So sorry for the wait on this chapter! Anyone who's stuck around, thanks! I have every intention of getting the next chapter up soon and I appreciate all who have read and reviewed so far.

Also, a big thanks to rhmac12 for the sweet nudge to get a new chapter up. It's nice to receive encouraging reminders that readers want to see more, so this one's for you, rhmac12!

Harry blinked groggily, his vision blurred as if someone had fogged up a window. Groaning lowly, his left hand came up to feel around on the table where his head rested, one check flattened against the surface in sleep. His hand felt the cool plastic of his glasses, which he slowly pulled onto the bridge of his nose. He blinked, still throwing off the drugged feeling of sleep, until his eyes rested at the clock hanging on the wall.

He jerked upward immediately, completely awake. Three hours and forty- what was it, forty-two minutes? He'd been asleep for three hours and forty-two minutes, nearly one-sixth of an entire day. Harry's wrist jerked involuntarily, the result of so many hours, days, weeks with a quill in his palm. The motion knocked over a three-day old cup of tea, spilling its contents over a stack of parchment tucked under the saucer.

"Shite," he muttered under his breath. He ran one palm over the mess, helping it spill over the table and onto the floor. He let the puddle collect on the floor, turning his attention quickly back to the book that had been pressed under his cheek.

The light, he didn't have enough light. The lantern had burned out in his sleep. It was shortly after dusk and no light was getting in through the thin line of the curtains, which were kept constantly drawn. Harry continued to strain his eyes, trying to make out the words on the page as he stumbled through Grimmauld Place. Down the hall he moved, toward the kitchens where he figured a match might be. In past months he might have shouted for Kreacher, but the elf had been gone for some time. No one dared bother him in these rooms anymore.

"There," Harry said, speaking to himself and the dirty dishes piled high on the kitchen counter. His fingers found a match on the center table and he dragged it across the surface, the spark creating a bright light that dimmed as the fire caught. He carefully lit a candlestick sitting on the table before waving the match out and dropping it carelessly on the floor. The book in his hands fell onto the table, open to the last page he'd been poring over before foolishly falling asleep.

The pages of the books in his quickly-expanding library had become his whole life. Funny, anyone who'd known them back at Hogwarts would have assumed it'd be Hermione who would have descended into this madness. Harry closed his eyes tightly at the thought of her name. But she wasn't interested in helping him, wasn't interested in anything he had to say.

Why wouldn't she listen to reason? He had it all spelled out beautifully in his notes, if only she'd hear him out. There were three moons in September and last April had been an incredibly cold month. But the frost only came in before dawn and there had been twelve rains in May. That meant June would be a particularly red period, with a blue spell coming next. If he was right, and he had to be, that meant the tide came in lower than it had for five years. Mixed with the right codex from the second volume of Godric's verses and with enough dragonfly oil to get the job done, he just might be able to crack the continuum in the exactly right spot.

Harry gingerly pulled out a piece of folded parchment from his pocket, a paper he kept with him at all times. He unfolded it, the creases delicate from constant use, from an eternal need to remember, from reading the words over and over.

Ron died August 17.

Funeral on August 20.

Find something to help.

Need Hermione's help.

Slowly, he folded the paper back into a neat square and placed it back in his pocket. Giving a cough, Harry pushed the glasses back onto his nose and bent over the book. There was just something missing, some clue he needed to find, and he'd have the answer. He was sure of it.

###

It was a sunny day, which made Hermione glad. For some reason, she had the feeling it had been raining for years. She'd always loved the rain as a child, appreciated it for its storybook quality, but the thought of storms made her uneasy now. Better to be here, with these blue skies and yellow sun and white tufts of cottonweed that blew at steep angles in the wind.

Where was this place? She had the feeling she was near the Burrow, that was the last place she remembered being. But nothing here looked like home. Up ahead she spied a wide cliff. She couldn't tell where it dropped off but she decided not to get close enough to find out. It was much too pleasant here in the center of this field anyhow, and Ron would be there soon.

Lying down in the grass, Hermione rolled onto her back, looking up at the sky. She had time to spare now. School wouldn't start for a few weeks and then she could get started on finishing up her last year, the year she almost missed out on. Ron and Harry would be home soon from training, their Auror classes almost finished up. The whole family had worried for them during those weeks of isolation, when they couldn't hear from the boys as they prepared to enter the unit full force. But Hermione knew they looked after one another, and Ron and Harry always did a wonderful job looking after one another.

They would be home in two days and then Hermione would have weeks of Ron to herself. Before he'd gone, they'd taken advantage of their time as much as possible, with hidden touches and secret kisses in corners of the Burrow. Their muffled "I love you's" whispered into necks and shoulders before growing brave enough to look one another in the eyes and say it.

A hawk streaked against the sky, the noise too foreign for such an idyllic place. Hermione jerked up, noticing for the first time how the sky had gone gray. She didn't like it. It was too early for storm season. She moved her gaze around, looking for the hawk. It was gone, its shout still vibrating off the trees somehow. Then, a flash of red, the color that made sunshine even when there was none. Hermione clambered up from her position on the ground, a smile already forming on her lips. He was close by, only twenty yards away or so. He moved fast, running, sprinting. He needed to slow down, he was getting close to that cliff. Hermione knew to stay away from it, why was he moving so near it?

Hermione realized he wasn't alone, Harry was behind him. Chasing him. Why was Harry chasing Ron? The boys moved like water, gliding unnaturally toward an edge that Hermione knew they needed to stay away from.

Suddenly, Hermione knew where they were. This was no hideaway. She opened her mouth to scream a warning, but no sound came out. She jolted to run forward, but her feet were frozen, forcing her to watch the scene unfold. It made no sense. She hadn't been there that day. Why did she have to see it? Why did she have to watch?

In a flash, Hermione saw Harry's arm shoot out, watched as his palm flattened on the back of Ron's shoulders. Without reason or precursor, Harry pushed Ron cleanly off the cliff, Ron's descent the trigger that allowed a scream to rip from Hermione.

The scream kept going, even after Hermione jerked upright and opened her eyes. The sound didn't move a soul in the house; even Ginny remained sleeping peacefully, only feet from the still-screaming young woman. Hermione had long ago learned to place a silencing spell on herself before trying to get some sleep.