Tongue-Tied
You remember the milk bottle shattering on the ground when you father read the letter.
You were thrilled, never doubted any of it for a second. For a combination eleventh birthday and 'congratulations' present, your mother got you a camera.
The first picture you ever took was of your father crying at her funeral. You're very glad you didn't know how to make wizarding photographs back then.
You remember the smell of Diagon Alley. The August air hanging thick and hot and heavy kept in the aroma of sweat and books and robes. An issue of the Daily Prophet blowing around in the wind, you caught it and gave yourself a paper cut by accident when you saw the people on the page...moving.
Flourish & Blotts was your first stop, and a certain book on display called out to you. It was simply called Death, and it listed prominent deaths of the past century.
You escaped your period of mourning by reading about the death of Harry Potter's own mother. You realized Harry was only a bit older than you, and you resolved to make friends with him.
...
It's not your fault that you lose all your social skills when you fall in love.