A/N: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a story with few reviews, must be really difficult to update. Seriously people. We do need motivation. And if you've been put off by our apparent multiple personality disorder, the reason why we refer to ourselves this way is because there's actually two of us. Working together. In harmony. Yes…

Anyway. In this chapter, we've included a man from the 1600's. He does not speak Ye Olde English, for we would only botch it. However, We have tried not make his speech all that modern. If we have… notify us? Please?

Disclaimer: All J. K. Rowling's, and no money for us, boohoo.

7. – The Curious Man

In which our Hermione saves the day… or night… or whatever, and Harry fails to talk his way out of a situation.

The air rushed in Hermione's ears, and she could see the ground coming closer and closer. They were going to die. They were going to be smashed against the ground, splattered across the sand, their sculls would smash and their brains would ooze out of their dead ears. Then the tide would come in, and the sea would wash their remnants away. Ron would never know what had become of their bodies. They were going to die…

No we're not, silly!

As Hermione's mind was lost in panic and despair, her other nature took over. The one that was incapable of feeling fear, and always knew what to do. The one that had been living in her head for the last couple of days, whose advice she generally felt cautious about obeying. Right then she gratefully let it take control, and started flying.

Well, perhaps falling slower was a better word. Hermione had never been much of a flyer after all, and in her new state, she was not much better. In fact, she felt weak. It was strange really; she had supposed that, as a vampire, she would be stronger than she had been, but so far it had all been a haze of dizzy nausea, exhaustion and an almost unbearable craving for blood.

She tried hard not to think about how she was clutching Harry very tightly, and that he was unconscious and couldn't resist if she tried to sink her fangs into his arm. She couldn't even take a little nibble at his fingers. He would resent her for doing something like that, she was sure.

They were going considerably slower now, but she could feel herself slipping away into unconsciousness. It was taking too much out of her. In a last effort, she shifted her burden so that she wouldn't land on top of him. As she did, she could feel the chain of the time-turner breaking, but even as she realized this, the world around her went blurry, and she passed out.

A wave washed over her. Coughing and spluttering, she sat up. The tide was coming in.

It took her a moment to understand where she was, and remember what had happened. After spitting out the sand in her mouth, she looked around for Harry. He was lying on his back a few feet away, still unconscious. At least she hoped he was just unconscious.

After a couple of attempts, she managed to stand up. Once everything had stopped spinning around her, she hobbled over to the prone form of Harry, dry heaving all the while. Even a vampire's quick regeneration abilities couldn't immediately counteract the effects of having fallen of a cliff and lain unconscious for a few hours.

A few hours… thankfully, the sky was still dark, but her instincts told her that dawn was not far off.

She sank to her knees beside Harry.

"Enervate!"

He sat up abruptly. Then he rolled over and threw up. Hermione quickly edged away.

"Are you… um… okay?" she asked, when he had stopped retching.

Harry didn't answer for a while. Instead he got to his feet and staggered unsteadily to the water's edge, to rinse out his mouth.

"Where are we?" he asked, finally. "What happened?"

Hermione explained, as best she could. Her own memory of the events was hazy at best, but she had stayed conscious longer than he, at least, and could vaguely remember the feeling of flying backwards – backwards in time…

"It worked, didn't it? It must have," Harry muttered. He was pale, and shaking, but his eyes were beginning to focus.

"Yes, I think so," said Hermione. However, as she reached for the chain around her neck, she remembered what had happened. "Harry, it's gone!" she exclaimed, frantically scanning the beach. "The time-turner! The chain broke in the fall! How are we going to get home?"

She looked for the place where she had landed, but the tide had already come in, and the waves which had woken her up were now completely covering the spot.

"Hermione," said Harry. "I really think we should get off the beach."

"But the time-turner! How are we going to get home?"

"We'll get a new one somehow."

"No, wait, I know." She drew her wand. "Accio time-turner!"

From the water emerged a small object, which, trailing a long chain, flew to her hand. She groaned.

"Reparo!" she muttered, waving her wand over it. "Oh, please... Reparo!"

"It's no use, Hermione."

"But how are we-"

"I know! We'll manage it somehow, okay? Right now we need to get away."

"Oh, what's the point of trying to fix it? We'd need tons of charms to make it work again, anyway," said Hermione, slumped in defeat. She tossed the time-turner into the ocean, were it sank with a ploink! into the water.

"Okay," said Harry. "The sun'll come up soon I guess. We'll talk about this in the evening."

She turned to him.

"Yes, I suppose you're right. Come on then."

She started walking off, but when Harry tried to follow her his knees gave way and he collapsed. In the end, they got going, him with an arm around her shoulders for support.

It had been a hard climb, with Hermione half dragging, half carrying Harry up the steep path they had found, and when they had reached the top it had been all they could do to crawl a few feet away from the edge and collapse, once again, onto the grass.

"The coffin," Harry muttered. "I think I have it… yes…"

He pulled out what appeared to be a small wallet from the inside pocket of his jerkin, and transfigured it into a big wooden coffin. Hermione got to her knees, crawled over and heaved herself into it. Then she pulled the lid over it.

"Good morning," she thought she heard Harry say, as she drifted off to sleep.

She would worry about everything tomorrow. The only thing she allowed herself to think about right then was that she was safe - for the time being.

The first thing Harry registered when he woke up was a terrible headache. Then, as he blinked, he saw that a man was standing over him, with a confused expression of his face.

Harry stood up, feeling rather dazed himself. The man glanced at the coffin, and back to Harry. It hit Harry how very odd it must look, with him lying there fast asleep right next to a coffin at the edge of a steep cliff.

"Excuse me, young sir, are you ill?" the man asked.

"No, thank you. I mean, yes, a little, I was just resting here for a bit," said Harry.

"You have been fast asleep for quite a while. My good neighbour, Mr Smith, saw you out here in the early morning hours," said the man. "Claimed he saw a woman climbing into that there coffin. He is a wee bit afraid of ghosts, and so he did not care to investigate it. Told me to get up here as soon as the sun come up. Would you explain it to me?"

His voice was mild, but all the same, he appeared to be studying Harry carefully, and his hand rested on a heavy-looking walking stick.

"Er," said Harry. For a moment, he was completely at loss for words. Then an idea struck him. "Er… well, she was my sister, you see."

"Your sister?"

"Yeah. Yes. You see, she was ill. She was dying. And last night we were out for one last walk. She always said she wanted to die out here, so we brought the coffin along. I… we always used to walk here when we were children, and… you know. It was her last wish."

"You mean," said the man, his eyes wide, "You mean to say, the poor lass is in this coffin still? At this very hour? She is dead then?"

"Yeah. Yes she is." Harry tried to squeeze some moisture out of his eyes. It proved to be impossible, so he settled for looking melancholy instead. The man seemed horrified.

"But young sir, why are you lying out here? What is the meaning of this?"

"Oh, after… after she died, I could not leave her side, but my despair deprived me of the strength to carry her to shelter," said Harry in a rush. "She wanted to be buried in the family grave down in Porthleven."

This was a bit a gamble. Harry didn't even know if Porthleven existed at this time, but he didn't dare make up another village name.

"The fishing village down 'ere?" said the man. "I was going there myself. I will help you carry it if you let me, young master."

"Oh no!" shouted Harry, as the man started to lift up the coffin. "No, it's my burden, and mine alone! She said to me, with her last dying breath," he improvised quickly, "she made me promise to carry it myself. She did not want anyone else to touch the coffin. She was very adamant about it, sir."

He looked at the man imploringly.

"Well, if you are sure…" he seemed uncertain.

"Yes, yes I'm absolutely sure. She told me only I was to take her to her last resting place. We were so very close…" Harry finally managed to make his eyes water, by keeping them open for what felt like several minutes.

"So be it, then," said the man, slowly. "Seems a strange thing to wish for, only letting you carry that coffin… well, good luck, my boy. I am sorry for your loss. God bless you."

"Er… thanks. Bye."

The man started walking off. Harry heaved a sigh of relief. He cast a charm on the coffin to make it lighter, and lifted it easily. Now, he only had to find the manor. He had thought of asking the muggle for directions, but that would be stretching the credibility of his story a bit, and besides, it might be magically hidden.

As he was standing there with the coffin resting on his shoulder, contemplating which direction to go, the muggle unexpectedly turned around.

"Hey!" he shouted, and ran back. Harry wondered what he wanted with him now.

"How can you carry that there coffin on your shoulder so easily?" the man demanded as soon as he'd reached him.

Harry rather belatedly realized his mistake, and promptly dropped the coffin on the ground. A small voice from inside it cried,

"Ouch!"

The man gasped.

"Er," said Harry. He thought he knew what was going to come next. Sure enough, the man pointed a shaky finger at him and bellowed,

"What in the name of heaven is going on? Is this some manner of witchcraft, or is she still alive in there?"

Harry quickly drew his wand.

"Obliviate!"

The man blinked.

"I seem to have suffered a spell of faintness," he said. "I beg your pardon, but what was I saying to you just now?"

"You were offering to help carry this coffin with my dead sister, but I politely declined," Harry said. "Since you're in such a dreadful hurry to get home, remember?"

"Oh, yes, of course," the man said. "I should leave this instant. Thank you young man, and I am very sorry for your loss – God bless you!"

"Goodbye," said Harry. "I hope you make it in time."

The man started running towards the village, this time without turning back. Harry stood staring after him for a few minutes. Then he lifted up the coffin, and began wondering once more which direction he ought to go. They had of course checked the location of the manor before travelling back in time, but annoyingly, the landscape had changed somewhat since – or before – then. There were trees where there shouldn't be any, and the cliffs were bigger. He didn't see any roads. All the same, he couldn't just stand there all day.

Finally, he went in what he thought was the right direction, supposing he'd find the place eventually.