A/N: So the basic idea of this story has been done quite a few times by others but it is one of my favorites and I wanted to try it out myself. Hermione and most of the characters from the books will be OOC because I can never seem to write a character the way they are supposed to be when it comes to fan fiction. Everything that happened in the books happened here, except for the epilogue, obviously, and if this were a perfect world then I would update every day but I will go ahead and tell you now that that is not going to happen. JK Rowling owns basically everything but the plot for this story and last I checked, I wasn't her. Even though I really wish I was. Reviews are welcome, hope you like it!

Chapter 1 – Post-it Notes and Attics

Let me start off by saying that if I had known going into the day that I would have the worst headache I had ever experienced by the end of it then I wouldn't have woken up that morning. There was less than a month to go before I made my way back to the Scottish castle I call school but before I could do that, I had to deal with selling my parents' house and everything in it.

A month after the war ended I left for Australia with Harry in the hope that I could find my parents and return their memories. I hated what I did to them and was scared that they would never forgive me. Turns out it was all for nothing anyway.

It took us three days to find them. They were buried in a cemetery in Rockingham. A car accident according to the police report. I sent them away to keep them safe from the wizarding world but they ended up dead because the muggle world. Harry said that it was like I shut down. Like a robot in a sci-fi movie that turns off just before it can kill the main character. I didn't talk to anyone for two weeks. Not even Harry or Ron.

Ron. I was still trying to wrap my head around that whole situation. So far, nothing had come from the kiss we shared during the final battle. I understood the main reason why. We had both lost people we deeply cared about and trying to deal with any other emotion than grief was practically incomprehensible. We weren't together, but we weren't what we were before either. We had been avoiding being alone together. Or more accurately, I had been avoiding being alone with him.

Ever since I returned from Australia I've felt awkward around him. My emotions were all over the place and my romantic feelings for him seemed to have gotten lost somewhere along the way. I loved Ron. I knew that, but I was having trouble deciding if I was in love with him or if I loved him the same way I loved Harry and George. Although I guess that really answered my question didn't it? It shouldn't have been a decision I had to make it should have just been.

With that thought making its way through my brain I got up and walked to the bathroom. After a quick shower and granola bar I grabbed a post-it note from the kitchen so I could let Harry know where I'd be. I kept wishing that he would let the whole paranoia thing go but so far I hadn't had any luck.

I wrote the address of my parents' house on the post-it and signed my name before making my way to Harry's room. I snuck in as quietly as I could and immediately noticed that he was not alone in bed. He was joined by a particularly familiar red-head whose parents I was sure had no idea that she wasn't home. While silently laughing at the thought of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's reactions to their missing daughter, I walked up next to Harry and stuck the note to his forehead. If I didn't do it that way then he would get mad later and complain about not knowing where I was and if I was safe even if I left the note on the kitchen counter in plain sight.

Giving myself a mental pat on the back for not waking either of them up, I quickly left the room and made my way out of the flat. As soon as I was outside, I apparated onto the doormat of the modest three bedroom house I spent the majority of my life living in.

Telling yourself that you're going to enter your childhood home and pack everything up is very different, and much easier, than actually doing it. Normally, I would be the last person to admit that I was nervous or scared but I had no issue with it right then. I didn't want to see my childhood on display in front of me and the thought of all the memories I was sure to encounter made me feel sick. After staring at the front door for what felt like an hour, I grabbed the silver key from my pocket let myself inside.

It was exactly as I had left it but with a new, sizable layer of dust over all of the furniture. Before I could let myself get distracted by the earlier mentioned memories, I conjured up several boxes and got straight to work on the downstairs. With the help of some modified summoning charms I was able to get everything that wasn't a large piece of furniture packed up within two hours. I did the same in each of the rooms on the second floor and then all that was left was the attic. This is where the headache comes in.

As I made my way up the stairs I thought of the year ahead of me. I would be returning to school to complete my education along with several others who felt their learning was interrupted by the war. The only downside I could see was that Harry and Ron weren't coming. They had elected to skip out on school and go straight into Auror training. I was happy and pissed off about it at the same time.

According to my Hogwarts letter the seventh years and 'eighth years' as we're being called, were going to be sharing a new dormitory rather than staying in the house dorms. The extra first years were causing enough housing problems as it was so this was the simplest solution. I wanted to think that it wouldn't be a problem but I knew that ship had sailed the moment that Goyle, Nott, Parkinson, and Malfoy declared they would all be returning to Hogwarts. Hopefully they would be smart and just stay out of everyone's way.

Before I could start thinking about Malfoy and all the reasons he shouldn't be allowed back to school, I found that I was at the top of the attic stairs. Looking around the small room I realized a lot more sorting would be needed than I had expected. None of the numerous boxes were labeled therefore giving me absolutely no idea what was and wasn't important. I decided to start with the boxes in the back and make my way towards the door.

After looking through a few boxes that contained nothing but some old clothes and blankets I came across a safe. I used my wand to unlock it and discovered that there wasn't much in it. A small purple, wool baby blanket, a gift box for jewelry, and a large manila envelope with my parents' names on it. Opening the envelope, I found several documents and something I did not expect at all, a letter addressed to me. Curious, I sat down on the floor and began to read the letter.

Dear Hermione,

I hope that when you finish reading this you won't hate me or your father for keeping the truth from you; and I am sorry that this is coming out to you through a letter, but I had to have a way to tell you the truth in case I cannot do it in person. Which, apparently I can't if you are reading this. Now, I need you to do one thing as you read this. Remember how much your dad and I love you. And please understand how real that love is. There is nothing in this universe that could ever stop us from loving you. There are several things that we have kept from you and there is no easy way for me to begin so I'm just going to do it. No sugar-coating. I am not your biological mother nor is your dad your biological father. We took you into our care when you were three days old. In order for you to understand the story behind your adoption I have to tell you something else first. What I am about to tell you is the reason why I want you to remember that I love you. I have a feeling that this revelation will be more hurtful than the first. I am a witch, just like you. I promise you that I am not lying. My real name is Brielle Lizette Decoux-Ainsworth and I am from a French pureblood family, though I did grow up in England. I met your real mother while I attended Beauxbatons. We immediately became the best of friends. However we lost some of that closeness after I met Richard Ainsworth - that's your dad's real name. He was a muggle and any sort of relationship with him would be traitorous because of it. It was quite scandalous when we married, I was disowned by my family, and my contact with my friend suddenly became very sparse. It was two years later when I received a rather disturbing letter. My friend had married a wealthy Italian pureblood and was very happy with him, but the Dark Lord was quickly making his way east. Her husband was being recruited and really had no choice but to accept. Declining would be like painting a target the backs of everyone in his family. But my friend was pregnant and very worried about what joining with the Dark Lord would mean for her children. Yes, children. She was carrying twins. The other Death Eaters didn't know that though. They were only expecting one child, a son, your brother. My friend saw this as a chance to save you from the war and so she begged me to help her. When you were three days old you were given to Richard and I and we went into hiding. I used strong enchantments to alter your appearance that would last twenty years. We then changed our names and yours before taking you to America to live as a completely muggle family while we waited for the war to end. We lived there for years. Despite the Dark Lord's "death," I knew that it was still not safe to reveal your identity so we didn't return to London until you were almost six years old. Of course with the way you were as a child you would have been old enough to remember if we gave you back to your parents and we were all concerned about the effect it could have mentally on you and your brother so Richard and I continued to raise you. I expect that now that you know the truth you will wish to meet your real parents but I have not spoken with them since just after you got your Hogwarts letter. The fact that you are reading this letter means that I cannot help you get into contact with them and I am sorry for that. All I can give you is their names and I hope that is enough. Your real parents are Enzo and Vivienne Zabini. I hope you are able to find them. I know they will want to meet you.

I love you Hermione and you are my daughter. Just not in the way you always thought.

All my love,

Your Mother

I didn't know what to think. My mum was really a witch. I wasn't a muggleborn. I wasn't Hermione Granger. I was adopted. I was a pureblood. I had a twin brother. I didn't actually look like I thought I did. I…wasn't…Hermione…Granger.