I don't own any character: everything belongs to J.K. Rowling, except the plot of this story.

AU! Warning: no magic -sorry to wizards and charms lovers-! I'm not from an English-speaking Country, so, please, don't mind my grammar if I made some mistakes. I hope you enjoy the reading! R&R!

After the car crash that killed both of her parents and left her broken, seventeen-years-old Hermione Granger has to deal with the pieces of her former life, trying to put them back together. She and her little sister Emma have to move from their house in Seattle to Ottery St Catchpole, a small town not far from London, England, to stay with their great-aunt Elspeth, their only alive relative. There Hermione discovers a new way of living, and she attends classes at the very unusual school of Hogwarts, where she meets a redheaded boy who helps her and changes her life in a way she would have never believed possible.


Chapter 1: Broken

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The rhythmical, faint sound sank into my brain, slowly pushing its way through the darkness that surrounded me. At first it just annoyed me, but, after a few seconds, it became odd, bothering. It was reminding me of something, a noise that was louder and deeper, and much, much frightening. I didn't want to remember, though: I knew it wouldn't be pleasant, somehow. It felt like a bad dream that had been buried into the depths of my brain for a long time was being pulled out roughly, almost painfully.

Cold fear sank into my heart as a confused, foggy image formed into my mind: I didn't want to see. The beeping sound sped, becoming frantic, and suddenly it turned in a low, powerful rumble that shook me from head to toe with the force of a thunder.

Then everything came back to me: the sudden flash of light, the ominous, massive shape of the truck speeding towards us out of control, the piercing scream coming out of my mouth 'Dad-watch out!'. The excruciating pain in my legs, so intense it made me wish I was already dead, and the darkness of unconsciousness, cold and reassuring, almost a blessing after the terrible agony.

My eyes shot open, and the intense light blinded me, forcing me to half-close my eyelids.

Everything around me was white: the ceiling, the fissured tile walls, the crisp sheets of the bed I was lying into. A hospital bed, I understood. My whole body felt numb, and a dull ache throbbed in my bones; something was stuck on the inside of my left arm -an Iv, maybe-, and the beeping sound I heard was coming from a machine that monitored my vitals. I blinked a few times, trying to focus, with the rumble of the truck horn still in my ears.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I remembered everything: my mother, my father…I knew they were dead. I remembered seeing their still bodies covered in blood as I waited for help or death to come and get me, trapped in the wreck of our car. I wanted to cry, but the sobs just wouldn't come out of the knot in my throat, not yet, at least. I drew in a trembling breath, and just then I felt a small, warm hand squeezing mine.

"Mione, you are awake!" squealed a small, tired voice. I blinked again, and a single tear rolled down my cheek. Emma. Emma was here. How could I forget her for even the smallest second? I turned my head carefully, and saw her.

She was sitting on a uncomfortable-looking, holey armchair by my bed, her jeans-covered legs folded under her small body, her dark, curly hair pulled up in a messy ponytail. She was holding my hand and, with her other arm, she was squeezing her beloved stuffed Eeyore, the one she always had with her. "I was so worried! The doctor said you were sleeping, and I tried to wake you up, but you didn't open your eyes, and I thought you were going to stay like this forever!"

She sniffed and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her strawberry pink sweatshirt. I managed a weak smile. "I'm sorry, honey," I croaked, squeezing her hand back. She nodded, her blue eyes still worried, and sniffed again.

"I tried to ask them where mommy and daddy are, but they said they couldn't tell me. Do you know where they are, Mione?" She was so trusting when she looked at me…How could I tell the truth? How could I tell her that they were gone, that they would have never come back? That she would have never seen them again? I closed my eyes for a second.

"No, Em, I don't know where they are," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Emma looked at me intently for a few seconds, and bit her lip. I saw tears shining in her eyes as she did so.

"They are not here, are they?" she asked, her voice shaking.

"No, honey, they are not here," I said, my voice breaking despite my attempts of keeping it steady.

Then she burst into tears, and I knew she had understood. I opened my arms, ignoring the Iv and the bandages that wrapped almost every surface of my body, and she climbed onto my cot, cuddling against my chest as sobs shook her frail shoulders. I held her tight, tucking her head under my chin, and closed my eyes, trying to hold back tears. I wanted to cry just like her, but I couldn't, not now. Emma was only five, and she needed me, now more than ever, so I had to be strong for both of us, no matter how shattered I felt.

"It's going to be ok," I whispered, stroking her bushy hair. "We are going to be ok. I promise." But even I was skeptical about my own promise.

It was a long time before Emma calmed down, but eventually her sobs stopped and her breathing slowed as she drifted off to sleep. But, even then, tears kept rolling down her cheeks silently, leaving shiny, salty marks on her cheeks. For the millionth time in the last hour, I thanked God Emma wasn't in the car with my parents and I. Mom decided to leave her with our neighbor tonight, so she wouldn't have to come with us. I closed my eyes with a sigh. It seemed impossible that, just a few hours ago, everything had been absolutely perfect…

Right after the end of the ceremony, I ran to my parents, smiling wide. They both hugged me, laughing and congratulating, and I blushed a little, swaying with happiness at the thought of my victory. It was still hard to believe I had really won the Washington Interschool Debate Competition: there were hundreds of people taking part to it, from every school in the state, and many of them were older than me…But I had done it!

"Honey, we are so proud of you!" Mom crooned, hugging me again, as Dad ruffled my already messy hair. "We have to celebrate tonight!" he said cheerfully, handing me my jacket. "We are taking you out for dinner, honey! Where do you want to go?" I laughed, putting on my coat. "Wherever you want, Dad: I'm starving!"

Outside it was raining heavily -not that it was an unusual thing in Seattle-, so we ran to the car, our feet splashing in the small, shallow puddles in the asphalt.

"So, how about going to Bella Napoli?" Dad asked me as soon as we got into the car. I smiled and nodded: I loved Italian food, and that was the best Italian restaurant in town. It was a thirty minutes ride to the diner, so I settled back into my seat, watching the raindrops running on the car window, forming intricate cobwebs on the glass.

We never got there.

Everything was normal -the radio was on, and Mom was singing in a low voice on the melody of an old song she loved, while Dad hummed softly, slightly off-key as always-, and, suddenly, I saw a flashing light coming towards us at an alarming speed from the right.

"Dad-watch out!" I screamed, but the sound was covered from the rumble of the truck horn, deep and powerful as a thunder.

Then it hit us, and our car crumpled, rolling to the side again and again. The windows shattered, and I covered my face with my arms in an attempt to protect myself from the sheds of glass; I felt the sharp edges cutting my flesh through the sleeves of my shirt, but that pain was nothing compared to the fire burning in my legs. I screamed so loud my throat ached, and tears started to run down my face. I tried to move, but I was trapped: the front seat had jerked back, crushing my legs under it.

"Mom! Dad!" I called, but no one answered.

In that moment, I understood: I was the only living thing left in the car.

But I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.

I tried to pull out, reaching forward to look at the still shapes of my parents' bodies in the front seats. The only things I saw were the dark green sleeve of my father's sweater and the light blue, flowered skirt of my mother's dress. They were ripped and covered in blood. There was so much blood…I closed my eyes and sobbed silently, praying a God I've never believed in for the first time in my life.

The cold rain soaked my clothes and my hair, flowing through the shattered windows, and I started to feel numb. With the cold, came the darkness.

I accepted it as a precious gift and floated into the blackness, letting it take me away from the pain.

I don't know how long I stayed like that, unmoving, playing that scene again and again in my head. Minutes, or maybe hours, I couldn't tell: there wasn't a clock in the room, and the light escaping from a gap in the closed curtains was grey, so it was impossible to determine if it was from the sun suffocated by another cloudy day or from the pale brightness of the streetlamps. Eventually, though, someone came in, drawing my attention back to reality.

It was a pale, thin woman with short blond hair and kind sky blue eyes. She was wearing a long white coat, on the collar of which was pinned a nametag that said 'Dr A. Maxwell'.

"Hi," she said, smiling. "You are Hermione, right?" I nodded, gently pushing Emma aside to look at the doctor.

She was pretty young -twenty-five, maybe-, and she was very short, so she looked almost my age. That was odd.

"I'm doctor Maxwell, but everyone here calls me Abigail." I nodded again, still not trusting myself to speak. "I'm one of the doctors who operated you."

I frowned: operated? I hadn't been operated, didn't I? "Sorry, I don't understand," I said honestly. She sighed, sitting into the small armchair Emma had sat in waiting for me to wake up.

"No one has come talking to you since you woke up, ain't I right?" I grimaced.

"I think you are," I said in a small voice. I didn't like where the conversation was going. Dr Abigail shook her head.

"They'll hear me: they can't ignore me just because I'm the younger surgeon here," she muttered, to herself more than to me.

"So, what is it that they should have told me?" I asked innocently, trying to look nonchalant.

"It's-your conditions were pretty bad when they brought you here. Your wounds weren't that deep, and you hadn't lost much blood, but…the front seat of the car had yanked back, and it…had shattered your legs."

I bit my lip: so that was the reason of the excruciating pain I felt back in the car, before passing out.

"How badly?" I asked, my mouth dry. Dr Abigail grimaced in sympathy.

"It's not important-"

I pulled myself up, supporting my weight with my arms. "How badly, doctor?"

I realized just in that moment that I couldn't move my legs-at all. I could barely feel them. I hoped it was because of the morphine they must have given me to put me to sleep.

The woman lowered her gaze, not answering my question.

"Doctor Maxwell, I've just lost my parents in a car crash. I have my baby sister to take care of now, and I don't know how to do so, since I'm only seventeen-barely. I think I deserve the truth. How. Bad. Are. My. Injuries." I spoke the last five words slowly and angrily, almost spitting them through my clenched teeth.

The doctor nodded, her lips curving up in a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes. "We tried to mend the bones as best as we could, using metal supports and plaques, but it wasn't simple: your legs were broken in many parts, some of them very small where the metal bars of the seats had crushed them."

I bit my lip hard, until I tasted blood on my tongue. I had a very bad feeling about what the doctor was about to say. I sat up straighter and tried to move any muscle of my legs, without success. I couldn't even wiggle my toes.

"And-your muscles are damaged as well." Dr Abigail added in a low voice.

"We stitched them back together, but we are not sure-" I interrupted her, lifting my hand with my palm towards her, in the universal gesture for 'stop'.

What, they had sent her here just to tell me that they had fixed me as best as they could, but that they were not sure if everything went well? Somewhere Upstairs, someone was really making fun of me.

I pushed the sheets aside, and looked down at my legs. Tight casts wrapped them, keeping them still. It was no big deal, since I could not move them anyway.

There was just one thing I needed to know, but I was afraid of hearing what the doctor would have answered me. I forced myself to speak.

"Will I be able to walk again?" I wasn't a doctor, but I was no fool either: I knew what shattered bones, metal plaques and muscular damages implied. I had read enough books to know that such injuries could permanently impair the faculty of walking.

Dr Abigail sighed. "We are not sure," she whispered. "We'll know only after we remove the casts. And, even if the damages will heal well, it will take a very long time to recover and start walking again."

I closed my eyes, my shoulders shaking slightly. I was going to break down, I knew that. Losing my parents and my legs in the same day was too much, even for me.

"Thank you, Doctor," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I spoke. She put a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it lightly. "I'm sorry," she said simply before standing up and walking away. I sat there, in silence, staring absently at a crack in the white tile walls.

I might have not been able to walk again. Ever. I hid my face in my hands and cried, for my parents, for myself, for Emma, who would have probably been given to another family. I was broken, inside and out, and I didn't know how to fix myself up, not this time.