Hi. My name is Jemma Volkov. I have wavy, chestnut colored hair that falls to about the end of my shoulder blades, with bangs that cover my forehead. My eyes have been described as a deep hazel, and my soft pale skin is dotted with freckles. I reach 5'9 and have deep Russian roots that really come out when I'm mad.

I attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world. My time there was too short, filled to the brim with sadness, and yet the greatest years I have ever known. I lost so much during that time, experienced so much pain and hardship, yet if I was given the chance to go back and do it all over again, I wouldn't hesitate. Maybe, if I got to do it again, things would have turned out differently than they did. I could have been smarter, more careful. Made fewer mistakes, salvaged more lives. Maybe more people would get a happy ending that way. Maybe I could've found one for myself. But as much as I want to, I can't turn back time. My mistakes and my triumphs cannot be re-written, but they can be recorded. Many stories will surface, glorified tales of heroism, quiet recounts of sadness, or possibly bone-chilling tales of unraveled anger. Each will claim to be the truth. Many people will tell their version of truth before it has all been forgotten. This truth is mine.

This is a story about fear.

This is a story about loss. 

This is a story about pain.

And this is about me and a girl named Eden and how we overcame it all to save the closest thing to home we have ever known.

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I guess you could say it all started during the First Wizarding War. It's funny, how the ending of an era would be the cause of a new one. I was only 9 at the time, and I remember my father hiding me in the street to protect me from the rebellious werewolves, who had been discriminated under witches and wizards for years. But as soon as I realize that there were few enemies, I ignored my father's suggestions and joined the fight. The things that I saw then haunt me to this day. I survived but at a cost; I was severely injured and was in St. Mungo's for months.

I was determined to still live a full and normal life, though suffering a chronic stress fracture in my knees from a bone-crushing swoop from one of the werewolves. When I attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it was almost nothing. I met a lot of people, got pretty good grades if I do say so myself, and qualified for chaser at the beginning of my second year. 

That is where our story is set now. Though I didn't know it then, every detail of that day would be forever burned into my memory. The sunlight streaming through the windows, the weight of my broom in my hand, the tones of laughter from my teammates as we finished up quidditch practice, and a particularly slippery puddle that set everything into motion.

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I walk down the hall, confidence in my stride and surrounded by my teammates. I am unlike other beginning players in that aspect. While most of those little weaklings are in awe for weeks that they were chosen for the Quidditch team, I suffer from no such disillusions. I have been on the waiting list since first year, waiting for the last chaser to graduate. I got over the 'living the quidditch dream' mindset long ago. Gryffindor takes the sport seriously, and if you want to stay on this team, you have to be the best. Not just good, or talented, the absolute and complete best. If you don't have that, your place on the team is about as solid as wet paper. We work for three hours a night, maybe more if the captain feels as if we need the extra practice.

Today has been a good day, we moved like clockwork, and the Team Captain, a 7th year named Harkeem, let us out early because of that. Thus, we are all feeling pretty good about our work that practice. We headed into the locker room to get out of our gear. Regardless of my skill, I am still pretty new to getting my gear on and off, so most everyone else had already moved on once I had finally shed the last of my padding. 

I run out of the locker room to try and see if I could catch up with any of my teammates, and instantly groan. I hit the post library, Ravenclaw Rush. The library closes about now, and the horde of Ravenclaws and other unfortunate souls who still had homework start heading back to their respective common rooms. It isn't as bad as between classes but is still pretty difficult to navigate because no one is in any hurry to get anywhere. It drives me nuts. I try waving my way through the masses of grey, blue, and white clothing. Everyone was looking at me like a wolf in a sheep pasture - I defiantly don't fit in.

I finally push through the last of the throng, and start to jog again, my hair flowing behind me. Suddenly, my feet fly up from under me, the work of a devious puddle. I feel myself hit something on the way down, though what it is I have no idea. I crash down onto the stone floor and groan. I sit up and open my eyes. Sprawled out in front of me is a petite Ravenclaw girl with platinum colored hair pulled into a low bun and she had these... violet irises. I look at her in awe and, she looks at me confused and ... skittish? Maybe she's nervous that I was going to yell at her, or some other nonsense. She scrambles to her feet with remarkable speed and allowed herself a moment of dismay at the enormous pile of now damp books before extending a hand.

"Oh, goodness, I'm so sorry! Are you hurt?" she asked quietly and so fast I barely could make out the words. She reminds me distinctly of a deer caught in a headlight, wide eyes and body tensed to run but too scared to move.  I look down at myself and see a skimmed and bleeding knee. She followed my gaze but I cover it with my skirt in the hope that she won't see it.

Those eyes are distracting. Every time I look up they are there, familiar and foreign all at the same time. It's bloody infuriating.

I realize that she is still waiting for an answer, and I manage to stammer out, "Oh yeah, uh no I'm uh, fine." It is pretty much true, I have had much worse from playing Quidditch. My brain still elsewhere as I continue talking. Why am I still talking? "I should've watched where I was going."

She relaxed a bit at the apology, but still seemed poised to run should I make any sudden movements. She gave me a small nod and bent down to pick up the mountain of books that she had been carrying before I had rammed into her. I bent down to help, and brush some water off the cover of the book before I try to pick it up. I curl my fingers around the edges and lift, and find that this book is much heavier than it appears.

These tomes are ancient, and the fact that she had been able to carry so many was surprising. This kid is tiny. I know that everyone thinks that the first years are small, but this is ridiculous. Thin arms are hidden within school robes a bit too big, causing the sleeve to cover all but her fingertips. The loose strands that had wormed their way free from the bun framed her pale face, making her strange eyes stand out all the more.

She's practically a pixie, and the white hair and purple eyes only serve to further her ethereal appearance. Make the ears pointy and add some gossamer wings, and she wouldn't even look human. The way she curls in on herself and cautious movements give her an aura of delicacy as if she were made of china and would shatter if handled too roughly. I bet she's just nervous, most first years would be if they ran into a Gryffindor chaser.

She picks up the last book and holds it in her arms with the two others. Wait, two? I could've sworn there were more than three books! However, before I can ask, she practically sprints away.

And as her back disappears down the hall, I remember where I have seen those eyes.