A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER TWO

Page count: 23

St. Mungo's – Sunday 8th November 1981

The first thing Hermione felt was pain.

It crept through her chest in a slow, dragging ache that settled deep into her bones. Then came the light—sharp and blinding—and she groaned, throwing an arm across her eyes. Her throat was dry, her tongue heavy, and her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat.

She tried to breathe through it. The air smelled of sterilised linen and healing potions—clean, clinical, and far too familiar.

When she finally forced her eyes open, the world came into focus: white walls, pale blue curtains, the faint hum of magical charms floating overhead.

A hospital room.

Of course.

Hermione sighed and pushed herself upright, her muscles protesting with every movement. "Brilliant," she muttered, voice hoarse. "Another visit to St. Mungo's. At this rate, I'll have my own bloody ward."

"You've been here before?"

The deep voice came from her right.

Hermione jumped, twisting so fast her vision swam. Her eyes landed on the man seated in the corner chair—slouched slightly, elbows on his knees, book gripped gently in his hands, a faint look of wary curiosity on his face.

And her heart stopped.

Remus Lupin.

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For a moment, she couldn't do anything but stare.

He looked so alive.

Younger, broader, his face still soft around the edges, not yet carved by grief or guilt. His hair was lighter, thick and a little too long, brushing over his brow. His eyes—the same tired, gentle hazel she remembered—were brighter here, unshadowed by war. He wore a rumpled wool jumper and scuffed boots, looking utterly human in a way she'd almost forgotten he could be.

Hermione blinked rapidly, forcing herself to breathe. "Oh my..." she whispered.

He frowned, shifting under her stare. "Do I... know you?"

She shook her head, then stopped. "Sorry," she managed weakly. "It's just... really strange seeing you like this."

"Like what?"

"Alive," she said before she could stop herself.

His brows furrowed, confusion flickering across his face. "You know me?"

"You could say that." She exhaled slowly, grounding herself. "Let me guess—Sirius sent you?"

That earned her a sharper look. "He did," Remus admitted cautiously. "He left a note saying you didn't seem to be one of You-Know-Who's followers, but that he couldn't tell whose side you were on. He asked me to keep an eye on you."

Hermione snorted softly, shaking her head. "Sounds like him." She rubbed at her eyes, trying to push through the fog of exhaustion. "How long have I been out? Where's Sirius? Is Harry alright? What about James? Lily?"

Remus blinked, caught off guard by the torrent of questions. "You've been unconscious for eight days," he said carefully. "The Healers tried to heal you, but the spells wouldn't take. They said your magic resisted theirs—no one knows why."

Hermione frowned, staring down at her hands. Her skin was clean but still marred with bruises and faint scars. Something inside her ached.

Eight days. Her stomach sank. That meant she'd missed—