The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

*PLEASE READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE AT THE END OF THE CHAPTER*

(¯`·._.· PART ONE ·._.·´¯)

Far off in the distance
Somewhere you can't see
Allegiances have formed your destiny
Opposition all around
Feeding off your soul
Trying hard to swallow up you whole
And the demons all around you waiting
For you to sell your soul

Black, Kari Kimmel

Chapter One

"Ferventis Sanguinis!"

Hermione watched Antonin Dolohov's crazed eyes widen in insane glee.

The bright purple light hit her, bringing with it an all encompassing pain that burned through her.

Blood pooled in her mouth, accompanied with an almost acidic taste. She began to choke, her body screaming for oxygen. Blood streamed down her shirt, from her mouth and her eyes and her body began to convulse. She hit the floor with a dull thud. She didn't hear the screams from her friends. She was in darkness.

0o0

Hermione woke on the floor, her face against cool gray marble. She slowly rose to her feet, expecting pain, and was surprised when there was none.

She didn't know where she was and instinctively she kept her silence, ears perked for the slightest sound. She was surrounded in mist, and could only just make out endless rows of massive marble columns stretching as far as her eyes could see. The columns were exceedingly tall, their peaks so high that she saw no ceiling. If there was a ceiling it was shrouded in more of the thick mist.

The room, if the space could be called that, had a strange stillness. The absolute silence was only broken by Hermione's increasingly panicked breaths.

Where was she? All she could remember was the pain that had roiled through her body, before snapping her into oblivion.

She began to take quick steps, the mist clearing only in the spots where she stood. She reached for the familiar weight of her wand, and her anxiety ramped into overdrive when the tool could not be found.

She braced one hand on a nearby column, before sliding down, her back against the stone. She rested head against her knees, trying in vain to stave a panic attack.

"Where the bleep am I?" She jumped. Her curse word had been replaced with an audible beep sound.

"I'm afraid that we don't allow that sort of language here, " a solemn voice said.

Hermione jumped to her feet, hair whipping around as she glanced from her left to right. She could see no one in the mists, she heard no footsteps. The voice seemed to echo around her, and at the same time reveal itself as a whisper in her ear.

"I did not mean to startle you child, I do apologize," the voice spoke again. The voice was neither male nor female, but carried a weight behind it. Complete authority rang within the compelling voice.

"Where am I? Are you God? Is this Heaven or Hell?" Hermione said. She wasn't sure. This place conveyed no feeling one way or the other. It did not radiate innate goodness, but it did not feel evil either.

"This place has many names. It is a place of waiting, a holding place if you will. I am not God child, I merely work for Him," the voice said.

"Is this something like Purgatory?"

"Very like, though this is not the anteroom to Hell child. Your soul is not destined for that place, but neither is it ready for Heaven. Please have a seat, we have much to discuss."

A chair appeared before her, and she wanted to cry in recognition. It was her favorite chair from home, identical down to the small tear on the armrest. An afghan was on the back, and after sitting down Hermione wrapped herself in the thick blanket. It even smelled like home, carrying the scent of the laundry detergent her mother always used.

"I'm sure that you have many more questions," the voice said.

"Where are the pearly gates?" Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

The voice chuckled a bit. "I must confess that I didn't think that that would be your first question, but I will answer it just the same. The pearly gates do exist, in a fashion. Take a look to your right."

Hermione watched as the mist parted revealing a large golden door. A feeling of complete contentment washed over her as she gazed at the door, her fingers literally itching to turn the knob. The draw was awesome, and she maintained her seat with sheer willpower.

"Um, well...I suppose I will be heading through the right door. Right?" she asked hopefully.

"Actually no," the voice said solemnly.

Hermione's mouth dropped. Okay, she hadn't been the most virtuous person in the world, but she didn't think that she deserved...Hell. She glanced to her left, and fear rose to her throat, choking off her breath. The door was black. Not just painted black, but a black that was the complete absence of light. Frost lined the edges of the door, the kind of frost that if touched would take skin with it. She had always imagined that Hell would be a place of fire and pain. The horrible door, which sent chills of complete terror up her spine, suggested otherwise.

"But you said that my soul was not destined for Hell! Please, is there anything that I can do?" Hermione cried.

"Please calm yourself, child. You will not be going to Hell. In fact, you will have a choice that no mere mortal has ever received. A mistake was made with the timing of your death. You were not supposed to die in the Department of Mysteries."

"Mistake! How does something like this happen?" Hermione's voice had risen. She was on a roller coaster of emotion, up and down from terror to confusion and anger.

"There are many jobs in Heaven, many departments if you will. Some souls are never sent to Earth, and instead work to help Heaven run smoothly. One such soul was assigned a position that she was not prepared for. She is what we call a Moirai. Moirai's are the keepers of Fate and they maintain threads of life. Your life thread was severed by mistake. The curse that killed you was meant to miss you entirely, harmlessly hitting the wall behind you. When your thread was cut, Fate was redetermined. I'm very sorry."

"Sorry? That is all you have to say to me? I'm dead! I knew that in helping my friends that my death was a possibility. I made my choice and I accepted the risks that came with it, but now you're telling me that my death was a mistake. That someone was basically asleep on the job," Hermione ran her fingers through her hair in frustration, taking a deep breath to calm herself. "Well what happens now?" She asked as evenly as she could, though she knew her voice was wavering with sadness and disbelief.

What could these heavenly 'employees' do? What could they possibly have in mind? She really couldn't begin to guess. For the most part, in her world, dead was dead.

The voice spoke once more. "I think that you will be happy to know that Aisa, the Moirai that cut your thread, will be taken through a strict retraining," at Hermione's scoff, the voice paused, before continuing. "Because of the unique circumstances regarding your death, we are prepared to offer you a choice. You may go to Heaven, and reap your deserved rewards or you can go back to Earth."

Hermione sighed in happiness, relief washing over her. "I can go back? Thank you! There's so much I have left to do, things that I want. Also, Harry and Ron are going to be lost without my help. Oh, and my parents! I know my Mum and Dad will be so happy that I'm not dead," she said ending with a huge grin.

Her grin slowly faded as the voice spoke again. "Well, that isn't precisely true. I regret to inform you that your body has been buried, laid to rest in Rolling Green Cemetery."

"Buried? How to you intend to send me back without a body?" Hermione thought of her parents and friends, the grief that they must have suffered. Another thought came to her. "Exactly how long have I been dead?"

"Its has been several months since your death, child. We used that time to find an acceptable replacement for your body. We wanted to find a body that was as near to your original form as possible, with as similar a background as could be managed. There were certain conditions that had to be met, before both the body and your soul were ready. One of those conditions was that the replacement body had to die of natural causes. We cannot afford to have this situation like happen again. Your new body's life thread was always fated to be severed at this time, because of this your soul can be placed there without difficulty."

"A new body?" Hermione wasn't sure how she felt about the prospect. It was like the thought of wearing someone else's undergarments; uncomfortable and disgusting. But if that was what she had to do to get back to where she was needed-where she belonged... "I will take it," she said determinedly.

"Your...essence, your soul, will be the same but you must understand that you will not - you cannot be Hermione Granger any longer. To the world you will be a different person, the girl whose body you will inhabit. You will will retain your own personality, thoughts, and memories. You will also have access to her memories, though they will simply be there for frame of reference and ease of transition. It is imperative that this transition go as smoothly as possible. It is our wish that you make the best of this new life and live it to the fullest. There is only one non-negotiable stipulation: you are forbidden from telling anyone who you once were. If choose to ignore this the deal will be nullified," the voice said quietly.

"Nullified? What does that mean? And why?" she asked.

"The deal will be revoked. You will be brought back here. Your soul would be placed within this waiting place for a period of no less than one hundred Earth years. You will have no choice in the matter. We must maintain protocol. It cannot be known that mistakes such as these can happen. It would cause untold chaos. People would no longer respect or attempt to earn their proper place in the afterlife if they thought that they could just have a do-over."

It wasn't her fault that life had been cut short, and now that she had a second chance, she couldn't even tell her loved ones. Hermione looked around in horror. She couldn't spend years in this place. She'd go mad! She wanted to scream in frustration. This wasn't fair! It was like a punishment, not a gift!

She closed her eyes for a moment, her mind racing as she considered her options. As much as she wanted accept the deal then run and tell anyone who would listen that she was Hermione Granger, she had to acknowledge the foolishness of that impulse. What would the people from her former life think anyway? The wizarding world was full of unexplainable things, but this would be a bit much. They would think that she was a liar, or that was playing a cruel trick was mocking their pain for her own amusement. And that was only the best case scenario. What was more likely was that they would think that she was insane. Like that strange man she'd seen on the telly, the one that thought he was Napoleon Bonaparte. And that assumption that she was insane would be perfectly reasonable. She would probably think the same thing if someone came to her with such a bizarre story. Hermione imagined herself in a straight-jacket, hair standing around her head, sitting in the psych ward at St. Mungo's. Everyone would think she was as crazy as Gilderoy Lockhart if she went around spouting that she was a dead girl. Especially while in the body of a girl who was alive and well.

"I understand. I still accept the deal," she finally said. She wanted to live. She would always be Hermione Granger inside no matter what body she wore. Besides the voice hadn't said that she couldn't leave hints, only that she couldn't tell the truth outright. How could they punish her if someone figured out truth for themselves? If she left clues...well perhaps the truth would be revealed in spite of their stipulation. She grinned inwardly. She'd certainly learned the art of loopholes during her years at Hogwarts.

"A few details: Your body is similar, the same age even, and she was also a witch. Now if you are sure..."

"I am absolutely sure," Hermione said, interrupting.

"Done," the voice said. A sound as harsh and abrupt as a clap of lightning hit her ears.

A cyclone of wind surrounded Hermione, lifting her from the chair. "But who am I going to...?" the roar of the wind took the rest of her voice, and the space seemed to melt around her.

0o0

Once again Hermione woke to a strange place.

A beeping sound echoed softly beside her, and she looked to her left, watching as a medical monitor beside her bed recorded her pulse.

She was in hospital then.

The too chemical scent of cleansers and lemon floor wax filled her nose. It burned, making her feel like she needed to sneeze, but Hermione glorified in the sensation. She was alive! She could feel the slightly scratchy sheet against her skin, the nubby blanket under her finger tips.

The curtains were pulled and the room was dim, but she could make out mauve painted walls and a generic floral print on the wall. There was a single vase of flowers on a table directly across from the bed. Pink peonies. Almost the same shade as the walls. Hermione didn't think this was a temporary room. It seemed more...permanent.

The door opened and a young Mediwitch entered the room, crossing the space to open the curtains, and letting in bright sunlight.

Hermione coughed delicately to garner attention and watched as the witch jumped.

"Oh! You're awake!" the witch said, eyes wide with awe. She walked back to the doorway quickly, touching her wand against a small panel mounted on the wall.

Within minutes the room was filled with Healers and more Mediwitches.

Over the next several hours they checked her vitals, took blood samples, and conducted several tests. The general consensus was both bafflement and amazement at her consciousness.

Hermione was beyond tired of being poked and prodded when finally an older Healer entered the room. He sat down in a chair next to the bed, his bushy brows drawn together. He rubbed one hand against his temple and winced a bit, obviously suffering from a headache."You have been comatose for several months," he began bluntly, "You were medically brain dead. We have no explanation as to why you regained consciousness so suddenly. You are a very lucky young woman, Miss Davis."

"Davis?" Hermione finally said, surprised at the low, husky voice that came from her throat. The voice was very different from what hers had been.

The Healer looked puzzled for a moment, before standing. He pulled a small light from his white coat, shining it into her eyes. "Can you tell me what your name is?"

"Of course I can," Hermione said as realization hit her. The information was there and easily accessed.

She was Tracey Taryn Davis, and she was a Slytherin.

0o0

Hermione stood in front of the mirror, staring at her unfamiliar reflection. She had been there for several minutes, silently taking in what she saw.

There were vague similarities between her true form and that of her new body.

They both had dark hair, though this girl's hair was a deep auburn color. It wasn't as ginger as say, Ginny's hair, but there were definite red tones in the wavy locks. It was also very thick and long, ending at the small of her back. Much longer than Hermione had ever allowed her own hair, because of its manageability, to grow. Hermione ran a hand through the glossy mass, blinking back tears when her hand didn't encounter curly snarls. She hadn't thought she would ever bemoan the reality of long silky smooth hair, but she wanted her hair back.

They were both Caucasian, though Tracey had a fairer complexion. More the traditional English rose, with softly blushing cheeks and clear pale ivory skin, rather than the peaches and cream hue that Hermione had once possessed. Hermione doubted that Tracey tanned well.

The features were completely different, of course. Tracey had delicate perfectly sculpted brows over brilliant blue eyes, surrounded by thick, dark lashes. Lashes like Hermione had always wanted. She had a small straight nose, and when she opened her mouth she noticed even white teeth. Her mouth was rather lush, a natural rose color. Tracey was pretty. Not in an in your face beauty like Fleur Delacour; more a quiet, refined beauty. She glanced down at the drab hospital gown, running a hand down her body.

Hermione untied the gown, feeling slightly guilty. She pushed down the guilt. If this is my body, I had better get used to it, she thought to herself.

She let the ugly hospital gown fall to the floor, and she forced her eyes back to the large mirror.

Though they were both petite, though she judged that Tracey was a few inches taller than the five four that she had been. Other than that their body types were as unalike as can be. Hermione had had slender almost boyish limbs. Tracey was curvy, and surprisingly leggy despite her shorter stature.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Do you need help getting in the shower or adjusting the taps?" a mediwitch called from beyond the door, concern coloring her voice. Hermione had been in the loo for several minutes in complete silence and the mediwitch had begun to worry.

"No," Hermione called back. Sighing, she pulled back the plastic shower curtain. She started the water, stepping under the warm spray. Now, in the privacy of the quiet stall, she let her emotions take over. The roar of the water completely masked the sound of her sobs.

0o0

After her shower, Hermione sat quietly, forcing herself to eat a bland hospital meal. She pushed around slightly mushy peas as she thought. She didn't have a lot of time to come up with a plan. She figured that she would approach this situation like she approached all others: by studying as much as she could and applying the knowledge that she learned.

Thankfully, after she had displayed confusion over her name and details about her life, the Healers had conveniently offered up amnesia as an explanation. The excuse was as good as any and she latched upon it, figuring it would explain any lapses or mistakes that she would make while she adjusted. It also fitted nicely with the accident that Tracey had apparently had while riding horseback. The girl had fallen when her horse had gotten spooked, striking her head against a large rock. It had been several hours before she was found, and quickly brought to the hospital.

The Healers had been able to repair and reconstruct her skull, but her brain had been another matter. While magical medicine was becoming more and more advanced every year, some aspects of the brain were just as mysterious to wizard doctors as they were to Muggle doctors. NeuroHealer experts had been brought in, but even they hadn't been able to explain why Tracey hadn't regained consciousness. Since nothing could be done for her mind, the healers had focused on keeping Tracey's body was as healthy as possible. Of course, the Healers had no idea that Tracey's body had been on "ice" while the "powers that be" fixed their mistake. Eventually Tracey was moved to the long term care wing, and they had simply monitored her vital signs, and cared for her physical body in every way that they could, hoping that she would wake. Tracey had been comatose for three months. The accident must have happened very soon after the end of the school year.

It was strange, sifting through Tracey's memories, but Hermione found that if she thought on certain details of Tracey's life that the information would come to her easily. Almost like facts that she had studied.

Tracey was a single child, born to Nigel and Claudia Davis. Claudia, her mother, had passed away from complications after childbirth. She lived in Dorset, in a large home very near the sea. Closing her eyes, she could even vividly recall the stone and rich wood in the home.

"You are one lucky girl Tracey. You don't mind if I call you Tracey do you?," a mediwitch said, her plump cheeks dimpling in a smile. She was a robust girl, called Sarah, with rosy cheeks and thick blonde hair pinned neatly under her white cap. She looked very much like a stereotypical Dutch milkmaid.

Hermione was tired of being called lucky. Every time someone mentioned her "recovery" a version of the word luck soon followed. She didn't feel very lucky. She was in an entirely different body from the one she had been born to, and it alarmed her that she was becoming increasingly comfortable in said body.

She was cut off from everyone who truly knew and loved her, and had still not came up with a viable solution to that problem. The only thing that kept her going was the fact that she would be able to see her friends soon, even if from a careful distance. She knew that it would be the height of idiocy to approach Harry and Ron in friendship right away. They would be immediately suspicious of such an overture from a Slytherin, especially one that had never spoken with before. Hermione barely remembered Tracey. She only had a vague memory of Tracey's name being called during the sorting ceremony during her first year at Hogwarts.

"Actually, call me Taryn," Hermione said quietly. As much as she wanted to be called by her own name, she couldn't be Hermione anymore, but she would be damned if she was going to be called Tracey.

"Do know when I get to go home?" she asked the witch.

"Well, they didn't find anything peculiar with your tests or blood work. Unless the doctor says differently I assume that you will be leaving as soon as your family can come to collect you," Sarah said cheerfully.

Hermione thought of her mother and father and felt grief almost choked her. What were Daniel and Claire Granger doing at that very moment? With effort, she pushed down the thought, steeling herself against the emotion. She had to get it together. It wouldn't do to go around looking like someone had died. It would look odd if she didn't put on a happier attitude. She would try to visit her parents later if at all possible, though covertly of course.

"Well, that certainly sounds good. I can't wait to be back in my own bed," Hermione smiled brightly, pushing cheer into her voice.

"Ah, that sounds more like a girl happy to be alive and well!" Sarah said smiling, as she wheeled out the empty tray.

0o0

Draco Malfoy raised the hood of his black sweatshirt over his head to cover the paleness of his hair. The striking platinum hair would be a dead giveaway, pinpointing his exact position as he crossed the lawn of Malfoy Manor, and he didn't want his progress tracked. He shifted the strap of the duffel on his shoulder, checking the zipper, before making his way to the wrought iron entrance to the grounds.

Just outside the gate he Apparated, appearing in a dark alley a block or so from his destination.

He walked quickly past abandoned warehouses and silent factories, soon reaching another alley behind a familiar nondescript building. He glanced around, alert to any dangers, wand within reach should he need it. Turning the corner, he paused in front of a peeling red door, rapping exactly five times on the metallic surface.

The door was wrenched open. A huge man, with a ready scowl on his face glowered at him from the open door. "Who the fuck is..."

Draco pushed back his hood, running a hand through his hair and grinned cockily.

The scowl left the man's face, and he clapped Draco on the back. "Haven't seen you around here lately, eh? Thought you might not be coming back at all, Ryu," he said, moving aside for Draco to pass.

Draco smirked. "Nah, you'd miss my pretty face too much if I didn't." It had been several months since he had last been here, and his body jumped in nervous tension.

The light inside was slightly dim, yet it illuminated the polished concrete floors and dark red brick walls. Draco walked confidently down the familiar hallway, before pushing his way into a large locker room. He could hear the roar of the crowd, and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring what was yet to come. Moving toward the rear of the room he stopped before his locker, pulling out a key to unlock the plain metal door.

He pulled the hoodie over his head revealing a black tee-shirt that emphasized the lean, hard muscles that his wizard robes hid. Sitting down on the smooth wooden bench bolted to the floor in front of the bank of lockers, he pulled off his shoes, before standing again to unbutton and push down his dark wash jeans. Under the jeans was a pair of tight shorts that his mother would be horrified to see him wearing.

"He gonna be here tonight, Jeff?" Draco asked when he heard the man's familiar heavy footfall entering the room behind him. He took a pair of black fingerless protective gloves from his locker, and pulled them on his pale hands.

"You're shitting me, eh? Course he will be here. Him and everyone else you can think of. You're lucky you remembered to come in through the back. The place is packed. You've been gone awhile and people have been waiting to see this match. Damek has been going around telling people how he is going to kick your ass," Jeff said, leaning his large frame on the wall behind him.

"Good," was all Draco said, rolling his neck to loosen the muscles.

"Good? The guy's been pissing on your name and that's all you have to say? Good?" Jeff asked, chuckling a bit to himself. Ryu was one strange kid. He'd known him for about three years, and he had never seen someone with so much raw talent. The kid took to mixed martial arts like a fish to water, only saying that he had had lots of fencing lessons as a child. As if that was anything like, or had anything to do with MMA.

Jeff had took a chance on the kid when he had shown up out of the blue a few years ago, his grey eyes steely with anger and resentment. The eyes had been chilly, especially set into the delicate features of a child. He'd been all of thirteen years old, but he had had the cash. Jeff, being a man that jumped on an opportunity, took the money and didn't ask for anything other than a name. And he was pretty sure the kid had lied about that. He doubted that Ryu was the name on the kid's birth certificate. He looked as much like a Ryu, as Jeff did a Brittany. Jeff had wanted to call him on it, but something had stopped him. He'd bitten his tongue against his questions. He didn't regret it, and over time he had found a sort of rough connection with the kid. Not exactly fatherly, but not exactly friendship either.

Taking Ryu on had proved to be a smart decision, and Jeff and Ryu had made a shitload of money together. Ryu had only lost three matches in as many years, and his reputation and spread way beyond the small gym.

Everyone knew about Ryu. The man who fought with grace and silence and never bore the marks of his battles. That in and of itself added to the mystique. In an industry of crooked noses and cauliflower ears, Ryu had remained handsome and pristine and healed extremely quickly. It was creepy at best, and fucking terrifying at worse. Some of the more superstitious fighters whispered about pacts with devils, and even though Jeff pushed away the thought, he silently wondered.

Jeff's brow rose as he noticed something. "When'd you get inked kid?" he asked, nodding his head toward the tattoo on Draco's left inner forearm. It looked like a skull with a snake coming from its mouth.

Draco froze. Dammit, he had forgotten to glamour the mark. Shit, this was exactly what I didn't want, he thought. He only wanted to forget about the fact that he now wore the Dark Mark, to forget what had been asked of him, even chancing leaving Malfoy Manor so close to time to return to Hogwarts. "Just something I got while pissed," he finally said, forcing out a false chuckle.

Jeff only shook his head. He had never seen Ryu pissed in the years that he had known him. The kid always refused when the rest of the guys went out for a drink, but as a man that kept his own council, he reasoned that Ryu had his own reasons for keeping the meaning of his tattoo private. Jeff respected that. After all, this place wasn't exactly a confessional, and many of its patrons had secrets and kept even more.

"I'm going to go warm up," Draco said heading toward a room just off from the locker room. The room was small, and the floor was graced with thick mats to cushion bodies from hard falls. From this room the roar of the crowd was louder and he walked over to the Muggle stereo system, turning on a CD to drown out the sound. A guitar heavy song filled the room.

Draco smirked to himself as he imagined the look on his friends faces if they knew where he was now. They would probably shit their pants, he thought. Both at the mere thought of him being in a Muggle establishment, let alone listening to Muggle music. They would probably have a heart attack if they knew why he was there.

To most of the world Draco Malfoy was known as a pompous braggart, a pretentious asshole, a spoiled kid with far too much money. It was a part that he had learned to play from birth.

In the world of underground mixed martial arts, he was known simply as Ryu Kovalic, a sixteen year old kid who could reduce a grown man to a bloody pulp, then seduce the guy's girlfriend afterward.

Draco needed to fight. It was the only time he felt a measure of control over his life. When he was facing an opponent in the ring/cage/wherever, it was like his world was right. He determined what happened. If he was on his game then he controlled the outcome. There wasn't a bunch of political shit to mar the simple facts. It was one man against another. Competition in its purest form.

He walked over to the wall, removing a pair of rattan sticks. Moving back to the practice mat, he took a basic stance, right leg slightly forward. He began to shadowbox, his sticks moving in deadly rapid strikes, his imaginary opponent receiving punishing strikes to the head and down on the ribs. On and one he went, his feet moving in practiced steps as he demolished his opponent.

He finished his warmup, bouncing on his heels, ready for the match. It was time to live in the moment. Damek didn't stand a fucking chance.

FAIR WARNING(S):

A DISCLAIMER: This story is on permanent hold/hiatus. Read still if you want and review if you're so inclined.

I'm NOT trying to be rude or condescend to anyone by saying any of this, but I've found that I can't tiptoe around issues and that blunt speaking is needed to avoid confusion. Please take the time to read these statements, because if your review/question/issue/comment has been answered here then you will receive a reply directing you to read or reread these statements.

Here are some answers to commonly asked question or issues:

1. The Complexities of Birthright as a whole is an Angsty/Romantic AU story mixed with Canon. It is M rated and often leans more toward MA or NC-17. The rating is for language, sexual scenes, and violence.

The Draco and Hermione found here are slightly OOC, though I do my best to keep them in character while still telling the story I want to tell. They aren't purely J.K. Rowling's characters. If you want character purity reread the novels. I'll be referring to Hermione as Taryn, mostly because it's confusing to go back and forth. She is still mostly the same person, but for all intents and purposes thinks of herself as Taryn. When I mention Tracey I am referring to the real Tracey Davis. Tracey is a canon character, but her characterization is vague enough that I can pretty much make her my own.

THIS WEBSITE, FANFICTION DOT NET, IS THE ONLY PLACE THAT THIS STORY IS OFFICIALLY HOSTED. IF YOU SEE THE COMPLEXITIES OF BIRTHRIGHT ON ANY OTHER SITE (LIKE FICTIONHUNT, TALKFICTIONS, AO3, WATTPAD, MEDIAMINER, OR ANY OF THE OTHERS) THEN MY STORY HAS BEEN COLLECTED, COPIED, OR UPLOADED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. IF THAT CHANGES I WILL BE SURE TO INCLUDE ANY SITES THAT I CHOOSE TO UPLOAD ON THESE AUTHOR NOTES AND/OR AUTHOR PROFILE.

2. This story has a Slash or M/M couple, which refers to a male/male relationship for those who don't recognize the term. The main characters are heterosexual, but a few side characters aren't. There was a outtake within this story that had explicit slash scenes, but it is now an outtake oneshot which can be found by way of my profile if you'd like to read it. Please, no flames on this issue. If you have a problem with gay characters, please keep it to yourself and don't waste your time or mine flaming me about it. If you don't like the slash elements you can skip them.

3. I don't have a beta. I'm not going to be overly concerned with the grammar/typo aspects of this story. I try my best to catch errors but I'm not perfect, so you should expect to see them. This is written for fun and is a hobby for me, not something for which I'm being paid. TCOB is not intended to be comparable to published works. It is an amateur effort and as such is not up to current industry standards.

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I NEVER REMOVE REVIEWS.

If you have something to say, even if it is a criticism, post it. If its rudely stated I won't answer it, but I won't delete it. It's your honest opinion and you have the right to express it.

I also try my best to answer all questions/concerns/reviews as long as they are respectful and genuine. Even though I'm not currently working on this story, and have no plans to work on it again, I do appreciate every view, favorite, story alert, and review. I read, or have read every single one.