All these characters belong to JKR, with the exception of Medea.
* * *
Dumbledore escorted the young woman to a room on the third floor. He smiled to see how well house-elves had prepared the room. The walls and floor had been scrubbed clean, and fresh sheets were stretched over a large bed with new black curtains. Several fresh black robes were laid out for the new houseguest. A fire already roared in the fireplace. A large barn owl was perched near the window, just as Dumbledore had requested.
"If you need me for any reason, send this owl. He will fly directly to me only. There are quills and parchment in the desk over there. All of your meals will be sent here to your room. You may wander this floor as you like, but you may not leave it. You may not go into the main part of the school unless I am with you. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Dumbledore." She looked sadly around her room.
"I'm sorry if this seems like a prison for you, child. You must remember it is for safety, both for you and for the students entrusted to my care. You understand why I also cannot give you a wand?"
"I understand, sir. But I am not saddened by gaining a prison, but for losing a past.
Dumbledore smiled. She was eloquent for someone so young. Surely, she was well-educated. Perhaps this would help to discover her identity.
He visited her during the evenings, often bringing books to try and jog her memory. He was surprised at her knowledge of history. He took her for walks on the school grounds after the students had long gone to bed and listened as she told of the terrifying dreams which often kept her awake most of the night.
"Always, there is the same man in a black cloak. His hands and face are skeletal, as if he is merely bones with skin stretched tightly across. I lie on a cold floor, and the room is dark and damp, like a dungeon. He enters and casts spells on me, torturing me. And he laughs all the time I am screaming. He enjoys that I am in pain."
Dumbledore tries to comfort her, telling her it is only a nightmare, but he wonders if this is from her past. Was it Voldemort? Had she been tortured by him before appearing in Diagon Alley? He found himself wishing Snape would return, but it had already been several days without word. The old Headmaster worried dreadfully for his Potions Master.
After nearly a week, a discovery was made about the girl. They were making one of their midnight strolls when Dumbledore was startled by a deep voice.
"Dumbly-dorr, 'ow are you?"
"Ah, very well, indeed, Madame Maxime," replied Dumbledore, gently kissing the glittering hand of the Beauxbatons Headmistress. "Are you here to visit with Hagrid?"
"I am," she replied, blushing, "on ze matter of business. 'Oo is zis beautiful child, Dumbly-dorr? She is young for a teacher, no?"
"No, she is not a teacher here," Dumbledore answered. "I am helping her with a problem."
"Ah, zis one is good for 'elping wiz ze problems," she replied, bending down to see the girl better. "What is ze problem?"
"She has amnesia, Olympe. She cannot remember her past," Dumbledore told her simply.
"Oh, quelle domage! Such beautiful eyes wiz nuzzing on ze o-zair side!"
"Madam, J'ai perdu mes mémoires mais non mon esprit. Je vous assure que, il y a d'abondance derrière mes yeux."
"I can see zat," Madame Maxime said with surprise. "Vous parlez ma langue très bien, enfante."
"Merci, madame. Je n'ai voulu dire aucune offense."
"Zink nuzzing of it. It is I 'oo offended you," the giantess said with a smile. "'Ell, Dumbly-dorr, I should find 'Agrid. Enjoy your walk."
"I did not know you spoke French," Dumbledore said after Maxime disappeared in the direction of Hagrid's cabin.
"Nor did I, until I spoke."
"Sprechen Sie Deutsches außerdem?"
She thought a moment before replying. "Ja aber die Wörter kommen Sie langsam."
"So you are not as fluent?"
"No, sir."
"Well, it is a useful clue, nonetheless." They walked slowly around the castle.
"Mr. Dumbledore, this man, Severus, who I was looking for, is he not here?"
"No, unfortunately, he is not. I had rather hoped he would have returned by now."
"You're worried for him. I notice you watch the forest when we walk."
"Yes, that is where he usually returns. You are very perceptive."
She bit her lip as she thought. "Do you think he will know who I am?"
"It is a possibility. After all, why would you come looking for him, if you had never met?"
"I thought about that. I hope he returns soon."
"As do I, child. As do I."
The following morning, Dumbledore received a letter from Arthur Weasley requesting a meeting at six that evening at his office fireplace. Promptly at six p.m., Arthur's balding head appeared in a green flame.
"Professor," he said cheerily, "how are you?"
"In excellent health, Arthur. How is Molly?"
"Good. She's good. I- uh- have some information for you about the girl you have." He passed a file to the Headmaster. "She matches the description of one Medea Colberson. Her picture is in the front there. Seems she was born in London, then her parents moved to Marseille. She was educated at Beauxbatons."
"Beauxbatons?" he asked, looking up from her picture. "Madame Maxime met her last night. She didn't seem to recognize her."
"Well, it seems she went there in the seventies. Graduated in nineteen seventy-six. She should be quite a bit older than she looks."
Dumbledore flipped from the smiling photograph back to her records. She had disappeared in 1984. Both parents were deceased. One brother, current whereabouts unknown.
"That picture was current when she disappeared," Arthur continued. "She was twenty-six years old."
"This could be her daughter rather than Medea Colberson."
"That's what I thought, so I contacted a friend at Beauxbatons to see if she ever left for an extended period. He said no. Medea Colberson never had a child while she was there.
"Now, she interned at a potions lab in Paris called The Essence of the Magi, and worked there until her disappearance. They say the same thing, she never took any kind of leave of absence, until she failed to show for work on September 7, 1984. Nobody's heard from her since. That, unfortunately, is all I got about her. Does any of it help?"
"Thank you Arthur. The similarity in these pictures is too much to be mere coincidence. After all, how many people have those eyes? Perhaps, it will help her remember something, even if it is merely a family connection."
"Glad I could help, Professor. By the way, I know they haven't been there very long, but, how are my kids? They haven't caused any problems yet, have they?"
"No, Arthur. They've been doing well. I'll tell them you asked about them. And give my warmest wishes to Molly."
"I'll do that. Good night."
"Good night." The head vanished from the flames.
Dumbledore sat at his desk with the file and carefully read through it. Mostly, it gave all of the information he had gotten from Arthur, but also included some personal information. Medea Colberson spoke several languages, was gifted in several areas of magic, but chose to pursue potions. She was described by coworkers as friendly and cheerful, but guarded of her private life.
Besides the picture, nothing necessarily connected the girl. It is not strange for witches to pick up several languages. Yet, he found himself wondering how a woman, if this was indeed her, could stop aging for nearly twenty years.