Prologue

It was both a shock and a relief to my family when Professor McGonagall showed up on our doorstep in 1971. It was an unusually rainy day for mid-July in Cornwall, which meant Noelle, my older sister, and I were inside instead of playing outside down the street with our friends. It was also a Sunday, so both my parents were home as well.

Professor McGonagall rang our doorbell at 4pm on the dot, and I, being nearest to the door, answered to see a tall, tight faced woman wearing a waterproof tartan trench coat with a matching, waterproof hat. Being young and naïve, I let the strange woman in with no question, and after a few questions from my parents as to why the hell she was in our house, she revealed to us that I was a witch and was on the waiting list for a wizarding school called Hogwarts. Now this was a real shock to us all and we didn't believe her at first, my sister thought we were being pranked for a television show and tried to find hidden cameras, but after she transfigured our lamp into a rabbit, we found ourselves believing her.

My mother brewed a pot of tea and we all sat down, minus Noelle – she had by now stormed upstairs in a jealous rage because I was a witch and she wasn't. The more Professor McGonagall talked, the more things began to slide into place, weird things had started to happen around me for some years now with no explanation, and this was it. There was only one thing that was left unexplained, my condition. Since the age of 7, I had suffered from sudden nosebleeds, migraines, and at worst, seizures – all of which had no explainable cause according to doctors, of which we had seen many. When my parents got around to asking if this too was normal for a young witch, Professor McGonagall seemed to get very serious, very quickly. It was then that I was told to leave the room; I complained, wanting to know more about Hogwarts and what I had to buy and when I was going to go, so McGonagall handed me my acceptance letter to make my peace before sending me away.

Soon after Professor McGonagall had left I was told what the 'serious conversation' had been about. There was a possibility I had a rare magical illness, but not to worry yet, I would be tested at St Mungos (the wizarding hospital) later next week. She had arranged with my parents for a muggle outreach ministry worker to take us to Diagon Alley that next Wednesday morning, and in the afternoon he would take us for my tests.

That Wednesday morning had been, well, magical was the only way to describe it! Timothy Tresslewell, a young and very enthusaistic Irish wizard in his early 20s, came to pick me and my family up (by now Noelle had forgiven me for being a witch and we were back to being best friends) and take us to Diagon Alley. After exchanging our muggle money for wizard money in the funny goblin-run bank, we went about shopping. I got my wand first, which was a Dogwood wand, 10 ¼ inches with a dragon heartstring core and solid flexibility, before moving on to get books, robes and a cauldron. My parents were even kind enough to buy me a year-old tawny owl, who I cheesily named Amora (because I loved her so much), so that I would frequently keep in touch with them. Looking back, part of me also thinks that they bought me Amora to raise my spirits before my tests in the afternoon, and that I did need.

It turned out my episodes were due to a rare magical illness, a condition called Corporis Infirma, which its translation from Latin to English literally meant weak body. Basically, when I got the 'wizarding gene', my body didn't develop right to hold its power, and that meant that it was prone to cause bleeds and seizures when its power grew or was enhanced, such as when I was near extremely magical sources. The healers told me that there was a potion I could take once a month that would help suppress my powers enough that it wouldn't impact too much on my health and could easily go to Hogwarts and be a normal student. The current downside was that I wouldn't be the best in my class and I wouldn't be able to fly a broom – although this did seem slightly disappointing, my eleven-year-old mind thought I would never be the best as I was muggle born and I would probably be terrible at flying a broom as well. The last thing they told my family before we departed was that as I grew older and my powers evolved and grew stronger, it could get harder for my body to handle – I had to be careful and cautious.

The rest of the summer went by way too quickly. I spent the rest of my days with my sister and our friends down by the lake which was a 20-minute cycle ride from our house. When interrogated as to why I was leaving, I told the answer I had rehearsed with my parents, I had applied for a boarding school in Scotland last year and got in on a linguistics scholarship, due to my being bilingual and currently learning a third language (which wasn't a lie – my father is French and my mother is a modern language teacher at our local secondary school who began teaching my sister and I Spanish when we were 9 and 10).

And just like that, September 1st had arrived in a flash. Timothy had come to pick us up again, and he apparated my family and luggage to King's Cross Station, where we ran through the wall to Platform 9 ¾. After an extremely emotional goodbye with my family, I boarded the train with about 5 minutes to go before leaving the station. I had walked along the train's corridor for about a minute before I found one with what looked to be two first year girls, and when I asked if I could join they happily let me. The girls were Uma Ruzek and Marlene McKinnon, two purebloods who had been friends for a few years – their fathers worked together in the same department at the ministry after Uma's family moved to the UK from Russia.

I know its cliched, but by the end of the journey it was like I had been friends with them for years as well. It didn't matter that I was muggle born and they were pureblood, we told each other about our different worlds and then got on to how excited we were about Hogwarts. They told me all about the sorting, classes and the different houses, Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin; and after our boat ride to the castle, we made a pact that if we were sorted into different houses, it wouldn't split us up and we wouldn't succumb to house rivalry.

The first to be sorted in our year was a neat, dark haired boy named Sirius Black, who was sorted into Gryffindor. Out of our trio, Marlene was up first; she barely had the sorting hat on her head for two seconds before it announced her as a Gryffindor. Uma was next, and her sorting experience was in stark contrast to Marlene's; she sat on the stall for about 7 minutes before the sorting hat placed her in Slytherin (she had told me later it had been a debate between Slytherin and Ravenclaw, but when it came down to the wire her traits lent slightly more towards Slytherin's than Ravenclaw's). As my surname was Valentin, I was last to be sorted in my year. I was only on the stall for about a minute – the hat had wanted to place me in Slytherin for my ambition, but instead placed me in Hufflepuff, as it suited my loyalty. I guess it was my loyalty which kept our trio together – it was a bit hard at first because of the intense hatred between some Gryffindors and Slytherins, but I worked hard to make sure we kept to our pact during our first few weeks and from then the rest of it went by so easily, and honestly we could not have survived without each other.

First year went by smoothly, the potions worked to subdue my condition enough so that no one knew I was ill at all. When it came to flying I told my classmates that I was allergic to the wax used on brooms, and somehow they all believed me and got on with their lesson. One thing I didn't expect going to Hogwarts was how much I would pine to fly and play Quidditch like my classmates. When they had their lessons, I took to studying their movements and the game with such intensity, that by third year, Madame Hooch offered me the role as commentator for the interhouse Quidditch matches, as not only did I know the ins and outs of the game but I had the charismatic attitude to match, which I gleefully accepted. I must admit that with my Quidditch obsession, my ever-growing busy social life and trying to keep my condition a secret, my grades were not the best – but who needed grades when I had popularity and amazing friends by my side.

So that brings us all up to date, I am about to enter my fifth year of Hogwarts, and who knows what this year will hold.