By the time October rolled around, there was little to no communication between the trio. They moved from place to place, set their tent, placed the wards, and hoped for a breakthrough. Ron had completely drawn into himself, clutching their wireless radio to his chest while listening to the names of the witches and wizards that were dead or had gone missing. Harry was angry because progress wasn’t being made. They were at a standstill, and he was restless. Hermione was exasperated, and depressed. She had read all the books in their possession more times than even she thought was possible, and she was unable to gain any new insights. Every minute that passed, she grew more and more frustrated with the memory of Albus Dumbledore. He gave them nothing to work off of except a series of cryptic gifts, and past memories he shared with Harry. Wearing a piece of dark magic, even in turns, had taken its toll on the three.