Author's Note: I do not own any characters from J.K Rowling's magical story,just my OC's.

They say that by age 7, children often forget the memories they created before that magic number. I can't tell you when I took my first steps, the first food I ate, or what the first words to leave my mouth were. What I can tell you, however, is everything that happened on that fateful night to my memory. The night I'm referring to of course, is the night the Dark Lord was defeated by none other than a baby boy, named Harry Potter. The night of October 31, 1981, commonly known as Halloween, though what many people don't know is that it was also the night of my 3rd birthday.

I know for certain it was that exact day, because the most vivid memory I have was a happy moment shared with my parent's, blowing out the candle on my birthday cake shaped like a Jack-O-Lantern. Everything after that point is less clear, like a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. I had to wait 8 years before I was able to fill in the blanks.

I remember my parents voices, though their faces remained blurry in my mind's eye until I was given a photograph of them my first year at Hogwarts, the first missing piece of the puzzle. I remember them singing happy birthday, and later tucking me into bed. I remember loud voices, and waking up to my mother hiding me in a closet.

I can remember crying, as I heard a loud bang coming from somewhere else in the house, my mother shushing me and kissing me hard on the cheeks before shutting the closet door and frantically uttering strange words I cannot remember. I held tightly onto the plush black cat I'd received as my birthday gift that night, is named it Mr. Snuffles and I can remember my parents sharing a laugh at my announcement. It is also the only item in my possession left from a life I missed out on.

There was shouting, and I covered my small ears, then there was silence. I can't recall how long I stayed in that closet in the dark clinging to Mr. Snuffles, but I can distinctly recall the feeling of fear coursing through me. To this day I remain terrified of being stuck in small dark spaces. When the door was finally opened, I called for my Mummy and Daddy, but they did not answer. I remember a sad looking man picking me up and holding me close, cradling me in his arms, I can remember a loud POP and the next thing I knew I was in a different place.

I can't recall the faces of the people in the room, the faces of those who spoke in hushed voices, but I can distinctly remember the smell of old wool and lemon. It was warm and cozy, and I felt safe as I drifted of to sleep in the sad man's arms.

That is where the memory ends. The next several years are fuzzy to me, I was never in one place long enough to make any memories worth retaining. I knew nothing of my parents nor the magical world I came from. I didn't know why strange things seemed to keep happening around me whenever I felt big emotions, I wouldn't know anything until my 11th birthday.

As a child, I was put into London's foster care system. The first significant person in my life, that I can truly remember was my case worker named Linda. Linda was in her mid-forties at the time, her hair was always worn in a sleek bun, she wore the same brown loafers every time I saw her and all her skirts were made of tweed, oh, and she always smelled of peppermint. Linda's prerogative was to find a solution to every problem, and me? I was her number one problem to fix, she had made it her life's mission to find me a forever home.

It wasn't easy for her, as soon as I started to display some of my "unique abilities", the families would freak out and send me back. I was frustrated, and didn't understand why no one wanted me, as if there was something wrong with me, but I didn't know what it was. At school, children made fun of me, calling me a freak or psycho. There was a rumour going around that I was a witch, since my birthday was on Halloween and I carried around a stuffed black cat everywhere I went. They were right of course, and I can laugh about that rumour now, but back then my classmates stayed away from me, and it sucked.

I was alone, just me and Mr. Snuffles. By the time I was 8, I'd been through seventeen different homes. Seventeen families who didn't want me. I think the longest I went in one place was three months, the shortest? Two whole days.

I could tell it was taking a toll on Linda, who seemed to sprout more grey hair each time she picked me up to bring me back to the children's centre, a nicer way of saying orphanage. She was always kind to me, taking me out for tea and pudding after each rejection. It was the eighteenth home, that would be my last, and other than a few follow up visits, I never saw Linda again.

She struck gold literally, when she placed me with the Goldman's. A couple in their early-50's, named Maxwell and Valerie, were happy to take me in. They never had children of their own, and for some reason were never deterred by my "special talents". Later, I would learn that though they were muggles, they knew of the wizarding world I belonged to. Valerie's older brother was a wizard, the only one in her family, so they knew enough to have their suspicions when I first displayed my abilities.

They were kind people, who treated me like I was their own daughter. Valerie cooked me all my favourite foods, they took me to the cinemaevery Saturday, and trick-or-treating on my birthday each year; I finally had a sense of what it was to be a family. They decided to homeschool me, in order to spend as much time with me as possible. In doing so they were able to teach me how to manage my emotions better, which in turn helped to keep my abilities at bay.

I loved the Goldman's, but I always felt there was something missing. In my dreams, I could see my parents, my father had dark hair while my mother's was light. I could never see their faces though, nor did I know their names, but I remembered the sounds of their voices clear as day. My father's booming laugh, and the softness of my mother's singing as she tucked me into bed. They were the mystery I could not solve.

On my 11th birthday, Halloween morning, I was helping Val with the decorations when a curious letter arrived with the mail. This letter contained information that confirmed their suspicions. I was a witch, and I had been accepted into a magical school to hone my skills. I was understandably confused, and my foster parents sat me down and explained to me the little they knew of the world I truly belonged to. Valerie telling me of her brother whom I had not met, as he became one of the many victim of the wizarding war in the attacks against muggle-borns.

It wouldn't be long before I learned where I came from, finally filling the blank spaces of the jigsaw puzzle of who I was, as I collected the missing pieces along the way.

My name is Aurora Estelle Black, and this is my story.

A/N: To those of you have been following my LOTR story "Like a River Runs" do not worry I am still fully committed to that story, and have several chapters finished that i am currently editing. Thanks to Netflix, my HP obsession is back in full swing, and I just finished re-reading the first two books in three days, absolutely no shame. I had to start this one too or else my head would burst! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy this fanfic! I plan to update each of my stories at least once per week.

Until next time.

-Buttercup