A flash of green, and a shout of words. A blonde boy fell as a jet of red light hit him. A screaming girl tried to run at the man who had fired the spell, but she was held back by the arms of a crying boy with ginger-colored hair.

Hermione awoke in a bed that she did not remember lying down in. She looked around the room, which the bed was located in, and decided that it was a bedroom. The pretty girl — she could not exactly be called pretty according to normal standards - had quite bushy, curly brown hair that hung loosely about her face. Brown eyes that could transform themselves into the most will-breaking puppy dog stare if need be, and feminine — yet lacking in shape — willowy figure. Still, she had an air about her that made her light a room as no blonde-haired woman could. She sat up and looked about the place that she found herself mysteriously located. The room had a soft, motherly tone about it; there were yellow daisy-patterned bedclothes and wallpaper, and the walls had a coat of fresh, rather than stiff, white paint on them. Nevertheless, although the room was quite pretty, it bothered Hermione that she did not know who the room belonged to, or if she even, knew the person to whom it belonged. Deciding that it would be a good idea to roam the house a bit — she may receive some notion of where she was — as she had a dire need to relieve herself, Hermione began to climb out of the bed. She sat up, stretched, and was just about to place her right foot onto the plush, white carpet, when she had a startling revelation—she couldn’t remember anything.

She knew her first name of course, and she remembered being a witch, but aside from that, she realized that she knew nothing about herself — or her past. Just as she was about to go into a panic, a short, matronly sort-of woman popped her head through the door. Seeing that Hermione was awake, she continued into the room. She was a pretty woman — in her own way, that is. She looked to be in her mid-thirties; her hair was beginning to gray slightly at the temples. She was of average height, hovering near five-foot seven, and had a pleasantly plump figure. She looked the part of fierce mother who would do anything for her children. However, she also had an air about her that made a body know that, if you were starving on the roadside, she would take you into her home — even if you were here gravest foe. She bustled toward Hermione, tidying the room as she walked, and humming to herself. She stopped at the bedside, looked down on the young girl, and smiled. “Well now,� the kindly woman began, "I was beginning to worry that you weren’t going to wake at all; you’ve been sleeping for nearly two days!�

There was a moment of silence. I suppose she expects me to say something. But what? Hermione thought to herself. She decided discovering her location would be the best way to go at this point. “Um, thank you for taking me into your home and allowing me to sleep here, and, not to sound rude but, where am I? Who are you?� the quite confused witch asked her benefactor.

“Oh! Where are my manners! My name is Galena, Galena Misokovitch. I found you and the young man in my field nearby. I was outside checking to see if any early apples had come in. You see, my husband died a couple of years ago, and I have to do everything that the hired men do not. There weren’t any apples, so I turned around, and there he was, laying there to the left of my tree. I almost didn’t see him for the grass, but his hair contrasted to it,� the woman explained. Taking a breath, she went on, "You were laying about ten feet from him, tears staining your face. I felt so bad for you both; so I decided to put the both of you up in here.�

“Boy? What boy?� Hermione asked.

“I suppose she must mean me.� Hermione gasped; standing before her was one of the most attractive boys she had ever seen. He was tall, muscular, but not too much so. He looked to be around the age of seventeen — she couldn’t be sure, though. He had silver-blond hair that caught the eye and made him stand out -just as Galena had stated. Although these things were all striking in and of themselves, his eyes were by far the most piercing of all the features that he owned. They were of a greenish-silvery hue, swirling in all of their majesty. The boy grinned when he caught her staring at him. Hermione quickly blushed, lowering her eyes.

Glancing between the two, a knowing look in her eyes, Galena broke the awkward silence. “Yes, this is the boy. Do you two not know each other?� she asked in a confused tone as she sat down on the bed nest to Hermione.

“No, I-I’ve never seen him before,� replied Hermione.

“Nor I, her,� the boy confirmed.

“Well, that is odd. You are both magical, are you not?� Galena questioned; her eyes clearly showing that she was trying to piece everything in this mystery together.

Hermione and the boy exchanged looks; should they admit that to her? They seemed to decide with their eyes that they should, but Hermione was the one to speak. “Yes, but, are you a witch?� she questioned the woman apprehensively.

“Of course I am, dear! How else would I possibly guess that the two of you are?� Galena reasoned.

Reddening, the two teenagers realized what a foolish question they had asked. “Well,� the boy began, but drifted off.

“Well, I suppose I’ll go whip up some breakfast for the both of you while you become reacquainted,� their matron decided. She stood up of the bed, straightened her apron with her slightly pudgy hands, smiled, and walked out of the room.

“I’m Draco,� the boy began confidently, holding his long, thin — but not sickeningly so — hand for her to shake.

“Hermione,� the young witch replied in a somewhat faltering voice, shaking his hand as she did so. Draco sat down next to her on the bed. Hermione’s ears went red as she cleared her throat to cover the silence. She was worried that neither of them would say anything, and then one of those awkward silences would happen. Draco took care of that, though.

“How do you suppose we’re supposed to know each other?� he asked, the silver in his eyes swirling about.

“I-I don’t know,� Hermione answered, eyes downcast and blushing.

How can I make her feel at ease? Draco wondered, standing as he began to pace the area with normal, yet strong strides. He had a striking gait, which, despite his efforts, did not make Hermione feel more at ease. Rather, she felt flushed, shy, and inadequate in the area of flirting. Upon seeing her distraught face, he chuckled.

“What’s so funny?� the girl asked indignantly; Hermione was not a girl who appreciated feeling as though she were the butt of a joke — especially when it was this boy laughing at her.

“Nothing,� Draco managed to say between chuckles. “It’s just, why are you so uncomfortable around me? You have no reason to be.�

“I’m not uncomfortable around you!� Hermione declared, even as she blushed further still. “I just don’t see what there is to talk about! We don’t even know each other, we have no past experiences to speak of, or present circumstances that are interesting enough to discuss!� she finished in a flurry, pulling her curly brown hair back into a loose ponytail.

Draco chuckled softly, looking at the girl with eyebrows raised. “You don’t find being found in a field of a complete stranger—for unexplainable reasons—taken into her home, and waking up to find that you and a boy—apparently a former acquaintance—barely remember who you are, interesting?�

Hermione looked down sheepishly, the blush creeping around her entire face and neck now, then back up at Draco, her brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears. The boy was quite taken aback; what he said had been in jest. Immediately feeling sorry for the attractive — slightly, that is — girl, he made to sit himself down on the bed. Receiving no objection from Hermione, he went through with it, adjusting his body as close to her as he dared. “How then, if neither of use remember anything—and Galena obviously doesn’t even know who we are, let alone our past—how are we supposed to figure out what to do?� whispered Hermione.

“I don’t know,� Draco replied in the same, hushed, tone, taking her soft, white hand in his rough one, “I don’t know, but we’ll figure out something — together.�