione finished, relaxing her slightly singed eyebrows. "Just fine." She dumped the flies into the cauldron and stirred them several times, looking quite pleased with herself.

"Blimey, what time is it?" Ron jumped to his feet, startling Harry. "If we want to get to breakfast before it's over, we have to hurry!"

Harry smiled to himself. If there was one thing his best friend would worry about, getting to breakfast on time was it. The three children quickly exited the run-down bathroom and carefully closed the door behind them. Hermione locked it behind them with a muttered word and a quick wave of her wand, just to be safe. Then, following Ron's frantic pace, they sprinted toward the Great Hall.

Author's Note:

So, how did you like the first chapter of my first fanfic? I'll try to update on a fairly regular basis (by which I mean at light-speed for about two weeks and then sparsely) and maybe even do scheduled updates if I can.

I'd really appreciate reviews, so if you have the time let me know what you think!

And finally, a huge thank you to my beta, deerstorm!