My name is Ebony Grace Remington. Or E.G Remington.
I have black hair and grey-ish eyes.
And here begins my story...
Well, I say MY story when I actually mean the story of my dearest friends and mentors Professor Severus Snape and Prof. J.L Everton. I mean it when I say that these men have always given me cause to better myself and challenged me to see beyond my own opinions. Now, I really ought to begin my story. I believe it was about five years ago when I first met these great wizards... As a sixteen year old witch who has no trace placed on her at birth.. So I was actually starting my first year more than halfway through my teen years. You know, I don't think I realized quite how surreal everything was until I found myself in the Pub at Diagon Alley waiting for September 1st.
With first, second and third year level books on my musky old bed and a determination to only be 2 years behind most of that summer was spent staying up until 1 in the morning.
Hopefully Hogwarts wouldn't be too embarrassed by me. I had spent most of my life labeled as "Mentally disturbed" because I distinctly remember the way my parents died. By masked people in cloaks holding wands. And the muggles didn't believe me. I refused to speak to anyone after that. For goodness sake what was I supposed to do? As a little girl I didn't think I'd ever lose my parents. And on the off chance that I did, SURELY I would be rescued by some long lost rich relative. But a girl's imagination can collide with reality in a very bad way. I was left to Children's homes, foster care and children's homes again. If a strange wizard on the street hadn't noticed me as I ran away from "home" perhaps I never WOULD have gone to Hogwarts.
Back to my summer before my first year... I spent a great deal of it working on school work and doing self imposed essays about the subjects. I'll confess that I found potions to be a morbidly fascinating subject. I mean, come on.. A life-saving stone that comes from a goat's stomach? Gross. But cool. Regardless of my opinions on all the schoolwork, I was still nervous about the up coming school year. And who wouldn't be?
I read Hogwarts: A history like 3 times. It sounding terrifying. I'm absolutely serious! FRIGGIN MOVING STAIRS. Doesn't sound dangerous at all... Neither does flying on a broom for that matter... (Notice that I am writing this in a very sarcastic manner.) And I didn't care what the usual way of things was. I planned to bring eighty plus ballpoint pens before even ATTEMPTING to mess around with a quill. If anyone was to pitch a fit about I simply wouldn't care. It wasn't MY fault that the Wizarding world refused to include me until I turned 16.
I remember one night when I tossed down my charms textbook on the nightstand and sighed in frustration a few times before bowing out my candles. (Why is everything so insufferably medieval?) Diagon Alley was fantastic to be sure, but I hated constantly getting weird looks because of my jeans. I had bought ALL of my school stuff and my personal belongings all fit in my gigantic backpack ( Out of habit because of foster care). Living in this new world had been intimidating, but also enlightening. I really WASN'T just imagining the way my Mum and Dad died. They had been murdered. And so help me I was determined to get answers and justice.