Chapter One:
Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape were outside, deep in a very important conversation. Most of the students were fast asleep at this hour, comfortable in their beds. While, they continued on, rounding the corner to the back of the school. They could see the dark and dim-looking Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's hut on the horizon. It was normal, per say. As normal as was normal for them.
Their steps and conversation ended rather abruptly as they stumbled over a tiny, bloody body.
The girl was tiny-looking to barely scrape five feet tall. Her body was mangled in the most uncomfortable looking position. Everywhere, every inch of her small self was covered in sticky crimson blood. Her dark and wavy hair, which should be shiny, was knotted with blood. Her hands were shaking, her breathing shallow and uneven. Neither of the two men staring at her had any clue to who she was, or why she lay dying at their feet.
Dumbledore knelt down by the girl, overwhelmed with worry for the stranger.
"Severus, help me get her to the hospital wing, right now," he says, able to maintain his calmness.
Nodding, Snape got down to help Dumbledore as the girl's blue-green, sea-colored eyes lulled and rolled into the back of her head, flickering shut.
[Violet]
My head hurts.
Light, light that's far too bright, protrudes between my eyelids. They feel heavy as I force them open. Blinking, I look around. I seem to be in some sort of hospital. Three people stand in the far corner, whispering and peeking at me. Two are men: one with long silver hair and a beard, the other with dark hair. And a woman, dressed as a nurse.
"Oh, I see you've woken up," says the silver-haired man, while smiling as he sits on the cot next to mine.
I look down at my hands. They're wrapped in layers of gauze, like a mummy's. My whole body's stiff. My vision is still slightly blurry. Then I look back at him.
"Hello," he greets cheerily. "I'm Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And you are?"
Though it's hard with my wrapped fingers, I try and shake his extended hand. It's all black and burnt, looking like a dead corpse attached to a living body.
"Uh," I begin, my voice raspy and faint. "I...I don't know who I am."
The man called Dumbledore sighs, and pulls a wrinkly faded yellow slip of paper out of his pocket. He reads, "Violet Rose, 898 Willow Way, London. 5, 18, 21, 16. Does any of that mean anything to you?"
I shake my head. Nothing.
I don't know who I am.
I don't remember anything. Anything at all.
"Well, it was as I expected," Dumbledore says after a little bit of silence. "When we found you, you were a victim of numerous Dark curses. It's no surprise it addled with your brain. Unfortunately, I don't think there is anything we can do for you, except offer you a place to stay. I suppose your name is Violet?"
I shrug. "Your guess is as good as mine."
"And, this, is what I believe is your wand," he says, gently placing a familiar stick of wood between my bandaged fingers.
"13 3/4 inch, rosewood, demiguise hair and phoenix feather," I whisper, the words blurted out from some range of my mind I can't fully grasp.
Dumbledore grins. "You remember your wand. That's a start."
My eyes meet his sharp blue ones. "Not much of one, if you ask me."