Seven shock tarts go to Zimagesto for reviewing! By the way, what DOES your penname mean? And, yeah, Bilius is Ron's middle name. I came across it on (best harry potter news website, EVER!). It was in an online interview/chat thingy with the awesome youngster, J. K. Rowling back in March…er, 4th or something in 2004 or something. It was the very last question, so that one kinda stuck, so…yeah. It also has Ginny and Hermione's middle names (Molly and Jane, respectively). And here's the next chappie for you, btw. I think I'll dedicate it to you, since you dedicated a whole story to me! (which is kinda not the same, but…um…I'm no good with dedications…:sigh:)

And thanks for the whole "don't put yourself down so much" pep talk! It just inspired me to go back and get the next chapter up three weeks in advance!

Oh, I know this fic makes no sense at all right now. I was just sitting in my room a couple of weeks ago and I was in a very "hermione-ish" mood and I kept ranting about how I always I have to do everyone's work and junk. It was…weird. Anyway, hopefully you'll be able to figure out what I'm doing soon. Probably after the third or fourth chapter. If I get that far, that is…

Disclaimer: I don't own harry potter. None of it. Noooooooooooooooooooone. And I don't own any Greek/Roman mythologies either. -that will be explained in the near future…

How She Came To Be…

Chapter Two:
Names and Mythology (1982)

Dedicated to the great Zimagesto.

Three-year-old Hermione Granger giggled as she counted the shelves in her grandparents' study.

"Theventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty," she pointed as she hopped past each shelf lining the walls, a slight lisp escaped her lips with each word that had the letter S in it, "twenty-one, twenty-two!" she turned to the center of the room. "Granny, Grandpa! You have twenty-two bookthelveth!"

"Oh, Horace, she can count to twenty-two!" Granny smiled wistfully as her granddaughter bounced over to her, the short, brown curls sprang back and forth as the little girl looked at the two with large, innocent eyes.

"I can count to…to…" Hermione thought for a minute. "A thouthand!"

"I'm sure you can, sweetie," said Grandpa as he lightly tapped his pipe on her head.

"I can! I can!" she broke into peals of laughter as her curls fell into a lively dance. Her grandfather grabbed her under the arms and swung her in the air. He stopped abruptly, wincing as he set her down on the hardwood floor.

"Whath the matter, Grandpa?" she asked.

"I'm getting a bit too old to throw you around, especially with my bad back," he said with a slight twitch as he rubbed his back.

"I'm thorry, Grandpa," she whispered, her eyes slowly glazed over as tears filled them.

"Oh, Hermione, dearie," Granny stooped over to give her only grandchild a hug, "it's not your fault. Anyway, maybe your grandpa'll think twice about throwing people around like a sack of potatoes now," Hermione giggled. "Now that's my Hermione," said Granny as she wiped the three-year-old's eyes with a handkerchief. "Now go read with Grandpa while I go get dinner ready."

"Okay, Granny," Hermione skipped over to her grandfather's armchair as her grandmother left the room. "What are you reading, Grandpa?"

"Just some mythology," he said as he patted the arm of his chair.

Hermione clambered up the arm and slid next to her gangly grandfather. "Whath a…a…" she wrinkled her eyes in concentration, "my-tho-lo-logy?"

"Mythology," he repeated with a hearty chuckle. "It's like a fairy tale, but they were once told by word and nobody wrote them down, so no one knows what the original version really was. They usually explain little things like why the Sahara Desert is a desert or why we have winter. They're not exactly true, though."

"Can I hear one?" she asked. Grandpa looked at the girl for a minute with a thoughtful expression. "Well, since it's snowing outside, I guess I could tell you about Demeter and Persophone and Hades."

"Okay."

And so the middle-aged man told her tale of the agricultural goddess Demeter, her daughter and the queen the Underworld, Persephone, and her husband and king of the Underworld, Hades.

"…And so Hades agreed to let Persephone, his wife, to visit Demeter, her mother, so that she would stop crying so that everyone would have warm weather and sunlight to grow things. They all agreed that Persephone would return toward the end of the year, when the harvest was over."

Hermione sat in awe. "Ith it true?"

"Well, no, like I said, myths have no scientific reasoning, but they're excellent things to read on a day like this," Grandpa waved his hand at the clumps of snow that fell past the window.

The girl looked down at the thick, leather-bound book opened in her grandfather's bony lap. She leaned over and tried to decipher the words, but could only recognize a handful at a time. Then she spotted a familiar eight-lettered word.

"Look, Grandpa!" she said excitedly as she pointed at the middle of the page. "Ith my name!"

"Ah, Hermione," a dreamy look filled the eyes of Grandpa. "Daughter of Helen and Menelaus. Supposedly as breathtaking as her mother. Oh, how I love that story."

"I'm the daughter of someone bethides Mummy and Daddy?" Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

"Oh, no, dearie," Grandpa quickly came out of his reverie as his granddaughter trembled with shock. "Your parents named you Hermione. The Hermione in this book is a completely different person."

"Oh," said the girl, but she still had her doubt. But Grandpa would never lie to her! Anyway, she wanted to hear another "my-tho-lo-logy". "Can I hear thith one?"

"Oh, no, dear, it's too long to tell in one sitting," Grandpa said as he got up and stretch, taking his body heat with him and causing the little girl to shiver slightly. "I'll tell it to you if it storms during one of your future visits."

"Promith?" she asked hopefully.

"I promise," Grandpa smiled at her. "Now, let's see what Granny's cooking up for us!"

"Okay!" Hermione clapped her hands as she slipped off the armchair and skipped out the room. Her grandfather quickly caught up to her, swinging her on his back as the two passed a few frosted windows, singing nonsense songs at the top of their lungs.

Okay, there's another chapter! I know, it's kinda short, but I think it's the shortest one of all. I really don't remember much about being three, so it's like…eh. And asking three-year-olds what it's like to be three can somehow manage to offend them -true story right there, by the way.

Anyway, I think my author notes are actually longer than this whole chapter. Ha, how pathetic CAN I get? But I promise the next ones WILL be better (hopefully).

I'm sorry about the mythology reference. I've always been fascinated by them. And, according to all my literature teachers, "imagination is the first step to gaining knowledge". I guess it's gotta do with the whole "think outside of the box" junk. I dunno, maybe it could be foreshadowing Hermione's quest for knowledge. But I don't think I want her to be little miss perfect in this fic. Maybe take out the whole "obsessing over homework" thing (my god, I do that enough as it is…and my friend Zerena) and make her seem less…um…insane, spazzy geek…er, brainiac.

I'm rambling, aren't I?

Anyway. So. Liked it? Hated it? Want to pelt rotten tomatoes at me? Go ahead, review! (It sounds like a cheesy commercial, but okay).

'Til next time, my dear young muffins,

Farfanugans,

Chikin Wang