Tick, tick, tick. A sound of a clock was getting his attention. Dragging him from the dark abyss of night. The ticking reminded him to drive forward and away from the voices echoing from his past. They called to him to follow, and yet he could hear the ticking, the constant drone of a clock. The next sound though was a moan, low, almost a growl. This was not part of the dream however, it was him. He was moaning out in pain.

A pain.

A very sharp pain. Moving his arm from it's place next to him, the man winced. There was little he could feel at that moment other than pain. The feeling of his skin burning, of the ripped parts of his flesh still sore in certain places. There was such a tension in his arms that he couldn't seem to shake it was as if he had been in one place for a long time.

A pool of light fell onto the sleeping man who winced. If there was a pain he felt before this he could hardly remember it. Then again, he couldn't remember anything. When his eyes opened, like swollen slits the man tried to focus on his blurry surroundings. It was hard to see where he was but he knew that he didn't know it.

Focusing on the place he was resting he looked about but the turning of his neck muscles strained him tremendously. Wincing once more he groaned a little before sitting up and trying to keep himself from crying out in agony. It appeared that his leg was all bandaged up. "Broken," he croaked as he realized whoever was watching over him had been taking great care over him. But who would do such a thing?

"Hello?" He called out to the nothingness. The room was filled with all sorts of odd equipment and he couldn't seem to makeout what they consisted of, then again nothing was making much sense to him at the moment. When he went to ruffle his hair, he felt a searing pain, a deep gash had found it's self a home on his forehead and into the side of his scalp. "Bloody hell what did I do...?"

It was lunch time and Ringo Cavendar had just finished eating his sandwich.  He had just finished cleaning off his plate and putting things away when he thought he heard a noise from his extra room.  Putting the cup in his hand down, Ringo went over to the door to the room.  Opening it up, he poked his head into the room.  As he looked to the fold-out couch bed (given to him by his mother), Ringo saw the man he’d found the previous night was awake.

“Good to see you awake. You didn’t look so good last night when I found you. Left in some alley in Hogsmeade. Oh! And let me go get some more potions for you. I bet you don’t feel so good right now.” Ringo left the room for a minute and returned with a couple of bottles, which he placed on a table beside the couch bed.

“You definitely look better than last night. I’ve got a friend who is a healer, and she helped patch you up. We figured it would be better to keep you here than transport you to St. Mungos somehow.”  As he said this, Ringo poured the motions into two small plastic cups, then placed a bottle of Fire Whiskey on the table as well.

“Think you can sit up at all and take these potions? They’ll help with the healing and the pain. And some Fire Whiskey to help with the pain as well.”

Ringo sat down in a chair and paused to think if there was anything else he needed to get for the man.  Then, he realized the gentleman probably didn’t know who he was, and was also most likely confused at the moment.

“Oh, and my name is Ringo. Do you by any chance know what happened to you? Or who happened to you.  Seems like someone had something against you.  Though I suppose another important question is if there is anyone I should contact.  There are probably a few worried people out there. And one more question. Is there anything else I can get you?”

Ringo felt bad for asking the man so many questions.  But these were pretty important.  He was also curious as to who the man was and why he was beat up and left for dead hidden in Hogsmeade.  Now, Ringo sat and waited for the man to answer, hoping he’d be able to answer the questions.

Ask and ye shall receive... or something like that. There was no familiar face opening the strange door, nothing that jogged the memory which wouldn't allow him to remember where he was or worse yet who he was. No instead the person on the other end was a rather chattery bloke who bombarded him with questions.

The man tried to respond to the boy, but he couldn't seem to get a word in edge wise. Before he had a chance to give him an adequate answer to any of the questions the boy vanished from view. Bringing up a scraped up right hand he rubbed his right eye vigorously hoping to see better. A fail if he ever witnessed one, he was now seeing spots out of that eye.

The young man re-entered carrying what appeared to be bottles filled with a lot of things he wanted no part of. What was it about people who were helping you wanting to make you feel better with things that only made you feel worse. It was like the bone mending potion that tasted like someone melted plastic with liquid death. A disgusting pasty combination he wanted to avoid.

He coughed a little and wiped his lips, "If this is better I hate to see what I looked like last night." The voice that left his lips sounded like something he heard before and yet everything felt like he was standing outside of himself watching as the room spun. Tenderly he touched the gash again knowing full well this mark was the cause of his troubles. "Found me in an alley you say, that is not good..." The man wondered how he got there, it was an odd situation indeed.

Looking at the potions he sighed, "How about we skip those potions and stick with the whiskey." He didn't like the idea of St. Mungos which he seemed to know about but he couldn't recall why or if he had been there. He knew about much of his world it was looking inward that he failed at.

The boy introduced himself and he went to do the same and fell silent. Pausing for a moment he took a deep labored breath, "Well Ringo I wish I could tell you an answer to any of your questions, sadly I find myself lacking the ability to pull it from my memory. Not even sure what my name is at the moment if you can believe it," he hardly could himself. It was ridiculous a man falling into such a state and in the care of a complete stranger. "Though may I start by saying thank you for what I can only assume is a great burden for putting a stranger up in your home." That was a great trait to have, kindness, he felt deep in his own heart that he failed at that somehow.

"If this is better I hate to see what I looked like last night.  Found me in an alley you say, that is not good..."

“No, not good at all... I wouldn’t want to know what might have happened had I not found you...” Ringo paused for a moment. He didn’t enjoy the thought of this man having been injured so bad.  In fact, he didn’t enjoy any thoughts of anyone being so hurt. “Anyways...”

"How about we skip those potions and stick with the whiskey."

Ringo couldn’t help but let out a laugh as the man.  Taking the whiskey, he opened it up and handed it to his ‘patient’.  Perhaps if he was in the same position, Ringo would just want the whiskey too.  Some of those potions weren’t that tasty, and Ringo could only guess that the man was thinking about that too.  Even if they made you better faster, they could have at least tried to make them taste better too.

"Well Ringo I wish I could tell you an answer to any of your questions, sadly I find myself lacking the ability to pull it from my memory. Not even sure what my name is at the moment if you can believe it.  Though may I start by saying thank you for what I can only assume is a great burden for putting a stranger up in your home."

Frowning, shifted in his seat.  This wasn’t good, especially since he couldn’t remember his name. And Ringo was very certain he hadn’t seen this man around anywhere before.  Hopefully this amnesia wouldn’t be too long lasting.  It must be difficult to not know your own name or anything.

“It’s no problem.  I’ll admit it’s a bit weird, but I was always taught to treat others as you would want to be treated.  And I don’t think I would have liked being left on the street if injured.” Ringo then thought about the name predicament. “ And we’ve got to figure out something to call you. Unless you want me to just call you Sir, or Man. Is there any name you particularly like or would want to be called?”

Ringo waited for the man to answer.  He hoped there would be some answer to that, as it was a bit weird for Ringo to keep thinking of him as “the man”.  Josie (his healer friend) had said it was possible that there would be some amnesia because of the hit to the head.  Though she also said the time on that clearing up could be anywhere from one day to five years.  There had been cases of it going longer too.  Ringo hoped it wouldn’t last too long, as it might be a little awkward keeping the man here for a long period of time.  Well, unless they got him something to do.  But they’d worry about that when he was healed. Now that would be what they focused on.

Between the pain in his leg and the lack of memory, the man could hardly think that he was having himself a good day. "So I looked that bad eh, wonder what I must have gotten myself into..." He looked about and found his wand was no where about, "Bloody hell! My wand where is it," he shot up to try and move knowing there was a wand and knowing he had one but not knowing why he was so desperate to find it all of a sudden. A shock of pain sent signals of stop moving you moron, to his brain.

Things, he could remember very basic things. The man he was seemed distant however he could remember the basics. Yes he was a wizard, and he had a wand...or did. His favorite color was blue, he enjoyed steak, but the name what was his name? There seemed to be a million things he knew about himself except what mattered, who he was, what he did, and how he ended up looking like the poster child for not keeping Dragons as house pets.

Taking the shot of fire whiskey he felt the burn immediately hoping the feeling would cause him to snap out of whatever he was under. No dice. The bloke was still there, he was still in pain, and his memory was still lacking.

Tenderly he touched his head and winced as he listened to another set of questions from his chattery host. This wasn't too much luckily, he might be able to get an answer out this time, "I can honestly say I don't know what my name is. I keep thinking of the letter J if that's anything..." He shrugged his shoulders, "I guess I can go by Jim or something..." Looking over to a stand near his pull out sofa bed, he saw a quill. There was something about the word Quill that seemed familiar. "Jim Quill works, it's all I can give you at the moment.." not that he could be certain of it, "So Ringo what do you do other then rescue strangers from the dark of night..." he moved about trying to get comfortable again.

When the man asked about his wand, Ringo frowned.  He hadn’t found any wand in the area.  And truth be told, he hadn’t been looking for a wand, as he was more focused on the injured man. 

“Well, I wasn’t able to find one around when I found you...” Ringo said, hoping the man wouldn’t be too upset. If he’d been kidnapped first, there probably wouldn’t be a chance of finding the wand.

"Jim Quill works, it's all I can give you at the moment... So Ringo what do you do other then rescue strangers from the dark of night..."

If the man couldn’t remember his own name, perhaps this one was somewhat close?  Ringo would have to look around seeing if that name sounded familiar to anyone else.  Well, unless Jim could remember his real name and what had happened to him in the first place.  It’s a pretty bad situation to be in. Ringo couldn’t imagine what it must feel like.  But of course, he wanted to help Jim to remember what he could.

“What do I do? Well, you probably couldn’t tell from all of these scary looking items, but I make candy.  I work at Honeydukes as both a shop person and an inventor. So if you ever feel the need for anything sweet, I’ve got a bunch of candies around the house.” He said with a laugh.

Ringo watched as Jim worked to get comfortable.  With his leg and head in the conditions they were, as well as the rest of the injuries, he imagined it couldn’t be too easy to get comfortable. 

“Is there anything else I can get you right now? Anything to make you more comfortable?” Ringo hoped there was something he could do.  He felt bad just sitting there.

No wand. A man without his wand was no man at all, at least no man he wanted to be. Then again judging by the state of his current situation, he wasn't much of a man at all. He rubbed his stubble covered chin and sighed deeply, "It would figure. No name, no memory, no wand. This is not the sort of thing a bloke wants to wake up to." Grumbling he thought for a moment, "Look mate I hate to bug you for another thing considering how you gave me a place to stay and such, but I was wondering if I might trouble you further. There might be a way some can live without wands and magic I know inside I am not one of those people." 'Jim' looked at his friend, the man who saved him from dying in a Hogsmeade alley way, and grimaced a little, "Is there anyway I might be able to borrow some coin to get myself a new one? It is hard enough not knowing my bloody name let alone not having something to assist me through a normal day."

Why was it that he could remember his spells, that he was a wizard, and that he once attended school but the moment he got anywhere near his life's details he was struck dumb. Maybe it was unfulfilled, or he felt empty. Was it possible that he was so miserable in his life that he forgot it willingly? What if he was fighting to remember something his mind never really wanted to think about? The possibilities and questions were endless, Jim was not happy to be laid up like he was.

"Granted I suppose I should heal a little before I head back out there," he wouldn't want to apparate without having his bones all set in place. The medicine that had been offered glared at him from the side table. Jim was not looking to down that anytime soon, he planned to drag his feet for a little while before suffering the bad taste that awaited him in those bottles.

Pausing once more, Jim gave Ringo a once over. "Candy you say. Maybe that's how I can pay you back, you know if you were willing to let me. For everything you have done for me it's the least I can do. I am not sure if candy making is really suited to me, however I bet I could help you out in some fashion." Jim was strong when not beaten up he reckoned, and looking down at his busted up leg he winced, "Maybe I will have to take that potion sooner rather than later." He wasn't looking forward to tasting the gravel like potion trickle down his already rubbed raw throat.

"Honestly mate you have done enough, I doubt I have been that great of a house guest. You must have some set to take in a strange man without so much of a blink of the eye. I am in your debt, for certain." When he figured out whatever was going on, he would have to give this kid some sort of a reward... if he could afford it, he hardly knew. The scary thing about all this murky memory business was the fact he didn't know who was out to get him, if they saw he was still alive would they try again? Jim couldn't be certain, and he wasn't looking forward to finding out.

Ringo couldn’t imagine being put in the situation Jim was in.  Being injured so badly you couldn’t remember who you are, and then on top of it not having your wand.  Ringo wished he could have said he’d found it, but that wasn’t how it was working out.  At least Jim remembered that he did have one, and that he can do magic.  That seemed like a good sign, even if it was just a little bit of remembering.

“Yes, healing would be a good idea first.” Ringo agreed.  “Nothing worse than injuring yourself further because you weren’t completely healed in the first place.”

Then, as he listened to Jim ask for the money to get a new wand, Ringo was hesitant at first.  Of course, most people would be hesitant to give money to a man they found in the street, injured.  Well, then again, most people wouldn’t have stopped to help.  Ringo found it sad that today there weren’t that many people out there who would have done that.  But Jim seemed to be nice, and Ringo felt he could trust him.  And he even said he would pay him back, which was a good idea.  Jim working at Honeydukes might also work, as someone might recognize him if they came in.  Hopefully that would help him to find out who he is.

“I think I could work something out for that. We’re always in need of some extra hands on the floor.  Though I hope you wouldn’t mind it would probably just be work cleaning up the shop. Sweeping and whatnot. Would that work for you? When you’re able to walk and use your appendages and all.”

That seemed like a good idea.  The management at Honeydukes wouldn’t be able to refuse once he told them Jim’s story.  And to be honest, Ringo wouldn’t be able to take no for an answer.  He really wanted to help out this poor man, and get him back on his feet.  A habit of Ringo’s, it was.  He always wanted to help people, so be it.

“Once you’re doing better, we can go to Diagon Alley for your wand. That way you can get one that would suit you.  Or I could just give you some money and you could go by yourself, I suppose. But healing first.”

Ringo cringed inwardly when he realized he was sounding a bit like his mother.  He supposed that’s where he got his need to help everyone.  Jillian was one of the kindest people he knew, and was thankful for that. 

“Now, you should probably take this.” Ringo said, pointing to the medicine again. “Or wait, it’s your choice. But the sooner you take it, the sooner you’ll be better.  And I keep sounding like my mum. Sorry about that.”

Ringo laughed a little, and shook his head.  Hopefully Jim would laugh at that, and not find him too weird for pushing the medicine on him.