A/N: Harry and Co. is not mine! But, the plot…or what I'd like to call…Harry's Predicament… is mine. Hehe, this chapter was rather fun to write. This is quite a long chapter, but oh well. Thanks to all of my reviewers; I write for you guys!

Blackness…that was all Harry Potter could see. Comfortable warmth covered him from his neck to his toes as he lay there, on his right side. Harry opened his eyes, and a blurred, blue image came into view, as well as a little night stand close to his head. He was very thankful that the bright sun light from outside was covered by the blue curtains …WHAT? What curtains? What happened! What the--!

Harry's eyes widened as panic and fear flooded through him. He found his head resting on an unfamiliar blue pillow case, and he was wrapped in a blue comforter. He sat up quickly; his heart pitter--pattered painfully against his ribs, while his breath came in short gasps. His hand darted to the little table, bumping the wooden stick atop it making it roll a little to the side. Harry picked up his round glasses and hurriedly put them on.

His head swiveled and his eyes darted around the blue and wooden room. He was sitting, back rigid; wide eyed, on a four--poster bed with dark blue canopy and hangings that were currently pulled back. The polished wood flooring was covered with bits of ginger hair in various spots, as well as in the little wicker basket with plush lining next to the bed. The walls were painted a periwinkle blue, which complimented the curtains. The curtains were a light blue, making it look like the unsteady surface of the ocean as a light breeze blew in. The room was rather empty, except for the closed wardrobe, which was in the far right corner from Harry's position, and the night stand. The door straight ahead that led from the bedroom and into…where ever it led to…was made of oak and the golden door knob was in the shape of a lions' head.

"Where the bloody hell…am I?" whispered Harry to nobody; his eyes frantically looking for something familiar to help him remember where he was. Then, all of a sudden, memories flooded back to him in the blink of a green eye. The overly white hospital--the scar--the bandage--Ron and Hermione--the bloody field--the mirror exploding--being a murderer and a wizard--

"Oh no…" said Harry in a hushed voice, panic overtaking him.

"No…I can't have lost my memory again…could I? No...'cause if I did, then I wouldn't have remembered…" He stopped his muttering when he heard something from outside of the door. His hand instantly flew to the little table to his right, and grasped the thin stick of wood that lay there. Harry suddenly realized what he did, and looked down at the…wand. Why did I think a stick could help me? What would I do with it? Stick it up the intruders' nose or something? I'm not a wizard! Wait…up an intruder's nose…that sounds familiar…

The noise became a little louder; someone was walking outside. The sound of the persons' footfalls suggested that they wore some kind of boots, which Harry could hear very clearly because he was holding his breath and straining his ears. He began to see white spots and stars appear before his green eyes, so he quickly gasped in air.

The person outside stopped suddenly, just behind the door. Potter, you gave your position away because you gasped! What did Moody tell you about stealth! Wait…who's Moody…?

The doorknob turned; the lions' head was now turned sideways. Harry's eyes widened; he had no idea who was about to enter the room. He threw off the blanket and sprang up to his feet; his grip tightened on his wand.

The door opened a little; the hinges squeaked ever so slightly. The suspense nearly killed Harry, not knowing if the person was playing with his fears or if they were armed or…

"I--I'm armed…don't come in!" Harry shouted in a hard, commanding voice. He raised his wand over his head, intending to hit the intruder over the head with it if they came towards him. The door stopped opening, and a females' voice reached his ears.

"Harry…it's me; Hermione Granger," yelled the voice. Harry's raised arm fell to his side, hitting his leg. He let out his held breath as every muscle in his body loosened. At least I know her. But…didn't she do something to me in that hospital to make me see those…flashes?

"Come in," he said; his voice still hard as his eyes remained locked on the door. The door creaked open a bit more and Hermione's face poked through the opening.

"I thought you were going to hex me," she said, flicking her chin towards Harry's wand. He looked down at the wand, then back up to her

"I told you already…I can't hex anyone. I'm not a wizard," he said, giving her an icy look. Hermione opened the door all the way, eyes still locked with his, and walked in. Her left hand was balancing a sliver tray supporting toast and jam and a glass of orange juice.

"I came to drop this off, so when you woke up you could eat," said Hermione walking into the room; her boots clicked against the floor. Harry noticed that she wasn't dressed in a robe this time, but was wearing jeans and a long sleeved shirt with her hair pulled back. But, there were four things odd about her casual outfit. (A) A leather gun holster--type thing was strapped around her waist, but instead of carrying a gun, it held a wand. (B) Her jeans had huge rips in the knees and ground in dirt was all over the denim. (C) Her right sleeve was singed to a short sleeve, but her arm had no markings of a burn. (D) Her boots were made of sturdy, rough, black material, which the rounded point and sides were crusted with a dark liquid that could have been blood.

Hermione walked around Harry and sat the tray down on the night stand. She turned around to face Harry and looked up at him with her dark eyes.

"Please sit down Harry," she said gently, gesturing towards the bed. Harry sat down, but kept a cautious eye on Hermione. She let an exhausted sigh escape her lips and sat down next to Harry. With her sitting on his left side, Harry could examine the burned sleeve of her shirt more carefully.

"Death Eaters and dragons," she said, looking down at her sleeve. Harry's brow frowned and his grip tightened on his wand. White masks…green light. Fire…black scales…flying through the air. His heart began to beat harder, and the more he stared at her charred shirt, the more he felt gooseflesh crawl along his skin.

Suddenly, he was high up in the air. The wind felt so good against his hot and sweaty skin. His gloved hands gripped his broomstick as he flew towards a giant, grey stoned castle; Hogwarts schoolSuddenly, he heard a great roar from an angry beast from behind. He turned around on his broomstick and looked into the face of a dragon; a Hungarian Horntail dragon. Harry took in its long teeth and black scales, which shined slightly in the overcast light. Its' large, black leathery wings, pumping harder to get closer to him, loomed over Harry like the midnight sky. Within the depths of its' gigantic mouth, a fiery glow made its' way to the top of its' mouth. Suddenly, a roaring fire erupted inside of the dragons' mouth, and was sent towards Harry—

"They are supporters of Voldemort, and they stole dragons to help with succeeding with…with their task," said Hermione slowly. Hermione's voice broke through his…daydream…bringing him back to the present. Harry blinked a couple times, and then looked over at Hermione. She was looking straight ahead, at the blue curtain; her eyes unfocused. Did she…did she really turn me crazy? I'm actually starting to doubt that. Then…am I just going insane? Was I insane before I lost my memory?

Hermione looked back over at Harry; her warm eyes showed pain and sorrow. Harry looked back up into her dark eyes. He stared into them as he tried to remember who Voldemort was, and trying to push the dragon out of his mind. I killed him. I killed him…whoever he was. But could she and that Ron Weasley…been lying to me, like they were about me being a wizard? Or maybe…no! I can't be a--a wizard! Harry didn't believe that he was at all magical (the word sounded funny when associated with him), but somewhere in the back of his mind told him that Voldemort was…different…and a--

"A murderer," Harry whispered, turning away from Hermione. He tried and tried to remember, but all he got was…screaming and hot pain…green light…and death.

"Why am I here?" Harry asked suddenly, quickly turning back to Hermione. She was startled by his suddenly movement, but she didn't get a chance to answer.

"Where is 'here'? What is the…Death Eaters'…task? Who exactly are you? Who is…Voldemort?" Harry whispered the dark name with such urgency and craving, it scared Hermione; it was evident from the expression on her face. Hermione took a deep breath and answered his questions.

"You are here…because Healer Jones thought it best that you should try to regain your memory as soon as possible, and with someone that knows you and your experiences."

"This is my house," she swept her hand through the air in a wide motion, "and my bedroom. I just moved in here a few days ago. And by 'here'…we are in a remote part of Ireland."

"I am Hermione Jane Granger," she said, looking into Harry's eyes with sadness and longing, "We were best friends back at Hog--at school." Well…that explains why I felt something different towards her in the hospital; she was my friend. Hmm…Hermione Jane Granger…that's a nice name. It sounds kinda familiar now that I think about it. What did she mean by Hog? Did she mean Hogwarts, but thought against mentioning it?

"You still didn't answer two of my questions," said Harry; a hungry fire burning in his green eyes and his voice thick with sudden emotion. His fingers shakily slid along the dark handle of the stick, and his knuckles whitened as he nervously gripped it. Hermione looked down at his hands; a hint of fear and nervousness flickered in her eyes.

"I need to know…" pleaded Harry; his voice softening a bit, "Who are the Death Eaters and Voldemort? What is their 'task'?"

A/N: And…I'll stop right there! Hope this chapter was okay. If you have any questions, please tell me. But, they will most likely be answered in the next chapter. Bye for now:P