She turned to meet his gaze, startled at how loud someone else's voice seemed in this small space. She didn't answer him right away and bit her lip again, suddenly filled with a fear that she had been wrong. What if he didn't hold any clues about her past; what if she had just let a complete stranger into her flat? She needed to be careful, find out what he knew without revealing too much about herself at first. She'd formulated a plan and a list of questions during their hike that would hopefully clear the situation somewhat and determine whether or not this gentleman could be trusted. Ironic, she thought, considering she'd already invited him in.

The kettle was slowly warming, a welcome change from the frigid outdoors, and she mentioned for him to take a seat before realizing that there was (of course) only one for the two of them. Noticing her faux pas, the man quipped: "Unless you'd like to share, I think I'll stand."

"Right," she responded with a blush, and then, with a deep breath, jumped in feet first.

"You mentioned my disappearance caused problems?"

The man looked at her like she was crazy. Maybe she was.

"Do you really need to ask," he scoffed finally. "One of Potter's best friends, the smart third of the Golden Trio goes missing, and you think there'd be no consequences? You know, I'm putting myself in danger just talking to you without reporting your location."

"And I'm grateful, really," she interceded, quickly trying to adjust to the cornucopia of information he delivered with just a single sentence. It didn't help that her emotions would suddenly surge in response to some words. Like "Potter". She felt an almost familial affection towards that name; a warmth and loyalty that she couldn't explain. It was as if a mental barrier had been erected in her mind, preventing her from understanding why this name meant so much, but not blocking the emotional bond she must have formed. An avenue to be explored.

"Can you just first tell me how he is?"

"Who, Potter?" A scowl crossed the blond's face after her quick nod. "As well as the Saviour can be. Everyone in the whole of wizarding Britain just begging to suck his… hmm, what I mean to say is he's been desperately looking for you. He came to my… are you ok?"

She quickly relaxed her fingers which had clenched the plastic tabletop with such force that it was bending. "I'm fine," she lied, trying to conceal the tremor in her voice. "Just a little cold still."

Had he said 'wizarding'?! Maybe she truly had gone insane or was this some novel slang? But why was her mind so inclined to believe him? Where did this confidence that he was sharing the truth with her come from? Another illogically emotional tether?

"You were saying...," she prompted.

The blond had paused, looking at her with suspicion, but then acquiesced.

"Well, he was at my interrogation. Apologized even, said he was sure it wasn't me, and then sat through the whole damn thing. Sanctimonious git. They're grasping at straws, and using the search as an excuse to haul in all the 'undesirables'. Which is why I should be telling them about you right now, instead of having a conversation in this muggle shack."

"Muggle?" The question was out of her mouth before she even realized what a tell it was. Damn her curiosity, but she really hated listening to terminology - or any subject, for that matter - on which she didn't have an acute grasp of. So much for being sneaky.

"Mug… did you just ask me what a muggle is?"

"No," she faltered, failing to find a convincing lie. "I meant…"

Her floundering was interrupted by the kettle's whistle, and she quickly busied herself with pouring the tea, thankful for the timely diversion.

"Earl Gray fine?"

"Yes."

"Good. I really don't have anything else," she confessed, handing him a plate with a steaming cup. "Sugar's on the table."

The man nodded, gingerly set his drink down with a distinctive clink, and then looked at her with a purpose.

"Granger, what's my name?"

He knew. She hugged her own cup with her fingers, seeking all the warmth that there was. She didn't want to admit to her own amnesia. She was scared. She still didn't know if she could trust the man, and was emotionally confused about him. Moreso, holding on to her secret meant she was in charge of the conversation. She was in control, if only for a tiny portion of her existence. She didn't have her memories, she'd forgotten her own identity, but at least she could direct a series of questions and answers. Now, even that would be lost, leaving her exposed and defenseless at the mercy of a man's whim. Would he tell her the truth then? Or would be try to take advantage, feed her lies, or even just leave and never come back? Give her the promise of healing, only to mercilessly rip it away moments later?

"Why… would you ask me that?" Her attempt at a distraction was as cringeful as it was impotent.

The man started ticking off fingers as he listed the reasons.

"You haven't called be my name even once. Your behavior is strange, the question about muggles is absurd, and you've been fishing for information all evening. You might think your acting is clandestine, but - and believe me when I say this - it's nothing compared to the schemes we wove down in Slytherin. So, and I want an honest answer, Granger, because I've been very forthcoming with you; I'll repeat: what is my name?"

Another wave of fear threatened to drown her. A weakness in her knees caused her to practically collapse into the cheap chair. The uncertainty of her near future was irrationally powerful, and she already hated herself for such a display of fragility.

"It's ok, Granger."

He said it softly, almost kindly. She looked up, astonished, hoping. Maybe he would help her, after all? She sighed, closing her eyes, focusing on her breathing.

In, out.

In, out.

In… out.

She would be fine. She's strong, and she'll get through this. And he will help her.

Then, filled with this unexpected yet oh so welcome reassurance, she told him everything.