Alright, so this is my first story, so be gentle with me. I'll try to upload more chapters as quickly as possible, and I already know how this story ends.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter characters. They're all from J.K. Rowling's genius imagination.

Lights. All around me. Bright lights and figures bustling about, mumbling words in low voices. I squint, opening my eyes into small slits, but even after bracing myself for the light, it burns my retinas and I raise my arms to shield myself. When I move there's a sharp pain in my shoulders and I gasp, dimly aware that the voices cease and the room suddenly goes still. As I become accustomed to the light I open my eyes wider, careful to keep from moving; I don't want to find out by trial and error if I have any more injuries.

Once I can see, I gasp again, aware that there are six pairs of eyes on me, emotions ranging from worried, surprised, stoic, angry, happy. But it's not their eyes that capture me. It's their faces. I know every person in the room, despite the fact that I haven't met one of them in my life.

"Where am I?" I mumble, irritated to find my throat scratchy and dry.

"In a safe place," one answers. His thick British accent confirms my suspicions and my eyes widen like saucers.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Remus Lupin."

He pauses, allowing me to gasp again as a wave of dizziness washes over me. This can't be real. This isn't real. I'm dreaming. I've hit my head really really hard, and I'm dreaming.

"I can assure you, Katarina, that you are not dreaming." The person is calm, with a somber yet excited tone. Almost as if he's happy to see me… I turn my head toward the person behind the voice to see Albus Dumbledore smiling at me.

"Oh my god." The fact that I've just spoken my thought is irrelevant as I internally label the other four people in the room: Severus Snape, Sirius Black, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"How—how did I end up here?" I ask. I'm not complaining. I feel like I just got every Christmas present I'd ever want for the rest of my life, but I'm immensely confused. I'm not supposed to be in London. I'm supposed to be in the United States, packing up for my first year of college.

Dumbledore's brow furrows as his smile melts slowly from his face, blue eyes twinkling. "You don't remember." It's not a question, but I search my memory anyways.

The last thing I remember is sitting in the car with a few of my friends, driving home from a concert. My memory goes fuzzy for a moment before I grip the edge of the table I'm laying on, knuckles white.

Clamping my eyes shut against the pain, I feel the rest of my face scrunch as I will myself not to burst into tears. But it's very hard to stay calm, because now, now I remember.

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