The Author's Bitchin' Note of Amazing Introductions and VERY Important Information

WAIT. Don't skip this. If you do then you will be raptured and squirrels will attack you and your family.

Now that I have your attention (I hope) I would like to tell you a few things. I'll try to keep this as short as possible, because who likes reading those excruciatingly long Author's Notes anyways?

So, now to a semi-proper introduction:

Hello, readers! Thank you for taking the time to read this. It means a lot to me, as I put much of my free time into writing fanfics and thinking up scenarios and stuff.

This is my first official fanfic, and I hope it's good enough for y'all! This is going to be a Harry Potter: Dramione fanfiction. It is classified under Romance/Drama, but it'll also have some simple humor in it so that it's not all depressing or angsty, or whatever. I will put it under the rating "M" for now, just in case. I'm not going to venture deep into smut territory; you can find other fanfics for that. I feel like the only sex that can be accurately described in vigorous detail is bad sex—which does the characters no justice. And I have no intention of writing bad sex. I am not going to tarnish the wonderfulness of Draco and Hermione, bitches!

I'm going to bend the story a little bit in places—okay, a lot bit—mostly in the sixth book (Half-Blood Prince). Truth be told, I didn't quite like that one all that much, so alterations will be the most grandiose in that time span. I am also changing a bit of the seventh book (Deathly Hallows) and the whole epilogue that J.K. Rowling wrote; kind of EWE but not entirely so (you'll see later ;) )

I am also adding some characters here and there to amp up the story a bit, BUT WAIT: fear not, they are not OCs. When I'm reading a fanfic and the author introduces an original character without saying beforehand that one will be in the story, it pisses me off. I picked up your story to read about the characters you promised would be in there, not some Mafonksha Billihiggins that turns out to be Dumbledore's secret wife's twice removed sister's cousin from Yugoslavia or some platypus-shit like that. No, the characters I'll include will be from the Harry Potter World, like those who have already graduated or something. So far I have included only one, who I'm sure you'll be able to figure out right away, and maybe another or two, but not that likely. There are enough characters in the story already to make this work and the world go round. Again, please don't be alarmed that things don't quite go according to the story, but hey, that's what fanfics are for in the first place.

I will try my best to make this as believable as possible, as I hate it when one second the characters (who are supposed to hate each other) hate each other and then BAM they love each other (when they are still supposed to hate each other… for Chrissake) and want to bear each other's children. It's tempting to rush into it, as that's one of the best parts of the story, but restrain is key.

I own absolutely nothing in Harry Potter except for the plot idea that I came up with on my own. I am, very obviously, not J.K. Rowling in a disguise or anything of the sort. If I were, then I'd be very rich, blah blah blah; everyone else already covered that "If I were actually J.K. Rowling…" turf.

Reviews and comments: always appreciated. Please refrain from raging/hating/griefing, but constructive criticism is gladly accepted. Note the emphasis on the word constructive. I don't like it when people just trash talk someone's work without giving them any advice or ways they could improve their story. The point of reviewing or commenting is not to insult people, it's for helping your fellow writers. But praise and compliments are definitely welcome! :D I thank every compliment I get (if I will get any.. This is my first one, after all) with joy-ness equal to that of a thousand dying stars.

Hopefully that wasn't too long of a note there, I'm sorry if it was. Bollocks, it totally was. (Just looked back on it… Wow I'm such a BITCH! This is way too long what the shit.) I hope you haven't ripped your eyeballs out by now because you hate to read long things like this. I'm so sorry, I just fail at keeping my "I won't make this long" promise. It seems I am an unintentional liar.

If it is "too late to apologize" (love that song) then I beg for your forgiveness and offer you many elaborate baskets of fresh produce from the best supermarkets across the world to express my remorse (but only if you actually read every sentence to the end, you produce-hungry scallywags!). Anyways, thanks again, and if this were in person I would be shaking your hand till your arm was ripped out of its socket. Now that your arm is dislocated, or at least detached from the rest of yourself:

Enjoy the story!

With [copious amounts of] love,

Lan-Lan Chan

Prologue

I was perfectly happy, yet I wasn't content. I wore a smile on the outside that was only skin deep. My life was wonderful, yet at the same time it had an underlying sense of disturbance. I was happy in a way that also made me quite sad at the same time; it's as if I was a living contradiction.

One of the hardest things in life is being at war with yourself. Such a strong part of you believes in one way, but there is another part equally as powerful that feels the total opposite. There is no such thing as a middle ground, no such thing as a compromise, no such thing as a singed treaty that puts the opponents at ease. It's either one side gives up the battle, but that doesn't necessarily mean that the winning side will come out in a victory. In a war, there are always casualties on both sides; mental unrest is no different than a confrontation in the physical form. You don't see the bruises or cuts on the outside, but you sure feel them on the inside—wounds that stay open long and leave deep scars.

I held the coffee mug close to my chest, the hot outsides just cool enough to touch, steam rising into the early morning air. I'm wide-awake, sitting in a porch chair outside of my house, listening to the sound of the wind in the pines and the soft cooing of the doves. I absent-mindedly finger the hem of my old, worn, jade green sweater, so long that it drapes very slightly over my legs. I test the heat of the coffee. Still too hot, I set it down on my lap.

It's five in the morning, and I'm the only one up. Rose and Hugo are still sleeping soundly; they don't have to get up for another two hours and a half. Ron is also completely knocked out, so much so that he didn't even notice me get up. I smile slightly at the thought of him sprawled across the bed, his red hair everywhere like fire, and his freckled face deep in unconscious thought.

I turn back to my coffee and test it; it's perfect temperature. The French roast, my favorite kind, seems bitter, more bitter than usual… Or was that just my imagination? Bitter… What a strange word. Leave it on its own and it simply means something distasteful and unpleasant. Combine it with its opposite and suddenly it turns into something else, something of many layers, something that can barely be described in words other than a true contradiction. Bittersweet. Like a happy ending, but one that was achieved with tears and hardships and regrets…

I look out to the horizon, clear from our house on the grassy hill. The dark blue of night slowly fades to light oranges and yellows in a beautiful cascade of vibrant pastels, casting their light over the city.

Bittersweet, I think to myself.

I rest my head on my shoulder and stare at the sky, looking at nothing in particular as my mind begins to wander off, going back in time to the craziest, happiest, and most confusing moments of my life, back to the time when I was just sixteen…