Disclaimer: The complicated: The only Harry Potter related thing I own is the Gryffindor scarf I crocheted and wore for Halloween (dressed as Hermione. Yes, it's true). Well, that and all the books... and the movies... and the Ravenclaw scarf... and a random twig I pronounced as a wand. erm...I'm really quite normal, I promise. The simple: I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N; Okay party people, you better be reading this little note or else you won't understand what's going on. Well, maybe you will. You all seem like highly intelligent people, but just humor me, 'k? All right then. The Amnesiac (this is now his official title courtesy Astrianna Glaze) returns in this chapter, but I'm going to work his plotline in with the current one between Draco and Hermione. So, my division markers signify a transfer to (or ending of) the Amnesiac. Are we good? Good. Let's cross our fingers and hope for the best, eh?

"Just shut up."

And that is when Draco Malfoy, general scum of the earth, kissed me.

I know. I thought it was disgusting too. And not to mention completely out of the blue.

I pushed him away as hard as I could, and began furiously wiping the back of my sleeve across my mouth.

My world had suddenly become very, very small. Exactly what had just happened here?

...Oh, that's right. Malfoy. Kissing me.

I'm sorry, my mind does not accept or grasp this. Advanced Arithmancy? Sure. Apparating without a wand? Any day of the week. This? Not so much.

I chanced a glance at him, he was now standing by the wall opposite to the one I was using for sole support. Strangely enough he looked as shocked and disgusted as I felt, not to mention incredibly...

Pale. (What, did you think I was going to say he looked good?)

I eyed him suspiciously and then started in on him:

"What the hell kind of game are you playing at, Malfoy!" I paused to wipe at my mouth again and then continued my tirade, "I mean, for God's sake! People just don't go around kissing people they've openly despised for a decade! Not... I mean -- No. Just no."

I shook my finger at him. As if that would help.

o o o

My days are filled with uncertainty, exposing myself to a world that doesn't know me... and even worse yet I don't know it.

I feel sometime not so long ago I believed in magic. Maybe that time was when I was a child. Kids believe in magic, right? I'm asking because I don't know.

It was morning, the beginning of a brand new day. A new day full of possibilities I was completely blind to. Possibilities don't exist for those who are unable to even remember their name.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, light splaying across the hardwood floor through the paned window over the sink. As I sat, I willed myself to remember something... anything. Anything besides the one word that was forever running itself through my thoughts: "magic."

I was staying with a couple, Emeline and Dwight Creighton, now that I had been officially released by the hospital. They had been the ones who had found me in the first place, or so I'm told.

Emeline was slightly heavy-set and middle aged, with wavy blonde hair that fell just past her chin. Dwight, a slender bloke with thinning sandy brown hair who looked a great deal older than his wife but, in actuality, was a few years younger; his skin looked as if it were permanently tanned from the sun since he spent his days outside for work.

Emeline was cooking breakfast for us all when I decided to ask a question that had been building up inside of me for what seemed ages,

"Emeline, do you... erm, do you believe in... well, magic?"

She turned from the stove, smiled sweetly at me and answered as if she were talking to an eight year old, "Oh, aren't you just the most adorable thing?"

I knew then I wouldn't be able to take her reply seriously. I needed a factual answer. I needed proof if I was wrong or not. I needed to know.

I listened to her answer me anyway. She was still speaking fondly to me, "Dear, I haven't believed in that sort of thing for such a long time."

She turned back to frying the eggs.

I inwardly sighed and let my line of vision drop to the table top.

She asked me if I would like some orange juice while I waited.

I replied as politely as I could manage, "Oh, no. Thank you anyway."

She gave me a sympathetic look and questioned, "Still not having any luck with that head of yours?"

I fought the sudden urge to laugh. Of course I wasn't "having any luck," the only thing I couldn't understand was why. The doctors at the hospital said it could happen any day; something would trigger a memory buried in my subconscious and then the rest would simply follow. Only it had been over four months and not a single thing exuded any form of familiarity. The doctor had also found it odd I didn't remember things about "society" in general. Apparently most memory-loss patients seemed to retain that kind of information, but I'll also bet most memory-loss patients didn't have the word "magic" constantly pulling at their attention.

o o o

Malfoy looked at me incredulously. He raised a hand to his lips, and then quickly dropped his hand to his side. He sort of had the whole deer-in-the-headlights look going on. I found this to be completely unfair. After all, he was the one that had just made a sexual move on me. Not to mention it was an entirely unwanted sexual move.

My gaze and thoughts changed from suspicious to apprehensive. I briefly hoped whatever it was that was wrong with him wasn't catching.

I cleared my throat, wondering if he was going to respond to me or just stand there like an idiot for another ten minutes.

After another moment or so I was becoming slightly irritated. Then it occurred to me I didn't have to be there.

Why was I still there?

I began slowly, "Uh, Malfoy? I don't know if you're having some sort of mental breakdown over there, but--"

He sunk slowly to the ground, resting his head on his knees. I chose to ignore this action and continued,

"But I certainly have better ways to spend my time than staring at you. Especially after you tried coming on to me."

He looked up at me, his eyes guarded and slightly hidden behind a fringe of his platinum blonde hair.

"Which, I do not think I even want an explanation for. Don't feel obligated to give it another thought. I--I just... Look, I just don't care. Okay?"

He sighed and closed his eyes. I guessed that meant he had decided to ignore me.

"Well, okay," I continued, rather feeling as if I were talking to the wall, "I'm going to go now. I'll... uh... see you later or something. Or not. You know, whatever."

And after my rather articulate speech I simply turned around and headed back to my chambers, any thought of dinner long since abandoned.

Once I reached my quarters, I passed directly through the sitting room into my bedroom and flopped onto my bed, letting out an irritated scream into my burgundy pillow. Feeling slightly better, I shifted so I could reach the drawer of my bedside table, pulling it open and pulling out that piece of parchment I'd read so many times. That's right, Fred's final letter to me.

Somehow I always expect it will say something different... It never does. Just like how the past isn't going to change either.

He had wanted me to continue on with my life. Was I truly doing so, or was I still running away from everything?

I sighed, placing the letter back into its home; after doing so I slowly rolled over on the bed, resigning myself to simply staring at the ceiling, psychoanalyzing Malfoy and his actions.

It was going to be a long night.

o o o

When I was still in the hospital one of my nurses, Anne, suggested I choose a name for myself.

Initially I thought the idea rather novel, but after pondering it for... oh, about five minutes, I decided I really didn't want the job of giving myself a name. I told her just as much too.

She had only smiled at me and replied, "Well, if that's how it's going to be, I'll just have to come up with a name for you myself."

To which I replied, "Feel free, dear Anne."

She stood at the foot of my hospital bed, as if she were sizing me up. Coming to a decision after a few moments, she stated, "Ryan."

And so they call me Ryan.

I don't have to hear anyone speak "my" name to know it feels wrong. Everything feels wrong. I just can't pinpoint why.

I would give anything if I were able to pinpoint why.

They call me Ryan.

...I'll never be Ryan.

o o o

Meanwhile Draco Malfoy was still sitting up against the wall outside the Great Hall, which had earned him more than just a few curious looks from the students who'd managed to finish dinner early. No one dared bother him though, having learned only to approach the Professor if he said something first:

I started, as if breaking out of some trance. What had I just done? And why the hell was I on the floor?

Then with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach I remembered, only to instantly wish I'd been able to retain my momentary memory lapse.

I fought back the urge to gag. This was horrible.

What was I supposed to do now?

Before I'd had the upper hand with Granger. Before I'd been able to push her buttons, and revel in the knowledge that there was nothing she could do in retaliation. But now... now she had something on me. And this wasn't just any something; this was serious.

My mind began to race. Would she believe me if he told her I'd been under the Imperious curse? No, that was no good... there wasn't anyone in the school who would even bother to waste their time on me, let alone to make me do something so bizarre.

Why had I kissed her?

Perhaps because I was completely entranced with her?

Well, there was always that.

Merlin, would there be hell to pay tomorrow -- hell to pay tonight.

Life just never seemed to let up...

I hadn't been out on the grounds of Hogwarts the previous night with the intent of catching anyone out after hours.

I had ventured outside simply to gain some sort of peace of mind, to escape the castle with its infernal memories that sideswiped me every single time I let my guard down just the slightest bit. It was odd how I found myself slipping up so often especially since I had been raised to always be on guard, always be in control (or if I wasn't, to at least pretend I'd planned it that way).

Maybe this was what it was like to be old. But who was I kidding? I was only twenty years of age; idyllically I should have dozens of years left to live.

It was more probable that maintaining the façade that was my life was becoming something a bit too much to keep up when I couldn't devote all my time and efforts to constructing it.

Now I was busy with my Potions classes; planning lessons, correcting homework. It was all so simple. It was what it appeared to be. When was the last time anything in my life ever been so straightforward?

And it was times like those when my mind was simply elsewhere, I would unwittingly let the façade slip, and I was just myself.

And it scared the hell out of me.

I'd kept the front up for so long it had simply become easier to believe that that was who I was: a cold and unfeeling aristocratic pureblooded wizard who didn't have to explain himself to anyone, even himself. It had been the air I'd presented to the world, and they'd accepted it as reality. And it was now systematically crashing in around me.

I had been pondering precisely that as I slowly made my way past the Whomping Willow, with the intent of visiting the lake.

I had stopped a few feet away from the tree, simply staring out into the tangled forest just beyond it, attempting to clear my head of any coherent thought whatsoever. That is until something rather strange caught my attention. It was almost as if I had heard something --someone-- gasp.

I broke out of my reverie, eyes darting to an open space where I was almost positive I'd heard the noise come from. Well, there was certainly nothing there now, or was there?

My mind was left with only one name running through it: Granger.

Much like her name was still running through my thoughts. Only now it was for an entirely different reason; well, mostly anyway.

A/N: Well, that seemed to read out fairly decent. Incorporating amnesiacs can be tricky work. ;) Hope you enjoyed it. More Amnesiac to come in the next chapter.

Reviewers, have I mentioned lately just how happy those lovely little comments you leave mean to me! They really do make my day, and I thank you so, so much for leaving them!

Astrianna Glaze: I just realized I misspelled your s/n last time; how's that for gratitude, hm? My sincere apologies. Anyway... yes, angsty D/Hr... I've been known to do it in the past and it can get pretty ugly... in, you know, a totally wonderful way. I'm not committing either way on this fic so far though. I just won't:) Well, you pretty much covered your bases with your thoughts on him kissing her. But why did he truly do it? I think we should keep in mind that, as a general rule, it's never a good idea to trust a Malfoy. Or is it:) I hope you enjoyed the Amnesiac, I sure enjoyed writing his bits, if only for the angst factor. Thanks for the review!

Ydnas5: Thank you so much! Yes, it was my first cliffhanger and I rather enjoyed it! But, as you see, I didn't take forever to update, so hopefully you, as a reader, can find it in your heart to forgive me :) And what is Malfoy up to? He's such a sneaky little (well, not exactly little... but definitely something) pureblood. Yeah, that's the Amnesiac in all of his empty-headed glory. He's so cute. :)

cutemara: Hello new reviewer! Thanks for the review and the add to your favorites list!

screwtheperfectlife: Thanks for reading and reviewing!

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