Harry ran, each step like a miniature thunderclap in the otherwise silent museum. He didn't care. The apparition wards were still in place, and he needed to clear them. A large window up ahead signaled a possible way out, and he viciously blasted an opening, hastily erecting a shield to absorb the shrapnel that hurdled his way.

Feeding a bit of magic into the shrunken broom resting in the palm of his hand, the thing reverted to its original size.

Proper broom etiquette flew out the window as he leaped from the gaping hole in the side of the museum, mounting the flying contraption midair, before corkscrewing up at a thirty-degree angle at maximum speed, the hard gee's of acceleration making the wood groan ominously. With a loud crack, he was gone.

oOo

Three hours earlier;

Potter was leaning against the polished stone wall of the men's room, adjacent to the vanities, arms folded, and an impatient look to him. In his pocket rested the still warm time turner, its grains nearly depleted following this last jump. It was light out again, perhaps a quarter to seven. The museum he once again found himself in would be closing soon, and there was still much to do before the night ran its course.

He glanced at the wristwatch once more, the third time in as many minutes. Hermione and his past self should be making their way towards the entrance, blissfully unaware of the turbulent events to come.

More than once had he wanted to warn them off, avoid their future encounter with Voldemort, but knowing full well that it would tear them, and himself, asunder if he meddled with time in such a fashion.

Harry couldn't help but marvel at the seemingly limitless possibilities of magic as he observed himself walk in. The other Harry froze, instantly on guard. Recalling the conversation from the other side of the coin, word for word, he repeated what he'd heard from future Harry, thus saving himself, and anyone else directly impacted by this loop, from certain oblivion.

"Be at ease. I am you, from the future, here to collect the Rosetta stone fragment for safekeeping."

Predictably, his past self was unconvinced. He'd know. A few short hours ago, that had been him.

"An interesting claim, though Polyjuice is far more likely."

Already knowing the answer, Harry slowly pulled his wand, making sure not to point it at his other-self. With practiced, though rarely used movements, he cast his signature patronus.

A Hare.

"This is more difficult to fake, no?"

At least he didn't have to worry about revealing too much, knowing exactly what he needed to say to obtain the Rosetta stone. Harry wondered if, by doing this, countless versions of himself were doomed to spend the rest of eternity repeating information to each other in a Museum bathroom in Cairo.

There was no end to this. The Harry he was currently engaging in conversation would fill his shoes in three hours, speaking to a Harry Potter who did not yet exist to either of them, and for him, never would.

Time travel, he concluded, gave him headaches.

"Proceed with your plan as if I were never here." He stressed. "This is important. You cannot run, as much as you wish to."

The other Harry frowned. "Not very reassuring, you coming all the way into the past to collect the fragment."

"Oui." He agreed. "But fear not, for you will have a plan in place by the time you stand in this room once again."

"That's reassuring." He muttered, handing the shrunken fragment over, almost reluctantly. The two soon parted ways, leaving future Harry alone once more, satisfied that he'd conveyed the warning not to skip town in a satisfactory manner.

Shrouding himself in his signature disillusionment charm, Harry set out to find the second fragment. He may as well make the switch before Voldemort arrived, and rig the decoy as an improvised explosive device, should the deal turn sour. He had a feeling it would. Why else would he have traveled back in time to do this?

His thoughts returned to his arch-nemesis, and his never-ending quest to see Harry dead. By dictating the meeting place and the short notice, Harry had ensured he wasn't walking into yet another trap.

The turn of events had been so sudden; so swift that he had almost no time to formulate a plan. At least the encounter with the other Harry told him he needed to use the time turner. Following the Rosetta stone's handover, his course of action became clearer.

Harry would infiltrate his ranks immediately ahead of their planned ambush, and take back his Inspector before the proposed swap would ever occur, thus retaining both fragments.

But more importantly, he didn't trust Voldemort, or his Death Eaters with Hermione. Waiting, even an hour, was not an option.

oOo

Stunning a straggler had been relatively easy. He'd considered ending the man's life, but delivering a killing curse to his unprotected back was not something Harry wanted to become used to doing. Killing in self-defense erased most, though not all of the wizards conflicted views on taking life, though it had become more of a necessity as of late, he grimly concluded.

Watching Hermione, terrified and clutching the fake stone fragment, without acting was a great deal more difficult. Now, donning full Death Eater regalia, he did his best to get close to her. The man Hermione had described as Dorian Gray was holding her firmly by the arm, though he seemed about as happy to be here as she was.

"Nott. Goyle. Scout the location Potter provided, and report back. He didn't give himself a lot of time, but it may still be enough to set up traps."

The two men beat a hasty retreat, leaving Voldemort to address the Inspector.

"As for you. Potter may think he's in control, but you are very much at the mercy of me, and my Death Eaters."

A round of chuckles followed, which Harry did not partake in. Fortunately, whatever sick ideas Voldemort could concoct were put on hold, as the alarm wailed to life following a distant boom.

His past self-had just vacated the building, setting off the perimeter alarm, which hadn't been deactivated. It was time for them to vacate the Museum as well. The muggles could be dealt with, but given enough time, they will prove to be a nuisance.

The first police vehicles were already in front of the doors when the group emerged, likely nearby patrol units who'd been routed their way. The Egyptians didn't take too kindly to robbers, especially when it came to their heritage. Tourism was big business here, and the punishments for theft were harsh, doled out swiftly.

With a bit of transfiguration, the vehicles turned into savage beasts that quickly mauled the officers using them for cover.

The apparation wards were lifted, and Harry quickly latched onto the nearest body, as he did not know their destination.

The unintentional side along badly splinched the Wizard, who hadn't adjusted for the extra passenger. Fortunately for him, whoever powered the apparation usually received the brunt of the damage in the event of a mishap. Harry was quick to distance himself as his pained cries carried across the moonlit sand dunes.

They were in the desert.

"What in Merlin's' name happened to him?" an unnamed Death Eater asked, rushing to his side, while another added; "What a mess."

And it was. Both legs were gone, nowhere to be found. The baggy clothes made it difficult to tell, but he may have lost the whole pelvic bone as well.

"No way we can fix this," the first muttered, assessing the injuries as the commotion drew others in.

"Back away," Lestrange ordered, and a moment later the screaming stilled, a killing curse putting the unfortunate sod out of his misery.

"If you can't even manage a simple thing like apparation, you don't deserve to serve your Lord," she sneered, addressing the others. The sand quickly swallowing up the body, or what was left of it.

Harry fell in line, the group heading towards the hastily set up camp. It was nothing fancy. A few blankets placed over the sand, around a lit fire, while the harsh desert wind was kept at bay with rudimentary transfigured windbreaks. There was a single tent, and Harry watched Voldemort enter, along with a few select others.

Hermione was roughly shoved to the ground, hands now tied behind her back, and a cloth tied around her mouth. The stone fragment was somewhere else. Harry had lost track of it.

"Do with her as you please," Bellatrix sneered, before disappearing behind the canvas as well.

They needed no encouragement, though there seemed to be some squabbling over who was to go first.

Damn those monsters! He'd seen enough. Pulling the cheap mobile he'd purchased earlier, he was pleased to note that there was service here. They must not be far from the valley then.

Dialing the pre-saved number, his thumb jammed the green connect button, and a scant moments later the tent detonated spectacularly. It had been a challenge to emulate the smaller fragment's original weight, as the explosives were much lighter than the granite they replaced. A lead liner, much denser than even the rock, ensured that Voldemort would be none the wiser.

At the time, he wondered if this was an escalation, blowing up your enemy like a militant. He was a thief, not a terrorist.

After today, one thing was certain. He wouldn't have any doubts about killing those scumbags from now on. Not after what they'd just attempted, and nearly succeeded in doing.

The remaining Death Eaters scrambled, their previous activity forgotten. He would have loved to curse them. Tear them apart.

But his priority was Hermione and getting her to safety.

Harry skillfully made his way over to her, emulating the panicked movements of the others as they tried to figure out what had attacked them.

She had fought back, he noted and earned herself a black eye, the swelling already making it difficult for her to see.

An inhuman scream came from the crater in the ground, where the tent had stood, emanating from a massless darkness which contrasted against the faintly illuminated sand as it raced around the campsite.

It hit one of the men, who convulsed but did not fall. Harry, along with the others, stood rooted in place, watching in fear and trepidation. That was, until the man ripped his mask off, face contorted in absolute fury.

"Get him," he hissed, eyes lighting up red, hand extended, finger pointed right at him. Harry was within arm's reach of her by then. Without a warning, he activated his portkey, making sure she was in direct contact with it.

oOo

Hermione panicked after the portkey ride. After what she'd just seen, and endured, it was expected. Her left eye throbbed in pain, each furious beat of her heart causing it to spike. The trip had been quick, no more than fifty kilometers, judging by the duration. Wherever she was, it was dark, with only a faint amount of light entering through windows of the other side of the room.

Breathing hard, she managed to shuffle herself upright awkwardly, eye darting around, on the lookout for threats. She found one. A masked Death Eater. The one who'd taken her. And he was close. Kicking out, her foot solidly connected with his midriff, knocking the wind from his lungs.

"Wait!" he held out a gloved hand, while the other fought off another follow-up kick, deflecting the limb to the side and holding on tightly, tucking it under his armpit to prevent a follow-up attack.

"Hermione, It's me. Harry!"

He ripped off the mask, and upon recognizing his features, the fight finally left her.

"You're safe! You're safe." He muttered over and over, almost chanting the words as he scooting close, pulling her into his chest. The tears began to well up almost immediately. She sobbed into his shoulder as they both sat awkwardly on the floor, between the couch and coffee table.

"You're safe." He whispered one last time as if to convince himself of the fact, stroking her hair with a shaky hand. The adrenaline glut he'd ridden for the last ten minutes was rapidly leaving his system, and the crash was making him feel physically ill.

He ignored his discomforts to attend to her needs.

With his wand still out, he carefully cut her bonds, and she wrapped her arms around him, crying even harder. The gag had fallen away, around her neck, covering some of the freshly forming bruises there, though they were impossible to see in the darkened room.

She could feel them, skin sensitive. It hurt to swallow.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione." Harry managed to choke out, voice thick with emotion. "None of this would have happened, had I not taken you from Paris."

She hugged him tighter but remained tight-lipped, the tears still flowing. The shaking was getting out of hand, and even his tight hold on her couldn't completely suppress the reaction.

Minutes passed, simply holding onto him, not ever wanting to let go. Reluctantly, she eventually did, having calmed down somewhat, and the tears mostly dry. He switched on the lights to take stock of her injuries, causing her to squint, which hurt her other eye. They were back in the hotel room in Cairo, she noted. He must have used the original emergency portkey.

oOo

"We should be safe for the moment, but-"

Turning, his response died, looking at her.

The sight made his heartbreak. In the perhaps thirty seconds it had taken to neutralize Voldemort, those savages had inflicted much damage on her fair features.

The physical ailments he could heal, but there would be lasting damage, emotionally. Of that, he had no doubt.

Harry gently sat her down on the couch, starting with pulling potions from his luggage. A calming drought, followed by a general-purpose healing potion that immediately set to work undoing the bruising around her neck and wrists, where the rope had dug into the sensitive skin.

A spell returned her vision to normal, the swelling subsiding in a manner of seconds.

Next, he tore off the heinous robes making up the disguise, throwing them into the corner. The draught had helped immensely, though she seemed more catatonic now, even as he worked.

Harry reevaluated their current situation. They needed to move. It wasn't safe here.

Rising, he fetched the clothes she'd worn when they checked in earlier. Leaving in their state, with her clothes half torn, would attract unwanted attention.

"Hermione. It's time to leave." He plucked her hand from her lap, rubbing the knuckles gently with his thumb. Much to his relief, Hermione nodded, pulling herself back from whatever place she'd been heading towards, and rose, though a little shakily. Harry was already packing their things and shrunk everything down to fit inside a pocket.

The room was paid for, so it was as simple as leaving the room key on the front desk and hopping into the already waiting car. He'd phoned ahead to the valet office, requesting the vehicle be made available.

oOo

She woke to the crackle of thrumming string music and Arabic lyrics, mixed with the whistling wind and the hum of a car's engine.

Then the pain made itself known. Bon Dieu, her face was tender! With a hiss, she sat up straight, hand reflexively brushing over the area.

"Don't touch that." A voice she recognized ordered in a berating tone, before softening. "The tissue is quite sensitive, and I don't need you aggravating it."

"Pardon." she croaked distractedly, instead looking around. She must have fallen asleep shortly after departing the Hotel. The sun was just making its appearance on the Eastern horizon, bathing the lush, green river shore in golden light. With a sigh, she gazed upon the magical sight of the Nile at first light.

Beside her, Harry was looking less at piece, his usually untamable locks a literal crow's nest, eyes hidden behind a set of aviator shades.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, knowing the answer would be anything but 'good'.

"Grateful to be alive," she stated. "-and all thanks to your quick thinking. I was their captive for perhaps five minutes before you came to my rescue. And not a moment too soon."

"I had a little help." He admitted, showing her the now useless time turner. She took it, playing with the rings absentmindedly.

Harry watched her for a few moments, his frown deepening.

Minutes later, she caught him glancing down towards the meandering river below again, something he'd noticed her doing since waking.

"Looking for a good place to park?" she inquired, the question only just audible to him.

"In fact, I am. We both need proper rest, and time to decompress. I fear this last encounter has pushed us to the raggedy edge."

She hmm'd in agreement, the calming draught still quite potent in her system.

The car, under Harry's experienced control, began to descend. They'd passed a farming community a few minutes prior, and as far as the muggle population was concerned, there didn't seem to be any in this seemingly isolated stretch of shoreline.

The car gently touched down in a small clearing on a narrow, palm tree-covered island that likely flooded in the wet season. The white-walled tires cut deeply into the soft sand, slowing the Mercedes down rapidly.

Harry cut the engine, deftly extracted himself before assisted her in exiting. She looked around in interest, observing the palm trees sway in the breeze and the water lap against the shore.

"Are we simply stopping to stretch our legs?" she asked, not aware the convertible's trunk held a fully kitted magical tent. He pulled the bulky bag from the back, and carefully laid it out on a flat clearing dominated by chest-high reeds.

"Not quite," he answered, giving her a playful wink. With a flick of his wand, the unassuming mass of cloth and canvas expanded, quickly exfoliating into a Bedouin Style tent.

It quickly enveloped the car, shading it from the still weak morning sun. The set up took less than a minute, and following that, Harry wove a series of wards designed to hide them. The process took substantially longer. Hermione recognized many of them, and her shoulders slumped in relief as the last of snapped into place. Some of the tension melted away, her mind finally accepting that they were truly safe.

In fact, they'd be nigh untraceable.

Harry led her inside, and into a comfortable space consisting of cream and brown colored fabric walls, vibrant oriental rugs, and above all, a plush, white linen bed, with hanging insect screen, though charms made the latter more of a décor item. The screen wasn't actually required, what with repelling charms, but it was a nice touch.

"Facilities are over there, I believe,'' he stated, practically reading her mind. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be right outside." After a much-needed shower in an old fashioned claw-footed enamel tub, complete with floating pipe and showerhead, she was truly spent. He'd laid out her nightgown just inside the designated bathing area, and she gratefully slipped into the cool, crisp sheets of the bed with a sigh.

Harry had deposited himself on the couch, having placed both pieces of the Rosetta stone in front of him. Before he could start on mending it, she mumbled his name.

"Harry?"

"Oui?" He responded, looking up at the bed.

"Lay with me? Please?" she sounded unsure, but Harry wasn't about to deny her request. Taking off his reading glasses, he next dimmed the old fashioned kerosene lantern hanging from the tent's main support, before making his way over. She followed his movements from underneath the sheets, pulled up to her chin. After a moment of indecision, he opted to pull the shirt off, before sliding in beside her, pulling himself close and draping an arm around her slender midriff.

Within a minute she was out like a light, despite the earlier nap in the car. Sleep did not come so easily for Harry however, as he watched her rhythmic breathing, one hand propping up his head, the other held hostage by her firm grip.

oOo

He woke abruptly to the sound of moaning and whimpering, initially thinking they were under attack. It only took a second to realize it was a bad dream that had plagued her.

Not knowing what else to do, he hugged her tightly. Though it didn't settle her, Hermione did wake, her hand finding his arm.

They simply laid in bed for a few minutes, in complete silence, until a stomach growled. He feared it was his, and she giggled in amusement.

It was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard.

Harry rolled, unlatching himself from her. It was early evening, according to the wristwatch on the nightstand. They'd slept through most of the day, but that suited him fine.

Provisions, thankfully weren't an issue, as many of the wooden crates, often stacked five or six high, contained canned goods. Bags of grains such as rice and oats, as well as dried, salted meats could be found as well. There was even some dehydrated fruit in the form of dates and apricots.

All in all, not a bad selection, and certainly enough variety for a simple, yet filling meal. Breads, cheeses, and cured meats devoured, Hermione excused herself, eager to explore the tent better.

That was until she found the still broken stone, and the reference books Harry had laid out earlier that morning when they arrived here. And so, with a task at hand, she busied herself by mending the stone, and hopefully unlocking its secrets.

Anything to keep her mind off what happened last night.

It helped that she was genuinely curious about the Manuscript, and the stone specifically. She frowned, remembering that the former was now in Voldemort's hands.

How had he obtained it? Did someone break into her home, and take it? Realizing she'd gain nothing from the line of thought, she performed the repair charm.

The two pieces merged almost seamlessly with the help of magic, united after unknown hundreds of years apart. Like the larger one, a series of hieroglyphics and Egyptian numerals were etched into the smaller fragment. Hermione lightly traced a finger over the skillfully chiseled inscriptions, wishing she'd taken that ancient Egyptian language course in university.

Of course, she'd decided against it, favoring Latin and Greek, as most modern spells had their roots in those civilizations.

As it stood, their combined knowledge pertaining to this other, equally prosperous ancient kingdom amounted to little more than a basic awareness of its most valued artifacts, and this was thanks to their respective fields of work.

She was an Inspector with the National Police, not an archeologist, Hermione thought with a frown, standing in front of the upright stone, arms folded.

At a glance, nothing made sense. Multiple vertical columns, perhaps the width of her hand, dominated the surface, with distinct horizontal breaks at each line. Information, organized by the use of numerals?

An introductory textbook that bore the stamp of the Cologne public library did indeed confirm this. How many rows were inscribed in total then? The bottom corner was missing, forcing her to move up five rows and add said number to deduce the answer. She also counted the number of rows and multiplied them by the column.

Both times, the number was Fourteen hundred and sixty.

Armed with that information, she glossed over the terms and definitions in the back. Nothing came of it, so she repeated the task on the other books he'd signed out. She briefly chastised him mentally that they were already overdue. Such a rule breaker.

One the second to last, she struck gold. It was a tattered book, its pages yellowing with age, issued back in the twenties. She was surprised to see it survived the war. Fire had consumed many a library late in the European campaign.

Harry was slower to get into the swing of things, instead busying himself by tidying up following their meal, and checking their perimeter. The site had been chosen with haste, and although there were no fresh tracks, that didn't mean the sand bar didn't see river traffic.

Upon completing his rounds, and vanishing his footsteps, he took note of the temperature and deeming it cool enough to roll up the sides of the tent. Instantly a cacophony of noise flooded the previously quiet space, with crickets, birds, and other nocturnal insects all pitching in to create an ambient noise that served to remind them of just where they'd set up camp.

Surrounded by the Nile, in the middle of Egypt. The thought seemed surreal.

Hermione briefly acknowledged the noise and watched him finish rolling up the last of the canvas. Beyond lay the brown, murky waters, flowing steadily from left to right. The eastern shore, her brain told her.

Harry rejoined her, transfiguring the now uncomfortable chairs into a much nicer sofa. Hermione didn't even look up, still transfixed on reading, but did sigh as her body sank into the cushion. Amused, he took a seat to her left, conjuring a few pillows to support his head.

"Any progress?" he gazed at the repaired stone, then the books he'd taken along.

"Some, but nothing you haven't already mentioned." He grunted in confirmation, allowing his head to sink further into the soft material. The couch, as well as other stimuli, like her shampoo's scent and the gentle breeze blowing through the tent, proved to be his undoing, and his eyelids soon grew heavy once more.

oOo

When he woke, Hermione was no longer on the couch, instead busy…wrecking the tent's floor? A number of the carpets had been removed, exposing the flattened grasses and silt that comprised this minuscule sandbar.

"Hermione?" he mumbled, not sure if he was imagining things. She moved her wand in small, precise movements, and the damp silty earth morphed, revealing a map of the River.

"Ah, I see you've finally decided to rejoin me." She greeted back teasingly. "Honestly, how can you fall asleep again after only being up for an hour?"

He grumbled nonsensical things and peeked at a large tome that lay spread open on the collapsible wooden side table. The sketch within showed an outline of the Nile River, superimposed on an interwoven series of crisscrossing lines, with hieroglyphics noted in each corner.

It was exquisite transfiguration work considering the medium she was using, and it didn't take long for the pieces to fall into place.

"The stone references a grid system?" he muttered, now excited.

"Yes, it does. But the symbols as they are shown in this textbook-" she tapped the tome in question, "-do not correlate with the Rosetta stone. For instance, the numbers on the stone; One would be here;" she pointed towards a square sitting squarely in Upper Egypt. "But two is there." The hand moved down, nowhere near the first.

"How many squares in total?" he asked, figuring she'd already looked into it.

"Fourteen hundred and sixty." She answered, to which Harry frowned. He conjured up a whiteboard and marker, scribbling the number in the center.

"All right. Not a prime number." He thought out loud. "Can be divided by two, five, ten, and so forth."

"You forgot four." She corrected, humoring him. While she'd only had twenty minutes to solve this puzzle, it didn't hurt to let him repeat her own thought processes. He approached it differently, she found, instantly turning to math to find an answer.

Interesting.

Without a muggle calculator on hand, Harry divided the numbers the old fashioned way, while Hermione wondered just who had been his teacher. She'd never seen anyone use his method, and it certainly wasn't how she or anyone else in France had been taught.

But the result was interesting, not to mention, correct. While the divisions of two, five and ten yielded nothing, four did.

Three hundred and sixty-five to be specific. The number of days in a Georgian calendar year. Now that couldn't be a coincidence.

"The grid squares relate to the day of the year?" Hermione wondered. But if that was the case, there would be four locations for every day. That made no sense.

Harry drew a similar conclusion. "I think we may have to consult with an expert." He suggested. "There's clearly something we're missing here."

"So what, we just find some muggle with a passion for ancient Egyptian history and show them the stone? I don't know if that is a good idea, Harry."

She shrugged. "What about Bill? We were going to visit him regardless. Now though, we may be able to focus our questions better."

Now that wasn't a half-bad idea.

oOo

"You know, I'm beginning to regret sheltering you at my house." The Curse Breaker said in lieu of a greeting, upon finding the unlikely couple in his humble tent on the edge of the dig site. He wouldn't even ask how they'd gotten around the goblin protections, which were widely considered to be the best of the best, as they guarded gold and precious gems against…well people like Harry.

The two, who'd been entertaining themselves by playing with Bill's pet pygmy puff, glanced up.

"Hello Bill," Hermione greeted, rising to kiss his cheek, while Harry waved from the floor, still not done with the odd magical creature he'd somehow never even read about before. The thing hummed faintly, alternating between chasing, and being chased by his finger on the carpet.

"Hermione. Harry." He greeted back, receiving two chaste kisses on either cheek. "To what do I owe the pleasure? Not another request for help, I hope?"

They both looked sheepish, confirming his suspicions.

They laid out their findings. The stone, the grids in the German textbook, and what the now lost to them Manuscript had stated. Harry left out their encounter with Voldemort in Cairo.

Bill took in the information, nodding along.

"Very good work." he praised. "The stone you liberated from the British Museum," he gestured to the mass of black in the corner of the tent. "-it's a guide, mating the Ancient Egyptian calendar to a geographical grid system."

Receiving twin blank stares, he explained further.

"The Egyptian grid system was introduced sometime in the old kingdom period, and followed the Nile in set increments." Bill stood, moving to a trunk, presumably magical, and pulled an old tome from its depths.

Taking a minute or so, he finally located what he'd been searching for, and flipped the book around to show to his guests.

It was a sketch of the Nile river, superimposed on a grid. This one was much more detailed than the Cologne library book, spanning multiple pages, and clearly showed the symbols in the top corner of each box.

"Since Egypt is surrounded by inhospitable desert, the kingdom was effectively limited to the river valley and floodplain, with only some mining activity outside that narrow, important strip of land."

He stopped for a moment to sip on a glass of water, not used to speaking this much.

"The grids are spaced into a set amount of cubits following the river, with two thousand cubits roughly equaling a kilometer. Because the valley widens and narrows in some places, the area in each section can vary. "

"What was the purpose of this system?" Hermione asked, perhaps risking getting sidetracked. The old library book hadn't held much detail.

"Well, we can't be sure," he admitted, running a calloused hand over the ginger stubble that had accumulated over the last few days. "But it's widely believed that the Pharaoh's ministers used this method to determine taxation.

The districts paid tribute, and quite often more than one was administered by the same person. Some provided foodstuffs, other laborers for civil projects. It depended on the population density, and the amount of arable land. The larger communities primarily supplied the manpower."

All right, so far that made sense.

"And the numbers?" Harry urged.

"Well, the actual number is interesting. You see, the Egyptian civil calendar year, just like the Gregorian calendar, has three hundred sixty-five days. Supposedly the calendar was introduced when Sirius rose right on the new year. But not accounting for the extra quarter day, by the fourth year, it would rise a day later.

This calendar, therefor, resets after fourteen hundred sixty years, a day known as the Apocatastasis."

"So whatever it is we're looking for is located within the grid that corresponds to our current date?" the thief concluded.

"So it would seem. But the exact year is unknown. We've been able to narrow it down to a four-year span from various accounts and records.

Four grids. That's not an insignificant amount of land to search, and without even knowing what exactly it was that they were looking for.

"Bill, can you think of why someone went to such lengths to inscribe, and then hide such an intricate treasure map? And on an official decree no less?" Hermione asked.

The curse breaker leaned back in his chair, gazing at the stone.

"Decrees were like public announcements of their day. They were meant to be seen by the population. Writing a hidden message on one is risky. Perhaps a secret society, with an important member in the Pharaoh's court? The fact that whatever is hidden moves makes it seem like a safeguard, to prevent discovery." He concluded.

"A hidden society of Parsel Tongues," Harry muttered, wondering if the gift had been more prevalent in antiquity.

Bill nodded in agreement.

"Worshippers perhaps? The Serpent god Aphophis comes to mind, though back then he'd have been known as 'Apep'. Many of the gods had temples, though certainly not the evil ones. In fact, there was an annual rite, where an effigy of Apep was built to symbolize all of the evil and darkness within Egypt, before being set alight."

He rubbed his forehead, red from the day's sun. "You could be searching for a temple dedicated to the God of Chaos. Merlin guys, you don't kid around, do you?"

Harry grinned, but Hermione was as stunned as the Curse Breaker was.

"Well, would you like to join us? I'll pay you triple the going rate of a curse breaker."

Hermione could only roll her eyes at how loosely the thief handled money. First his former dueling mentor, and now Bill.

Bill chuckled. "Tempting, but I can't break my contract with the goblins. They'd never hire me again, and in case you haven't noticed, they have a monopoly on digging rights in the country, at least when it comes to magically protected tombs. And should you find any remains in that temple of yours? That would make you in violation of their treaty."

Bill didn't need to explain to them that being on the Goblin's shit list was a very bad thing indeed.

"Very well, I see you're a man who knows how to negotiate." Harry pulled out a checkbook and signed his name, leaving the line above blank. A literal blank cheque.

Hermione paled, recalling how much money Harry actually had. And Europol had thus far been unable to gain access to his numbered Swiss accounts.

Bill laughed. "Harry, as tempting as this offer sounds, I will still have to pass. I enjoy my work and don't want to jeopardize that. Besides, what would I do in my retirement? Fleur would kill me before the year is out."

This time Harry laughed. "Well said, Monsieur Weasley. I can relate, wishing to continue something you enjoy is a wonderful reason to turn this opportunity down." He glanced at Hermione, who had clearly picked up on the insinuation and was giving him a smoldering look, and not the good kind.

"Tread carefully, Harry. I'd hate to have to give you a matching scar on the other shoulder," she warned, only half-serious. It felt good to joke.

"Regardless-" Harry returned his attention back to Bill, who shook his head at the couple's antics. "-your services were invaluable, and should we run into another wall, I trust we can use you as a springboard?" he scribbled on the piece of paper.

"Of course. Feel free to approach me if you run into another wall. Just don't antagonize the Goblins. They do not like surprises."

"Duly noted." He handed over the fully written cheque. "For your help."

The curse breaker though held out a hand, palm first. "Harry, I can't take this."

"Then consider it a donation to Arabelle's education trust fund." The thief placed it on the small desk, considering the matter closed.

"I-" he tried, but was stopped by a hand gesture. "Thank you," He finished with a chuckle, shaking his head.

Hermione had lowered her head, allowing the brown hair to hide a smile.

Soon thereafter, both were back in the hidden tent, scheming. They were left with four locations, denoted by little red flags sticking in the sand.

Each could take weeks, if not months to search, and they had no idea of how the temple, if it, in fact, was a temple at all, was hidden.

But there was one remaining avenue left to try. Dumbledore and his volume of Sly's book.

Dumbledore, who was at Hogwarts in Scotland.

oOo

Commissar Clouseau stood at rigid attention, gazing out the floor to ceiling windows in the direction of the sprawling Parisian metropolitan area, but never focusing on any one detail. The posterior wasn't as a result of addressing a superior officer, as one would assume, but simply an extension of his character. His subordinates looked up to him, and he strived to present the best he could be. Slouching would not do. Besides, his physician advised it was bad for his back.

Light rain splattered the thick tempered glass, built to withstand gale-force winds common at such a great height. In that regard, he and the glass were not that different, standing strong and rooted firmly in these uncertain times.

Two days had passed since that disastrous event in the very plaza below his feet. Light blue eyes, once filled with youthful idealism, now dulled by experience, gazed upon the very spot where she had stood. Where he'd failed her. Two days, and not a single sign of the fair Inspector who'd single-handedly wrested the horde of a lifetime from what the world was now calling the most notorious thief of the twenty-first century.

A bold claim, considering it was only a year into the new millennium. And yet, he somehow couldn't help but agree. The Crimson Hare was good. Very good. While Inspector Granger had taken the reigns early on in the investigation, when the thief first began to operate in greater Europe, Clouseau took note of the style almost immediately.

Certain tells, familiar strategies, and above all, the types of art taken. Between the Hare and the Night Fox, another animal alias for some reason, it was a very busy time indeed for the Department. But the Night fox, while almost identical to the Hare on paper, operated very differently.

No, Crimson Hare was trained by someone he knew well, despite never having met the individual. Gaspar Lemark.

The only black mark on his otherwise spotless record. And it seemed Inspector Granger was destined to follow in his footsteps.

That's where the similarities ended, however. He'd certainly never been kidnapped by his old-time rival. And therein lies the problem. Thieves, while brazen, did not act as the Hare had. It's as though he wishes to gain a reputation.

And he'd certainly managed to succeed in that regard. The media fell on the story like a pack of starving dogs. Undertones of forbidden romance appealed too many, in this city especially. The thief's dashing looks and her stunning beauty did not help matters. It seemed like a scene straight from a film, he thought with a snort of frustration.

But it was very real. His method of reaching the roof was highly unorthodox and quite reckless, yet effective. Lastly, it seemed completely unnecessary, as he was a confirmed utilisateur magique. Was it to protect their secrecy laws, or to simply avoid the involvement of his magical counterparts? They had not seen fit to contacted him as of yet.

A knock on the door pulled him from his troubled thoughts.

"Enter," he stated, loud enough to reach whoever was on the other side of the door. Through the reflection, he identified that someone as the Englishman.

Clouseau admitted that he did not treat the man fairly, despite his competence. He was inexperienced but had potential.

"Sergeant McLaggen. So good of you to finally rejoin us," he said acidly, having a good reason to do so. He could have prevented her kidnapping after all.

The man saluted smartly. "I rushed here as soon as I heard the news. As for my absence, it was a life or death family matter."

Clouseau valued honesty above all else, so for anyone to justify their actions, or in his case, lack thereof, with such a reason was serious. And while he did not like McLaggen, Inspector Granger had trusted him enough to take the man under her wing.

"What's done is done. But now that you're here, I'd like you to rejoin Inspector Granger's old team and assist them in locating her. You've achieved success before in Madrid. I doubt he will let her go once more.

The younger man's neutral expression turned into a frown.

"Commisare, permission to speak off the record."

It was not a request asked often of him. Usually, he didn't like what came after it. Regardless, he allowed it. As it stood, he needed information to build a better picture. And it looked like Mclaggen might be able to help in the manner.

"Granted. What's on your mind, son?"

Cormac looked bewildered at the change in tone but carried on regardless.

"Sir. It is my belief that Inspector Granger and the Hare are romantically involved."

The older man sincerely hoped he wasn't buying into the news circulating like an out of control wildfire.

"State your reasoning." he instead asked.

"Well sir, my first indication was the fact that he simply let her go following the abduction from the Hospital. Why would he go out of his way to help her? Not long after, she lost all drive to apprehend him. At first, I assumed she simply felt some form of gratitude towards the Hare for saving her, but upon leaving the message to steal the Rosetta stone, her demeanor changed completely."

"She seemed spiteful. Angry. There was a personal element there."

Cormac paused, looking frustrated and ashamed. "Unfortunately I was not conscious to witness their duel at the museum, however after claiming he'd escaped, she instantly knew where to find his current place of residence, not to mention the Basement containing his most valued possessions."

"Astute observations, Sergeant. But that is no proof. He very well could have kept her at his compound in Switzerland against her will." The Commissar reasoned, though there were clear gaps in the theory, and he knew it.

"There are ways to make you forget such information, and the Hare is skilled enough to do so. Yet he did not." Cormac shook his head. "That isn't all. Some five days ago, Hermione invited me to her apartment."

Now, this did surprise Clouseau. He'd known the young woman for nigh three years, and not once had she extended such an offer to a colleague. It was hard enough to get her to attend the semi-annual functions in his company. The woman was practically a shut it. A recluse, abet a very work driven one.

"While there, I noticed an open notebook pertaining to the Rosetta stone. I ascertained that it had not been touched since before the Museum heist, leading me to believe it was, in fact, the Hares. He was living with her, here in Paris."

"You knew this, yet did not speak up?"

Cormac looked down, nodding in affirmation. "I was trying to protect Hermione. But before I could confront her about it personally, my sister fell grievously ill."

Clouseau cursed, flabbergasted at her odd behavior.

"Could he have influenced her?" as much as he loathed the word, he said it anyway. "Bewitched her?"

"It is a possibility." Cormac frowned. "There are many ways to subvert another's will, magically speaking." His thoughts lingered on the prostitute he'd Imperio'd, before mentally suppressing the memory. "But she was not exhibiting the usual telltale signs. That being said, I am no expert on the subject."

The Commissar didn't know whether what was worse. On the one hand, having Granger under the Hare's influence was one of the most horrifying scenarios he could imagine. But to have her aid a master thief of her own volition? And for love?

If true, it would be a bitter pill to swallow.

"Your comments have been duly noted." the older man muttered, seemingly aging a decade in the span of a few short minutes. "Was there anything else?"

"Yes. Regarding my new assignment, I'm afraid I will have to decline. I will be taking an undetermined leave of absence to care for Sophie."

"Are you certain?" Clouseau inquired, surprised McLaggen would just abandon his superior so callously. He must genuinely believe she is doing this of her own free will. "We could use your help with this investigation."

"Under different circumstances, there would be no question and no hesitation. But I'm afraid I cannot. You see, I am her sole guardian, and now, also her sole caregiver."

The Commissar understood. He was aware of the tragedy that had struck the young Sargeant's family. Losing one's parents, at any age, is difficult. Suddenly caring for a younger sibling surely only added to the young man's woes.

"Very well." he extended his hand. "Thank you, for your service. We shall hopefully see you back here soon."

Cormac nodded, shaking his hand. "Thank you, sir. Good luck finding Hermione."

oOo

Dumbledore was weary, both physically and mentally. Routing the forces within the occupied ministry had cemented his opinion that this was a young man's game. Without the Dark Lord present, the hastily formed and executed plan had succeeded, though not without cost.

Once more Albus was reminded of the Great War, and just how many had perished therein. As headmaster, he'd known many of those fallen and injured on both sides since the tender age of eleven, both then and now. It was a tragic loss, and while they had retaken the country, the conflict had not yet run its course.

England had stabilized in the month since ousting Voldemort and his forces, but the government was a mess. Martial law was still enforced, giving acting Minister Bones unprecedented control over the country.

'Thank Merlin the woman was competent', he thought, and not for the first time. But it was a delicate balance, passing laws to weed out the corruption within the Wizengamot, and simultaneously preventing a sharp polarization of the population, which could possibly result in a full-fledged civil war.

Wizards feared change, much like muggles did. But for the purebloods, the potential repercussions were more dire. It represented a change in the status quo. A loosening of their hold on power.

And the possibility of retribution for slights committed over decades against the much more numerous 'impure' community.

The truly ancient man sat back in his chair and sighed.

Protests and counter-protests between groups supporting the pureblood agenda and those siding with the current, looser policies occurred daily, and often the inevitable clashes turned violent. Not for the first time Albus considered tabling a curfew if only to keep the rowdy masses in their homes, and safe from each other.

And so, instead of working through the growing pile of School-related documents, some of which were screaming for his attention, the Headmaster instead found himself flipping through the footnotes of what would turn into the topics for the upcoming Wizengamot meeting, acting in his official role of Supreme Mugwump instead.

That was, until a knock on the glass to his right caused the ink laden quill to still, a few millimeters from the parchment. His impressively bushy brows furrowed. Owls didn't have knuckles, last he checked.

Upon placing the feather back into the inkpot, he rose, opening the window with a flick of his wrist.

"Bonsoir, Headmaster," the young man hovering a few feet away greeted with a wave, the other hand firmly around the handle of the broom he was piloting, while his female companion nodded respectfully, sitting side-saddle behind him. "May we intrude?"

Almost automatically, he waved them in.

After receiving the unexpected 'guests' through his office window, they retired to the adjacent sitting room for tea. Dumbledore had a lot of questions, but the first one would also be his latest.

"Your arrival comes as a surprise." He pursed his lips, savoring the taste of the tea the house-elves had prepared. He'd needed the break anyway, if only for the sake of preventing another back spasm. His mind though, he feared, would be pushed to the limit for this conversation.

"How was it that you are able to bypass the wards without my knowledge?"

"Ah, yes. As much as I'd like to take credit for surprising you so, the answer to your question begins not with us, but a Hogwarts alumni, whose knowledge of the grounds allowed us entry through…" he looked towards Hermione for confirmation. "-the Ravenclaw quidditch stand?"; himself unfamiliar with the house system of the school.

She nodded in affirmation, pleased he had been paying attention during the trip here. Albus eyed the broom resting in the corner of the stone arch connecting his office to the adjacent space critically. This was no doubt one of Madam Hootch's practice brooms.

"You must have a very good relationship with this individual for him or her to reveal such sensitive information to you," Albus said dryly, not happy that the grounds had been accessed so easily.

"And on that note I must say, after the latest news, it comes as a surprise that you two…" he pointed first at Hermione, then Harry; "-are on such good terms."

Harry grinned widely, while Hermione colored slightly at the embarrassing memory. "People do stupid things for love." Was all the thief said, which was basically the same as admitting he loved her. Hermione was caught flat-footed at the comment, but his hand found hers and squeezed.

Dumbledore, for the first time, chuckled with mirth. "Wise words indeed, Mr. Potter. But nonetheless, I'd like to ensure Inspector Granger is under no compulsions."

Harry deferred to his companion, who nodded, giving the Headmaster permission to conduct the scan. Only upon casting his usual array of spells, and having them come back as negative, did he finally relax. Harry was being truthful. She was here under her own volition.

"Now, what brings you to frigid, damp Hogwarts? From what my sources tell me, you've been causing a bit of a stir in Cairo."

Again there was a reaction that could be interpreted as embarrassment, this time from both of them.

"Ahh, just a minor bump in the road." He tried to downplay the situation and the drastic steps that were required to remedy it. "Preventing Voldemort from acquiring the second Rosetta stone fragment, is all."

At this, the Headmaster's bushy white brows rose. "Is that so? A very reckless move, Harry. I trust you had a good reason to do so?"

The younger man leaned back, scratching around the wound the Headmaster no doubt knew about.

"Keeping potentially unknown and powerful magics from his grasp seems reason enough." He supplied, perhaps with a bit of cheek. "But if you must know, Voldemort was after the second fragment, and happened to be waiting for us when we arrived to take it."

"And then you blew him up?"

Harry looked up sharply, making eye contact. "And how would you know about that?"

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore leaned back, steepling his fingers on his lap. "I am trying to ascertain whether you are a threat, and should be allowed to remain in this school. My sources rely on anonymity to remain safe, and I am unwilling to divulge their identity or methods."

He took a sip of his tea. "What concerns me is the escalation of hostilities, and your methods specifically."

The Hare was outright frowning now.

"I realize we are here because of something in your possession but am perfectly willing to make do without it and search with what information I already have. I certainly don't answer to you, or have to justify my actions against a raving madman hell-bent on seeing me dead."

The previously cordial conversation now held some tense undertones. Dumbledore didn't wish to alienate the lad but still felt the need to condone the actions. While Albus had been busy indeed with the situation in England, Harry Potter and his baffling behavior, and more importantly, actions, were followed nonetheless with a great deal of interest. After all, it was the thief who had given them the opportunity to rout the Dark Lord and retake the country. Who knew what other opportunities he could gift them with?

Never the less, five lives had been lost in the desert last night. Two from prominent families, though the news was being kept under wraps. All that for a stone fragment.

He decided to drop the matter, confident his displeasure had been received.

"I take it you've uncovered the stone's secrets?"

Harry nodded hesitantly, but it was Hermione who explained. "The stone acts as a map, referencing the old kingdom's grid system and the civil calendar to produce a location which supposedly contained knowledge beyond compare."

"A roving destination," Albus muttered, grasping the nature of the site they sought almost immediately. It was incredibly complicated magics, long thought lost.

"You wish to see the second manuscript then?" his voice was calm, barely above a whisper.

"We do. The grids are immense in area, and unfortunately, records are sparse as to when exactly the Egyptian calendar correlates to our modern one."

"Meaning searching at multiple locations." He finished, beginning to understand the magnitude of their task. For a good long time, Dumbledore remained silent, processing, and also wondering about the nature of what it was that was hidden so well by the Ancient Egyptians.

Finally, there were the two youngsters themselves, seeking this mysterious trove of knowledge, as they described it.

"I shall allow you access to the Manuscript-," the much older man stated finally, but the phrasing was not lost on them. "-however, it comes with certain conditions."

Looking over the half-moon spectacles, he locked eyes with the thief, then the Inspector.

"Conditions?" Harry repeated warily, as he should be in these troubled times.

"Indeed. Seeking relics from the old world is always fraught with danger. I require your assurances that should you come across information in the Manuscript, a repeat of the British Museum does not occur."

Harry nearly flinched at the reminder of his rash decisions, and reckless use of such advanced magics. But it was not an unreasonable request by any stretch.

"Are there any more?" he stated in lieu of agreeing.

"Oh yes, most certainly. I will also need to insist on an Order escort. She has curse-breaking experience, and will hopefully keep you alive should your search bear fruit."

Harry's unease grew. "She?"

"Auror Tonks of course." Dumbledore smiled pleasantly, but inside he fought a battle to keep from laughing out loud. Their interactions with the Metamorph at the Madrid safe house had been highly amusing, and would no doubt vex the young thief. Or should he say, thieves?

"Bon Sang." Both swore, at which point their host cracked and chuckled merrily.

A/N: and so, the plot chugs along. We are getting closer to the finale, perhaps three or four chapters away, depending on how they are split. Thanks for reading.