Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of it's characters, plots, or anything else; they all belong to J.K. Rowling. Please don't sue. No money exchanged hands for this story, it was written for entertainment purposes only.

Four: Conversations

"Is she asleep?" Dumbledore asked. He, Lupin and Black were standing a few feet away from a cot bearing a small female figure. They were in the Hogwarts infirmary; the midday sun basking the room with warm, yet eerie white light.

"Asleep? Uh, —Well, yes, I suppose so…" Sirius began.

Lupin looked up sharply at his friend, "Unconscious, more like…" he smirked slightly before continuing, "Sirius knocked her out."

Sirius looked shocked, "Knocked her out! I did nothing of the sort. I couldn't very well have helped that she was twisting around like that –"

Lupin began to laugh, "Look Remus," Sirius continued, "she hit her own head on that wall, I had nothing to do with it!... Except, you know, I mean I did slip her the Sleeping Potion after she was out…"

Dumbledore cleared his throat, "All ethical ambivalence aside, what, exactly, do we know of the girl?"

Lupin decided it would be best for him to answer, as Sirius Black still looked mildly offended at the jest concerning the unconscious young woman lying before them. "We found her in a Death Eaters house, either forgotten, or more likely, not yet moved to the location that everything else was taken to. It's strange—magic wouldn't work on her, not charms, hexes, curses, nothing…"

Dumbledore interrupted "You tried a curse on her?" Sirius shrugged, unabashed, and answered for his friend, "Didn't work. But the potion did, for some reason, as you can see." He gestured to the girl's sleeping form. "From what we were able to gather, the Death Eaters were just as curious as to the girl's response to magic—or lack thereof, I should say. She was conscious long enough to tell us that they were doing some kind of experimentation on her –you understand, defense against another's magic could mean practical invincibility for Voldemort and his followers…"

Dumbledore waited for Sirius to continue, but Lupin interrupted, "And that's it, isn't it? You see, after a few minutes talking, answering our questions, she started perking up a little, asking questions of her own, getting a little worked up…"

Dumbledore nodded, knowingly, "Understandable for one who has been kidnapped and forcibly detained by servants of great evil."

"Yes," Lupin agreed, "And we couldn't really answer because a mind charm was out of the obvious to make her forget about everything, and she grew a little…displeased about our silence, a little –violent. Anyway, that was when Sirius got her to drink the Sleeping draught.

"I see." Dumbledore took a moment to take this all in. "And you have contacted the Ministry, my dear Lupin?"

"Yes, they agree that Hogwarts is the safest place for her. Or rather, they believe that it is the best chance of keeping her away from the Death Eaters, which could endanger Wizards; her safety seemed to be a secondary concern," he sniffed.

A muffled sound echoed from the bed before them, and they all directed their attention to the figure; she was waking.

"Good day," Dumbledore greeted her unnecessarily cheerfully, "how are you feeling?"

The girl in the bed looked stunned and groggy for a moment, before stiffly flexing her hands, limbs, and jaw, "I ---I feel like someone's jammed half a dozen rotten eggs into my cranium before force-feeding me all their sorry rotten relatives…"

The others in the room either did not hear this unique if not specific answer, but continued on in reassuring voices, although she did not continue responding.

"Who are you?"

"What are you?"

"Where are you from?"

"Can you walk?"

"Can you tell us your name, child?"

This annoyed her slightly; what did they think she was stupid? Of course she could tell them her name; it was just a matter of would she! And before she could stop herself, she broke her silence to retort, "Of course I know my own name, you twits, it's –" And here the girl paused for the longest second of her life, one that seemed to span all measure of time and place – what was her name?

She could remember things: what an apple is, the numerical value of Pi to the twentieth decimal, the taste of chocolate cake, the itch of grass on bare skin, the names of constellations, of animals, of objects and theories….but what was HER name? And why couldn't she remember?

Determined to prove her point and not let the strange men around her that she might have any weaknesses, she glanced around the room, her eyes landing on the dying fire in a near-by hearth, "Ember," she blurted out, "Ember Cherrywood," she named the composition of the near-by wood stack.

The others seemed satisfied with her response for the moment, and meandered off to let her sleep. But the girl was now wide awake. It didn't seem these people were the same as those who had hurt her. They didn't seem bad. Eccentric, perhaps, but not bad.

But what about her? Why was the memory of her name gone? She dreaded probing deeper into her own thoughts, but eventually she tried to remember. And she couldn't. Not anything. Nothing at all that would distinguish her from any other human being in the wide world; not names, faces, events, people, or feelings.

She knew facts and ideas…and nothing more. She glared at the closed door, scared, angry, and frightened: who was she?