One Last Try [HP Jamione fanfic]

2. Begin Again

A/N: Second chapter! We find out what's happened to Hermione this chapter :D

Unknown date

Hermione woke in an unfamiliar room lying on the softest mattress she'd ever had the privilege to lie on - it was especially nice after a year on the run, sleeping on uncomfortable cot beds in the tent. She kept her eyes closed for a few moments, trying to catalogue the room around her - for she was clearly inside. If there was anyone in the room she didn't want to give away to them that she was awake yet. There was no guarantee, especially in her experience, whether someone was hostile or not. For a moment it was quiet, and then, just as she was about to move and open her eyes, a door somewhere to her side opened.

"Mum?" The voice was young and tentative, and strangely familiar, "Is she okay?" Footsteps came closer to the bed, stopping near her feet.

A soft voice responded from much closer to her, obviously the mother of whomever had entered the room. Hermione barely controlled her surprised twitch, she didn't like that someone had been so close to her and she hadn't been able to tell.

"She should be fine in time, love." The voice was aristocratic, and Hermione was uncomfortably reminded of some of the haughty pure-bloods she'd met before. Though Sirius had had the same kind of accent and affectations in his speech, and was very far from haughty, so she was aware there was a possibility this person wasn't the kind of pure-blood Hermione was automatically assuming she was. "Go fetch your brother and then you can both run some errands for me. Maybe by the time you are back she will be awake." The voice had moved away from her, and she could make out a swooshing sound that must have been the woman walking across the room.

The door opened and closed, and Hermione assumed the boy had left. She was proven right when the lighter set of footsteps came back closer, and stopped near where the woman had first spoken. There was a pause where Hermione pictured the unknown woman looking down at her. She just barely managed to stop herself from shifting under the scrutiny.

"I know you are awake, dear."

Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes, and turned her head slowly to look at the woman sitting next to the bed. She blinked against the sudden onslaught of light a few times - even as dim as it was - trying to focus on her. Her neck twinged and she winced. She took a moment to look over the woman sitting beside her. She had dark thick curls that were swept away from her face into some complex looking hairstyle that was almost certainly only achievable with magic, leaving her pale face framed by a few stray curls. Her eyes were a piercing blue that Hermione could almost feel looking into her soul.

"Where-" Her throat was so dry, Hermione had to stop and clear it. The woman handed her a glass of water that Hermione eyed suspiciously.

"I assure you it is not poisoned. If I were wishing to kill you, I would not have brought you into my home when you appeared out of nowhere on my lawn."

Hermione took the glass, accepting the logic, and quickly gulped almost half of it down. She set the empty glass on the bedside table beside her, and turned back to the woman. "Where am I?" Hermione paused for a moment in silent horror to wonder what had happened to her to render her voice so high. It sounded like it had before she went through puberty.

The woman examined Hermione, leaning back in her chair in a posture that most people would perceive as relaxed. Hermione had more experience though, and could see the tense lines of her body, and the hand that lay close to where a wand could be concealed.

When the woman's gaze became too piercing, Hermione looked away, her eyes skimming over the beautiful room. It was bedecked in pale shades of blues and silver, and the furniture all looked antique beneath its white-wash. There were thick curtains pulled most of the way across large windows beside and at the end of the bed, letting in shafts of pale sunlight. There were three doors in the room, all a rich mahogany. She assumed the one on the far right of the bed must be the door the boy had entered through earlier as that was where his voice had come from.