'Funny,' Hermione thought, 'I don't remember telling her that I don't like pumpkin juice.'
Silently she chewed through her meal. It was only a small portion, just right for little Hermione. Hermione really was quite small to her age. Soon she had finished the portion and was looking expectantly up at Minerva.
"Hermione, would you like to change? Perhaps put on something more comfortable?"
A nod was the only answer Minerva needed. Using a rather impressive display of wand less magic she banished a set of her pajamas that she had shrunken down to fit the girl's small frame to the spare room. She stood in a swish of emerald and black and reached out a thin hand.
Hermione grasped the hand, using it as leverage to pull herself up, not letting go as she was guided down a hall way to a dark wood door. The door was pushed open and a hand on her upper back pushed her inside. She barely registered the fact that Minerva was talking as she took in the room.
It was simple but oh, so beautiful. Cream covered the wall, outlined with a pale golden trim. A bed with a rich red comforter stood in the middle with a dark wood chest colored with red undertones she new signified cherry wood standing at its foot. The chest's matching bureau was pushed against the other wall.
"... And the bath is just through that door if you'd like to wash up."
She never contemplated what her mentors chambers looked like beyond the formal sitting room attached ,via a portrait, to her office. Apparently the woman favored the same colors for every room that it was probable that guests would enter. Not really a surprise but still assuring to know.
As Hermione pulled her top over her head she mulled over the fact that her last three letters to her mother had been ignored. Unanswered. Left alone. Forgotten. It was an unknown, sad fact that while she said her parents were supportive, accepting of the fact that she was a witch they truly weren't. The berated her, ignored her, and in general despised her. She had given them time as Professor McGonagall had said to, but to them, to them it didn't matter.
The young girl had been in the room for nearly an hour and a half when Minerva went to check on her. What she found was the most heart wrenching thing she had seen since the war with Voldemort. There, curled up around a letter on the bed, was Hermione, crying softly. Nearly silent sobbing, almost too quiet to be heard.
Minerva didn't think, she just reacted. Within seconds she had the girl in her arms and pulled into her lap.
AN: sorry about the shortness of this chapter. I'm trying to go for more frequent but with chapters more toward 500- 1000 words.