Note; I have no note other than urging you wonderful, glorious people (Sucking up, me?) to please review. Thank U!!!!

Welcome back, my humble muggle friends,

Yes, it is I, your heroine has returned. We will now take a magical trip through time (insert creepy music and whirring lights) to the good old days, when Hogwarts was still in one piece and in no way resembled a mass of rubble. I was a young, innocent, rosy cheeked child of 16. My whole life was planned out before me; marry rich, have adorable twins, Draco Jnr and Poppy (who wouldn't grow up to resent me and plot my grisly death) and maybe, if I had the time, become a world famous witch renowned for both brains and beauty.

I was in my sixth year and a proud member of Slytherin, the only house not to have fallen into disrepair. As a member of the prestigious Parkinson family, I had to maintain appearances and set standards to the less fortunate. I always remember my dear grandmothers words of wisdom (bless her soul, if she had one, that is) "You are of course superior to those mudblood parasites, but that doesn't mean you can ill treat them. Someday you may wish them to be involved in a ritual sacrifice and that always requires respect for both parties", the reliability of this is slightly dampened by the fact she believed her cat was the reincarnation of Bo'la, the famous, long dead troll king.

Talking of families, mine was not exactly the wizard equivalent of the Walton's. Lets go through the head count, first off there was my mother, Amelia Parkinson, a 'lady' who took the maternal role, very lightly indeed. It wasn't as if she locked me in a cupboard or anything like that, she just preferred to take the hands of approach to parenting. The occasional air kiss and 'luvvie' usually fulfilled her mothering quota for the year. Next in line, was Daddy. He was away on business a lot, but whenever he was at home I could twist him around my perfectly manicured finger easily enough. Underneath his death eater exterior, he really was a pussy cat! Last of all came, the black sheep of the family, He-Who-Must-Not-Be- Named...my brother. I shouldn't really spill the family secrets to just anybody, but I know I can trust you, my loyal doters. I guess he was always different, never took pleasure in the finer things in life, always carried around some ridiculous notion that all humans were made equal (who would believe that pile of cliché?) My parents thought he was just going through a phase, a teenage thing, but then the unthinkable happened. It was discovered that all those days when we thought he was courting a pure blood or two, he was actually volunteering at a...(wait for it) retirement home...(It gets worse) a mudblood retirement home!! I know, I know, my own brother, my only sibling fraternizing (and sponge bathing) with the enemy. He was supposed to carry on the family name, but oh no, he had to get the goody- goody complex. Of course Daddy spelled his muggle-loving ass out of the mansion. For my parent's sake, I thank the lucky stars that they were blessed with a second child, one who actually had a spine.

Gosh, I've gone on a bit haven't I? Sorry, it's just that a lot of background needs to be painted here. But do not fear, my chatty nature will grow on you like mould on a old glass of butterbeer (note to self- insert more thought of simile)

Much rambling ago, I started with the line, "I was in my sixth year..." I debated for many minutes on how to fully incorporate you in the world and mind of sweet sixteen me. At first I thought I could retell the memories from...erm...memory, but the years of hard work (and alcohol) have had their wicked way with the old brain cells. I could probably give you the general jist of things, but I really do think you deserve the very best, and although snippets of the past would probably make your day, I am a perfectionist. Only the full Pansy prime-time Parkinson experience will suffice. (I'm one generous lady!) Plus all that past/present tense stuff would get confusing; and even though I still have the youthful looks of a teenager, It wouldn't do to be mixing up past events with what happened last week!.

So, I was in search of a solution, maybe I could brew up a potion which temporary would allow me to travel back in my mind, regression, so to speak. Although, this idea is nothing short of genius, I sadly had run out of the required ingredients, not at all conveniently (and nothing to do with my potion making skills) So the mind clogs once again began turning, that is until I recollected 'The Pansy Chronicles' What are these tantalising chronicles I hear you ask? Well, my dears, they hold all the secrets and thoughts of me, they were my ongoing diaries, whose pages had the pleasure of holding my teenage urges. It will be through those blessed pages which the legacy will be passed sown to you, my friends.

From my older self, I bid you farewell. I am certain our paths will cross again. My younger self, May at times, seem immature and without the benefit of the wisdom that comes with age. But bear with her and the pleasure will be all yours....

Lots of Love

Pansy Parkinson (age 20)