|Full name||Eden-Leigh Wolfe|
|Born||20 May 1921|
|Education||Hogwarts 1932-39, Slytherin|
|Parents||Matthew & Sarah-Jane Wolfe|
|Siblings||Breese Wolfe, Cadi Wolfe|
|Occupation||Writer, Teen Witch Magazine|
"I don't want to talk about it."
Eden folded her arms defensively. Jeanette pouted.
Jeanette was old. Not old like Mum - old like Cadi, and far easier to talk to. This, however, was something that Eden did not want to discuss. She already talked to Jeanette too much as it was - it was her fault for being so darn charismatic. Plus, she was a muggle. Normally Eden used muggles as a sort of meaningless entertainment. The only exceptions were Mum and Jeanette.
And Jeanette had just asked about Father. Friendship. Over.
"I mean, what do I care?" she found herself blurting out, before she could stop herself. "I was too young to know him, and besides," Eden aimed a kick at a nearby chicken, which scurried away just quickly enough to avoid her foot, "it's not like I know what I'm missing. It's better that way."
Jeanette pursed her lips as she watched Eden turn and pick up an egg from one of the nesting boxes and put it in her basket. The only chore the girl had ever enjoyed in the slightest was collecting eggs with Jeanette. It really wasn't that surprising, as it was the cleanest thing one could do on a farm.
Eden's hand lingered on the cold, porcelain-like eggshell for a moment, oddly pensive. She had been young - incredibly so, and had spent the majority of her life without a father. Four years old, just barely old enough to form memories of her own, and one day he was just gone. She hadn't understood when Mum had told her, had spent the next year waiting for him to come home and lift her onto his shoulders again. When she was finally old enough to understand, she tucked it away and convinced herself that it was of no consequence to her life.
Where the other children her age had spent time playing with each other, Eden had retreated inside herself, not caring to show her true feelings to people who were only going to leave her anyway. Breese had always been better at winning friends. Eden had always been better at winning affections. She was always the picture of femininity, learning to sew her own clothes as young as she was allowed and gaining a skilled eye for colors and patterns that were lovely and flattering. She became popular among the other children, but still as locked up as ever.
Time passed, and she began using her attitude as a mechanism to avoid talking about things that were too personal. She had always been distant, but now she was distant and cold. Breese and Jeanette could be tolerated with such things, at times, but there was not one soul that knew her even close to as intimately as she knew herself. Eden was the epitome of an uncrackable safe.
"Sorry," the older girl apologized. "I won't bring it up again."
"Good," Eden snapped. She had better not bring it up again.
Jeanette sighed. "So, I hear you're going away to school next year?"