AN: Please forgive the absence. RL got a bit overwhelming. Then I lost Anwen's voice. I am FORCING myself to write, so I hope it doesn't suck. If you're still there, thanks for sticking with me.

"I hate it here."

"Oh, I don't know, Ron. It's almost starting to feel like home."

"Don't even joke, Anwen."

Azkaban. Again. I've been on this blown up rock more than I've been on mainland Great Britain. Three more hours wasted here trying to pick up on the intangible, unexplainable feeling that keeps pulling me here. Three more hours spent proving to the Aurors around me that I don't have a clue in hell of what I'm looking for. Three more hours spent searching for an answer I may not find.

Ron Weasley, war hero, plops down beside me. His robes catch the breeze and billow and curl around us as he settles himself on the edge of the island, both our legs dangling over the water below.

"Lunch by the sea, eh?" he remarks, eyeing my sandwich and can of Diet Coke. I don't care where I am in the world, I simply must have Diet Coke.

"It's not exactly a day at the beach, but close enough, I suppose."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not."

"So where's your head?"

I stop mid-chew, wishing I had a real answer for the Auror. I don't. Guess I'll just have to go with the muddled truth. "All over the place."

"I can tell. You've been a bit aimless since we arrived. But I have to tell you I wasn't at all surprised to find you on this spot."

"I can't seem to leave it alone. But today I'm only looking. No intentions of going over the side," I say with a smile. He chuckles and takes a bite of his own sandwich. From where it appeared, I have no idea. Hermione must have done something to the pockets in his robes.

"Right. Looking at what, then?"

"This," I direct him, pointing down toward my dangling feet. Sprouting out of the rock face itself is the most delicate tendril I've ever seen. A soft, bright green. So threadlike, so dainty, winding and weaving and curling over itself in an intricate pattern, small three-leafed blooms popping up randomly. "It looks fragile, doesn't it? But it's strong, I can tell. So much energy surrounding it. I think we should check for more signs of growth."

"Why?" He's truly puzzled but trying to figure it out. I wish I could help.

"This should not be here. It can't be here, not without magic. And there's no magic here. The plant isn't growing up the rock, alongside it. It's actually growing out of it. That's just wrong."

As I speak, the vine-like strands reach for me, bending and swirling and stretching up until it tickles my leg. For a moment it looks like it might be waving. I have a closeness with Nature, and it with me, but there isn't actual communication. I'm projecting too much. Ron reacts to the actions of the tendril by moving a bit farther away from me. That isn't an unusual reaction. Pretty used to it, honestly.

"And is this what's been sending you the homing signal? This plant?" he asks, pointing at the happy little sprout.

"I'm just not sure. I think it's toying with me, whatever it is. But not in a bad way. It, it's . . . playing."

"That makes no sense," he sighs.

"I know, " I sigh. So damn frustrating. I open my mouth to voice that frustration when the wind picks up at the same time the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Hafgan," Ron begins lightly, conversationally, "what's watching us?"

"You feel it, too?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Well, that's both good and bad. Good, " I reply to his raised eyebrow, "in that you've confirmed what I'm feeling. And bad, because I have no idea what it is."

Before we can continue, the wind increases again. Howling, really. Clouds roll over this shattered rock with an unnatural speed. With no real warning, lightning blinds us and thunder drowns out any chance to communicate with the rest of the Aurors working behind us.

"I knew storms in the North Sea could be bad, but this is too much," I yell to Ron while trying to see him through all of the flying hair and whipping robes.

"Azkaban isn't exactly packaged as a family vacation spot!" he responds at top volume.

We try to help each other back away from the ledge onto the relative safety of the broken courtyard behind us, but the wind keeps blowing us into each other. Suddenly, Ron is whipped away from me, beyond my reach, and I am tossed upward into the intensifying maelstrom.

I rise and rise and circle and I cannot understand why I haven't been thrown into the tempestuously storm-tossed sea below. I realize when I am able to see the water, though, that it isn't tempestuous at all. Calm. Flat as glass. I see Ron through a break in the twisting clouds. His hair isn't even moving, no flutter in the fabric of his robes. Calm. Not even a breeze. I'm trapped in a cyclone, a completely localized tornado, and I don't know what to do. I should be scared inside the thickening black cloud wall, the high-pitched screaming gusts, the crackling funnel surrounding me. But I'm not.

Nature is always there for me. It shows kindness, brings me comfort, keeps me from being alone at times. This is obviously not like that. But it isn't malicious; I don't feel like it's trying to hurt me. I'm not being jerked around or tossed violently, though I should be. I can't figure out why until I look down after a particularly dizzying spin.

Something green. Bright, soft, delicate green, wrapped around my leg. Stabilizing me in the center of this spiraling storm. Keeping me safe.

"What the hell is going on here?" I whisper so quietly I don't hear myself. Then louder, "Please stop. I don't like this. You have to stop."

And it it does. After a complete pause, a moment that feels like a petulant pout, it does. The tendril lowers me slowly, the spin of the clouds slows, the lightning stops and the thunder quiets.

I settle on the ground, the once playful vine retreating back over the edge of the jagged black rock where a prison used to stand. The prison is gone, all the people, all the Dementors, but it remains. I straighten my clothes, rake my fingers through my static hair, and try to catch my breath.

"That might be the craziest thing I've ever seen," Ron pronounces. "And I've seen my share of crazy. Are you alright?"

Shaking my head, I try to form an answer. "It was beautiful. Powerful. It felt like it belonged here."

"What?"

"It wasn't what it looked like. It looked terrifying, I'm sure. It wasn't, though. I'm fine. I think I'd really like to leave here now. I think I finally understand."