Disclaimer: Harry Potter is a fine, fine man. But, sadly, he did not come from my imagination. I own nothing.

I never know how to start these things out. Things meaning stories, tales, whatever. Which is pretty unusual, considering I'm the head journalist for The Daily Prophet.

Who would have thought me, Hermione Jane Granger, would be a journalist? I mean, with all my talents, I think people expected more from me, like and Auror, or a healer, or working in the ministry, anything extraordinary for the skills I harbor.

Nope. Sorry. Not my cup of tea. But this is all completely off topic.

Like I said, I suck at beginnings. Now, cold, hard facts and unchanging numbers, those I can do just fine. Beginnings tend to require a little more… finesse. But, I guess I have to start at the very beginning in order to understand the woman I am today.

It all started when an enormous purple cockroach murdered Harry and Ron made love to Snape in the Room of Requirement.

Just kidding! But, I suspect no one would truly believe that, even in the wizarding world.

My real story started during the summer after our sixth year.

I'm told it's best to have a little background to a story (although I probably shouldn't have told you that), so this is where it began.

After Harry finally defeated Voldemort, life was a lot easier. Duh. After all, there was no insane maniac killing people left and right anymore. So, people, mainly me, began to realize that life is really too short to set limitations, that life could be snatched away unexpectedly before anyone even began to actually live.

And so, I began to live life more recklessly. At first, it was little things like holding back the urge to polish my Head Girls' badge, or neglecting my studies, or not scolding Ron for spewing me with bits of lasagna when he talked during dinner.

But then, the next thing I knew, I was out getting a tattoo with a few of my muggle friends and gaining enough courage to tell Ron I didn't love him anymore. Not in that way, at least. And, I got to say, that was a relief! After I let him down gently, Ron confided in me that he harbored strange feelings for a strange girl, although he neglected to say whom.

Yep. I became a real wild child. I had no inhibitions. For the first time in my life, I wasn't weighed down by the restrictions I hadn't even noticed I placed upon myself.

I actually knew what it was like to be free. Free from stress, worry. Free from troubles and pain. Free to do as I pleased.

It was all fine and dandy, though, until I reached Hogwarts for my final year.

My old self came back full force. After all, I was Head Girl and needed to have my priorities straight. I was an example to others. I couldn't possibly be seen gallivanting around, not worrying myself over grades, could I? I think not.

And so, I reemerged myself into my assignments, forced myself to concentrate on my duties, analyzed everything a professor said hoping to see an opportunity for extra credit.

And with this came a terrible price. I was spreading myself too thin, quickly becoming overtired, frustrated, and deeply on edge. But, most importantly, the part of me I had just discovered was slowly slipping away from me.

I was never good with balance, which is why I hate to fly and couldn't handle the time turner for too long in my third year.

I was both extremes. Liberal and conservative. I couldn't find an even ground for myself, and I was too stubborn to depend on anyone else for help. Damn my Gryffindor pride.

And the craziest thing is, I found my balance in the most unlikely of places. If I hadn't been so bull-headed, I wouldn't have found my backbone through it all.

I'm still in shock, really, that I managed to even find balance during my seventh year, what with everything that went on.

Oh, did I not tell you?

In all my years helping Harry in his adventures to defeat Voldemort, they paled in comparison to my final year.

Hogwarts was definitely best described as a mad house. Jazz numbers, first dates, real kisses, Harry proposing, and Ron rambling on about genitalia. Nope. I'm not joking.

Yes, definitely my most absurd year yet.

(This is where I'm supposed to actually write the events of my seventh year. Although, I shouldn't have told you that, either. So, here goes, and wish me luck.)