HI! This is Terra, Once Upon A Goddess! I was absolutely in love with this story, so I adopted it for the fabulous mellowenglishgal! All credit goes to her, her idea, characters personalities, I am just a faithful reader who loved the plot! Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I do and stick with it! I plan on updating soon, so stay tuned! I'll first be updating current chapters, then get a new chapter up as soon as possible. Thanks!

Disclaimer: I confess, I do not own any of J.K.'s wonderful characters-though if I had any legal say in the matter of publishing, I would have refused to publish the last book because of the death-count, so I am boycotting all knowledge of that book and take pleasure in writing my own stuff! Ha!... Let's take a few moments of silence for our fallen brethren. FRED! :'(

Author's Note: Inspired by another fic I scanned through, this is my take on the Adopted! Hermione storyline. Oh, and just in case you don't figure it out, it will be a Hermione/DRACO fic. Major smut in later chapters. Please REVIEW.

Character Names:

Charles: German: 'strong'

Jean: Hebrew: 'god is gracious'

Hermione: Greek: 'well-born,' daughter of Menelaus and Helen of Sparta/Troy i.e. Uber-babe.

William: German: 'Resolute guardian'

Phaedra: Greek: 'glowing'

Theodore: Greek: 'divine gift'

"Hermione, we need to talk."

"This is my first sweet of the day, Dad, I promise!" Hermione jumped, whirling around and trying guiltily to conceal the Tunnox Tea-Cake. It was their fault, after all. They bought the bloody things. She couldn't help having a sweet-tooth in spite of having annoyingly pedantic dentists for parents. Her mother was convinced she had no idea where Hermione got her taste for sweets from.

"No, Hermione," her mum chuckled light-heartedly, rolling her eyes amusedly, "this isn't about corrosion of your enamel."

"Cool," Hermione shrugged, popping the last bit of cake into her mouth. Her dad rolled his eyes.

"Actually, this is a little less trivial than your daily sugar intake," Dad said solemnly. Hermione glanced between her parents and turned to her mother, eyes narrowed and her hands on her waist.

"Are you pregnant?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow threateningly, as if to say 'You'd better tell me the truth!' Oh, she would be such a good parent! Not!

"What?" Mum laughed, surprised.

"Hermione, please be serious," Dad pleaded with a sigh.

"I would, if I knew what I was supposed to be serious about," Hermione prompted.

"Well, poppet," Mum began nervously. "There's…there's something your father and I have to tell you…that we should have told you a long time ago." I'm adopted, Hermione joked.

"Before you say anything, I already know...Father Christmas doesn't exist," Hermione said, and her parents' worried expressions relaxed a little.

"Hermione, what your mum's trying to say is…well, you are adopted," Dad said, and had Hermione still been eating her tea-cake she probably would have choked. Urgh. Definitely might vomit, she thought, massaging her stomach, which she had just filled with a brie-and-grapes sandwich, cheese and onion crisps, a Diet Coke and a slice of the banana-bread she'd made this morning.

"Huh?"

"Hermione, darling, now, we know you're not dim-witted," Dad joked feebly, looking on helplessly as Hermione stared at her parents. Who they fuck are they if they're not my parents? She thought. No, this was some form of practical joke. Her dad had a sense of humor when he wanted one. There was no way she could be adopted. She was brown-eyed and brunette, like both her parents, she had her mother's womanly hourglass figure, her father's penchant for politics and her mother's love of learning.

"Honey, now, we know this is probably very difficult to digest," Mum said gently. You're telling me, Hermione thought, kneading her stomach, wincing painfully. "You have to understand that we—well, we understood that you were ours, unconditionally. We didn't think you'd ever have to find out unless you had some horrible accident and needed a transplant—heaven forbid!"

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked, glancing at her mum, frowning. Thought they'd never have to tell me? She thought disbelievingly. What was worse than thinking she was adopted was the fact that she could have led her entire life without knowing it. Would you have cared if you'd never found out? She asked herself rationally. No. Mum and Dad were, and always would be, her parents. There were photographs on the walls—all of them motionless, of course—of her, from the age of one day old to just last week at the little barbecue down the road.

"Well, you have to understand that the woman who brought you to us said you had no one else," Mum said tremulously. "She said you had no other family. Of course, how could we refuse you when we saw you, hm?" She gave Hermione a tentative little smile, nudging her jaw with a curled finger. Hermione jerked her head away, annoyed.

"So why tell me all this?" Hermione asked hostilely, glaring at her parents. What purpose will it possibly serve? She thought, annoyed. The doorbell rang, and her parents started.

"Oh, good lord, that's probably them," Mum said in a hushed whisper, her fingers pressed to her lips, eyes wide. Dad glanced at Hermione and sighed.

"Well—and we didn't know about this until this morning, when the letter arrived at the office—your birth-parents are coming," Dad said. The doorbell rang again, as if a small child was outside and obsessed with pressing the tantalizing button. Dad turned on his heel and walked out of the kitchen, into the hallway and to the front-door. The Granger house was a large one, in the middle of the countryside, twenty minutes from Winchester. Mum tried to block Hermione's view of the front-door as she heard hushed conversation in the porch.

"I, well, you have to understand we've only just told her. You didn't give us very much time," her dad said nervously. Someone responded and her dad sighed. "Well, if you're sure. It could get ugly, I'm warning you now." He's not wrong, she thought, and set her face in a determined scowl as her father returned.

"Jeannie, why don't you put the kettle on?" Dad suggested, and Hermione still glared resolutely at him, arms folded across her chest. "Hermione, why don't you come with me?" His nerve was failing him, she could tell; his smile was strained, and his eyes showed how upset he was if the lines of stress in his face didn't. She traipsed behind him; arms clamped over her voluptuous chest, scowl set, and entered the living-room by the door at the foot of the stairs.

A.N.: Again, all credit goes to the infamous mellowenglishgal! Please follow this, should have an update soon.

Loves, ~Terra