I remembered very little at first . . . is one supposed to wake up in the morning with a clean slate for the day? I didn't think that sounded right.

"Rose." A voice right beside my ear. Was he talking to me? Yes, I felt sure of it; my name was Rose. That was what my mother wanted to call me. This random fact startled me. I knew this but not my mother's name or what she looked like or for that matter what or who my father was. I understood the concept of parent, and I felt that presence nothing else. Did I have siblings, or a sibling? I had no memories, no memories, I was in bed with a strange man, (as I'd lost my memory he might have been my husband for all I knew) and I hadn't a clue where I was. Who was he? I looked up at him. who was he? All of this flashed though my mind in less than thirty seconds. I cupped water in my palms, only drinking a little before most of it seeped through my fingers.

"Who are you?" Although I had the vague feeling I knew him, his face was unfamiliar

"Rosie? Rose, are you sure you don't remember me?" I nod numbly scooting to the edge of the bed. Unfortunately I misjudged my position in the bed and rolled onto the floor in a heap of blankets. I scrambled up still wrapped in a blanket, and backed against the wall shaking my head fervently all the while.

"I don't know who you are I don't know who I am!" I screamed the truth was sinking its poisonous fangs into me. This shouldn't happen to me. I didn't know who I was, and for all I knew I could be a mafia member or lawyer.

He rolled his eyes running a hand over his face, "I know . . ."

"You know? Then tell me!" I ran to the door, but it was locked. I began fumbling with the bolt.

"Wait, Rose just calm down. Breathe, I'll explain." I didn't know much about my life before, but some part of me trusted him. Not enough to move away from the door, but enough to stay.

"You were hit with a memory charm, but I was apparateing when my mother hit you with it. I think it was faulty it didn't look right." when he mentioned his mother a bell went off in my head. Yes I knew her. Not a face, but I knew she didn't like me. When I thought of that I also remembered his father. His father had a more level temperament than his mother. I might have liked him if he didn't dislike me so much. I reached for more . . . nothing, nothing, and nothing! I screamed in frustration. How could I have no memories, yet still know things? In my befuddled mind this seemed absolutely and totally illogical. I knew I was a witch but not how I'd come to know it. I knew my name was Rose. I knew one times one is one, but no memory of learning it.

If I gazed at the stripy duvet cover for long enough it looked as if it were sliding on a track. It was mesmerizing. No one spoke for an extensive amount of time. He fidgeted with the fringe of the duvet, while I stayed huddled by the door. After a few minutes that felt like an eternity to me I gathered the courage to ask again,

"Okay, but seriously what's your name?" He looked up in surprise.

"You really don't know. Do you?"

"NO THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYING TO TELL YOU!" I shrieked in frustration.

"Well my name is Scorpius, and we just eloped," Scorpius gulped. Disregarding this new information I circled back to the early comment,

"What was that you said about not believing me?" I asked,

"Well, you're quite a practical joker, so I guess you were taking advantage of the situation."

"Oh, well I wouldn't know," My passive aggressive tone was not entirely unintentional. He ignored it, and went on.

"I told you my mother hit you with a faulty memory charm!" Exclaimed Scorpius,

"Yes I know your parents. They're nice people, but they hate me. I can't remember anything else."

"Okay what about your parents? What do you remember about them?"

"Well I know my mother chose my name and I know they love me and I love them . . ."

"What do you know about you're sibling?"

"I didn't know I had one until now,"

"Try to remember," I tried a sibling . . . a sister or a brother?

"I think, I mean I might have a brother." It was maddening. It felt like it was just of my reach. I burrowed into the dark recesses of my mind, but I found very little. Oh! The Burrow!

"What's the Burrow?" I asked,

"It's your grandparent's house," said Scorpius,

"Oh . . ." I knew that . . . "it's like I have the keys to my memory, but I don't know how to unlock the door." I murmured

"I know . . ." He got up and came to sit beside me at the door. I closed my eyes and leaned my head on his shoulder, trusting.

"Can you take me to the Burrow?" I asked.

"Yes, I'll take you home Rose."

We left eminently with a loud crack. I was sure I would be alright. It was.