Chapter 1

Can I see another's woe,

And not be in sorrow too?

Can I see another's grief,

And not seek for kind relief?

William Blake, 'On Another's Sorrow'

Pain.

All she could feel and remember was pain: pain that burned every fiber of her body; pain which left her smoldering as if she was in chaos with each second that passed.

Pain that tarnished her skin, blinded her eyes, deafened her ears. Pain that coursed through her whole being and tore through her soul. Pain that she had twice been acquainted with before. The third time being now.

Pain she could associate with only one name:

Bellatrix Lestrange.

The dark-haired witch stood looming over her and Hermione could feel the tip of the older woman's wand pressing at her throat. Lestrange's eyes were burning with determination, her lips curled in a crazed grin.

Lestrange's mouth was moving in a silent scream. And Hermione tried to focus on what she was saying. She really did but her ears and brain wouldn't cooperate. All she could make out was the desperate ringing in her ears which reminded her of a radio going haywire.

Hermione felt tired – so badly she wanted to close her eyes and fall in the arms of the awaiting darkness. And Lestrange's weight on top of her didn't help.

But she didn't. She can't, no matter what and how she tried.

She remembered the same feeling: the nauseating somersaults that settled on her stomach, the taste of bile on her tongue, the coppery smell of blood. Her blood.

She wondered when this would end – the seemingly endless torture inflicted on her. She wondered if she'd die this way.

She hoped she didn't.

She awoke to the cold and haunting voices around her. Voices by the hundreds, by the thousands of the dead. Voices in their scornful whispers, taunting above her, and some of them were screaming. Hermione listened to them with a heavy heart, wishing she could have done something to save them, to help them. She counted off the seconds as the voices grew stronger, louder, and in doing so, she came upon the realization that she was still alive, only that she was surrounded by a blinding darkness.

She sat upright. Who knew where she was or how could she still be alive. Why hadn't the darkness dissipated yet. She swore she could feel that she was still floating, though she's now accompanied with voices, not having the slightest idea of whom they belong to.

Suddenly, the voices stopped, like they were being carried away by the wind. Then there was nothing.

And yet:

Hermione.

The sound of her name, whispered on the darkness.

Hermione, wake up. Come back to us.

Come back to us. Open your eyes. We're waiting for you…

She knew whose voice it was.

"Harry…"

Hermione walked towards it with cautious steps, her footfalls echoing through the dark. Twenty feet away, a stream of light drifted towards her, warm and bright. So bright that it almost blinded her.

We are safe, don't worry.

She held out a hand, her slender fingers reaching out to feel it, wanting to touch it. One step, two steps, three, four, and five…

Come back to us, Hermione. Come back.

She leaned forward, her fingers meeting the light, she took a final step, the brightness enveloping her.

Come back to us.

"I don't think she's waking up anytime soon," said Harry. "Her doctors couldn't even say when."

"We shouldn't lose hope, Harry." Ginny Weasley sat beside her boyfriend as she gazed forlornly at her best friend who laid on the brink of death in the hospital bed. Hermione looked papery pale, and her breathing was slow and deep, almost labored.

She let out a dejected exhale as she took in the state of her room. Different kinds of machines littered the pallid walls: machines she didn't recognize or even sure if they were of use. One of them sported a long blue tube that was connected on the left corner of her mouth, one which she could vaguely remember the doctor said that supported her breathing; and one with some sort of thin wires that went under her hospital gown.

She was not sure what the latter was for. But the contraption it was connected to emitted a soft buzzing sound.

It had been two months since she came across that terrible car accident. They said she was fortunate she survived, that not everyone can outlive a car accident – a miracle, was what they would call it.

The doctor said that Hermione's life now only depended on herself, that she might die if she wouldn't wake up soon.

"It's a lucky case, if she would. I'm giving you seventy-two hours. If she doesn't wake up soon, then there's nothing that I can do." Dr. Marquez remarked when she examined her condition the other day.

Ginny, however; did not believe in miracles. She never did and never will. But she believed that her best friend, her sister in all but blood, would surpass this: that she'll live through this.

"Hermione's a strong girl." She spoke it out loud, trying to convince herself as much as Harry.

He was silent for a while. Then, "I just can't lose her, Ginny. Not her, not Hermione," he sobbed. Harry and Hermione were undeniably close that you could almost say they were couples. But their friends and family knew that they treated each other as the sibling they never had. "Not when I lost almost everyone…"

The redhead let her own tears fell freely and made to grab of his hand, squeezing it to give him comfort, to let him know he's not alone. "Things are going to get better, Harry. She'll be fine."

How ironic, she thought, nobody knew way back then that a girl can capture their hearts with her own person then break them one day by an unwanted event. "But what if she doesn't wake up?"

She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, and even though he didn't meet her gaze, either he didn't want to or he couldn't, Ginny could see the pain and longing that were painted clearly on his face.

"She will, Harry," she retorted. "Our Hermione will. She survived the war, though scathed, but she did. A car accident wouldn't kill her."

Harry's watery gaze landed on her. "That doesn't answer my question, Gin."

She gave him a sad smile. "Somehow, I believe, it does."

It was the evening of July 21 when Hermione Granger – daughter of Matthew and Stella Granger, one-third of the Golden Trio, Harry Potter's best friend, Brightest Witch of Her Age, War Heroine – awakened to the murmurs around her.

She was wary to open her eyes at first, afraid that if she did, the haunting voices would come back. She still remembered them: Voices by the hundreds, by the thousands of the dead. Voices whispering and taunting above her, and some screaming distantly.

But when none came, she slowly opened her burning eyes. Even from her long sleep, she felt much drained.

The first thing she registered in her mind was that she was lying on a slightly soft bed and a warm blanket was tucked to her small waist. The whiteness of her surrounding reminded her of her dream made her squint. A mechanical beeping greeted her ears and she felt a light piercing on right forearm. A sticky material was scratching the left corner of her mouth and her chest area felt heavy with a coin-like weight.

Hermione automatically concluded that she was in a hospital. 'Ugh,' she thought. 'I hate hospitals.' She tried to shift but sharp pain punctured her body when she did. Her head was throbbing and there was an annoying buzz that rang out of her ears. 'Why am I in a hospital?'

Her mind sought the possible answers why, but she couldn't comprehend a single thing.

"Hermione!" was all the warning she got before a blur of red grabbed her shoulders and gently pushed her back down. "Don't move! You're not totally healed yet."

Ginny.

Hermione tried to talk, but when she opened her mouth, she found out that she couldn't utter a word. "No, no, no. don't speak."

"Harry, call the doctor. Quick!" a hurried shuffling and scraping of metal against the floor made her wince which did not go unnoticed by Ginny. 'She might have some memories of the accident,' the redhead thought sadly. "It's alright, Hermione. You're safe."

When she attempted to open her mouth, Ginny slapped her cheeks very lightly and held out a pen and notebook to her. "Write what you want to say."

When did she grab those?

Hermione merely shifted her gaze from Ginny to the writing materials in her hands back and forth like the redhead had lost her mind. "What? It's not like that I was permitted to remove that tube in your mouth. You still can't breathe on your own."

Hermione just stared at her sleepily. And blinked. Her mind was fuzzy.

Ginny let out a sigh when the brunette still did not accept the writing materials. "We'll have to wait for Dr. Marquez, then."

As if on cue, the door opened with a small creak and Harry entered her room followed by a tall woman who must be in her late twenties. She wore a white crisp lab gown over her blue blouse and black pencil skirt and a stethoscope was hooked neatly on her neck. Her blonde hair was tied back in a neat bun and she walked toward Hermione with a motherly gleam on her features, a warm and reassuring smile painted on her pink lips.

"Good to see you awake, Miss Granger. I'm Ruby Marquez, your doctor."

Hermione gave the woman a small nod which only made her headache worse.

Grabbing the writing equipments at last, she scribbled, with some difficulty, 'What's wrong with my head?'

"You gave us a scare, Miss Granger, when you were admitted here, I would say. You almost didn't respond to your medication," Dr. Marquez pulled the stethoscope from her neck and slipped the chest piece over Hermione's hospital gown to her heart. Hermione shuddered faintly under the cool touch of the instrument.

"But you were lucky you weren't driving the car."

Car? What car?

Hermione hated being clueless. And now, she was under that state.

The clinician spared a glance at the ECG machine on the bed's left side. "Your heart beat is still low. But it has improved from the last time."

"What does that mean, doctor?" asked a worried Harry, who now stood beside Ginny, his hands wrapped around the redhead's waist. Ginny also waited for the healer's answer with equally concerned look on her face. "I don't think you've mentioned it before."

Turning to the boy, Dr. Marquez answered, "Miss Granger had fractured some of her upper ribs which almost snapped a vein on her heart. She's very lucky that it did not. And she'll be fine, Mr. Potter. She has to stay here for two more weeks for further observation, though."

The bespectacled boy nodded in understanding, though the lines of anxiousness didn't leave his forehead.

The woman averted her gaze back to her patient, the smile still gracing her features. "For the meantime, I cannot yet remove your stitches and replace your endotracheal tube with a cannula. So, you can't talk yet."

'Great,' Hermione thought. She couldn't move her body without feeling a surge of pain shoot through her, blood was pumping in her head and now she couldn't talk! Hermione wanted to groan in frustration. But for now, she needed to close her eyes. 'Merlin, there's so much light.'

"I would suggest-"

The doctor's voice faded in the background as her vision swam in messy circles. The pounding on her head grew stronger and stronger; the ringing in her ears louder and louder that it almost drowned her. And then she was falling…

"Hermione?"

"Great, she's asleep again."

Six days had transpired before Hermione had her endotracheal tube replaced with a nasal cannula and the stitches on her head removed. She was glad that they were gone now, but it vexed her that she still had to stay for eight more days before she could be discharged.

Fortunately for her, the Weasley family – apart from Percy and Ron – Harry, Neville and Luna were there to keep her company. It surprised her that the usual gaiety in Fred and George's nature was absent. And it even surprised her more when Molly stated that the pranks they pulled to whoever they wanted to had ceased when the twins had heard about her.

Molly wouldn't stop asking how she was feeling or what she wanted to eat. It reminded her of the same warm feeling which grew in her heart whenever she visited the Burrow, it reminded her of those times when she was still a child and she and her grandmother would bake cookies; the same feeling she felt when she was with her best friends. It reminded her of memories she wanted to keep as only memories. Memories she wasn't supposed to relive.

For that, though, she was quite thankful. And she didn't know why.

While there, Molly and Harry had provided her the events of the past two months from the moment she met the accident to the day she opened her eyes. She had asked them about her parents, but whenever she did, Molly would change the topic and Harry would make up an excuse. Even her doctor wouldn't say a thing. And it frustrated her.

Was it wrong to ask about them?

Hermione knew at that moment that there was something they were not telling her: something of vital importance. And their silence about it sent a bad feeling in her stomach. However, it didn't stop her from being grateful for the comfort their company had given her.

Today, however, Harry was the only one who was able to pay her a visit since the Weasleys were busy helping rebuild Hogwarts. Now, he sat on the edge of her bed, reading Quidditch through the Ages. Hermione, herself, sat with her back leaned against her pillows, mutely watching him look through his book.

Hermione sighed.

Two months. It had been so long. So long that she almost could not recount the events that has transpired before the accident. At least she knew that she had found her parents and restored their memories – that, she was very sure of. At first, they'd been very furious at her actions. Especially her mother, Stella Granger, who delivered an impromptu scolding at her whilst her father just sat calmly and watched the scene unfold in front of his eyes.

She remembered the same furious look on his face but an amused glitter on his blue eyes betrayed it. It was an almost perfect family week then: consisting a three-day trip to France and a nice getaway in one of the Asian beaches, Boracay - a beautiful beach resort, with all the white-sand and clear blue water, located in the Philippines.

It never occurred to her, though, that it would end as quickly as it began.

Eyes closed, her mind reeled back to that fateful night. She remembered the cheerful laughter reverberating inside the car; her father singing along to The Smiths' Asleep; her mother asking her if she would want to study in a 'normal' school; the heavy pounding of the rain on the roof of the car; the flash of a blinding white light.

She was barely aware of the sound of tires slipping off the road, the ear-splitting clatter of metal against metal, the loud shattering of glass, the smell of fire, and the blood that flowed from her forehead to her face. She marveled if she even had the time to answer her mother's question.

She could have sworn she saw her life flash before her eyes then. And she wondered, for the second time, why she was still alive.

Hermione pushed the unwanted thoughts off her mind. She had yet to ask Harry about her parents, again. Maybe, just maybe, she could get him to talk about their condition.

"My parents…"

Harry jumped in his seat. He was so absorbed in his book that her faint voice had startled him.

"Harry, how about my parents?" she asked her best friend, her voice laced with the same concern it had six days ago, now ringing with a touch of desperation. "Are they alright? Where are they? Harry?"

"Hermione…" he didn't know how to break it to her and he suddenly wished that Ginny was with him, or maybe even Mrs. Weasley. Or maybe, he could find another excuse to avoid answering his best friend's condition.

He was confident when he asked Dr. Marquez not to break it to Hermione about her parents' predicament which the woman agreed to. The doctor even said that he – they – were free to tell her everything when they're ready. Or when she's ready.

He didn't have the slightest idea if now was the right moment, or if he was ready to tell her everything, or if she was ready to hear the truth. But Hermione deserved to know that much, right?

"What? Please, Harry, tell me they're okay, that they're fine."

His silence gave Hermione discomfort. Like she was watching a movie where the protagonist dies unexpectedly, which was very disheartening. But her parents were fine. They were, weren't they?

He took a deep breath then exhaled it off his mouth. It was now or never. Book laid forgotten on his side, he carefully said, "Hermione, your parents… they didn't make it."

Harry knew it was very straightforward of him. But beating around the bush would only make it worse.

'They didn't make it,' his words echoed through her mind. Somehow in the back of her mind, she'd known. But hearing him say it sealed it. A lump formed in her throat as tears blurred her vision. "No."

"I'm so sorry, Hermione." he said softly. "I know I should've told you sooner but, I didn't know how to and… I'm sorry."

"No, no, no," she repeated the same phrase over and over in her mind as if to convince herself. "They can't be. They can't be dead, Harry."

"Ssshh… Hermione. It's okay. It's going to be okay." Harry pulled her into a hug, his right hand drawing soothing circles on her back.

The young witch hugged him for her dear life, burying her face on the curve of his neck as sobs wrecked her frail figure. Her tears drenched Harry's shirt, but he did not mind, not at all.

"You're fine, Mia," he consoled. "You'll be fine."

"But it's hard," came her muffled response. "Why did it has to be them? Why, Harry? Why not just me? I should've died with them, Harry! I was there, too, remember? I should've just died!"

Harry held her in an arm's length, his green eyes pierced into her hazel ones. "Don't say that, Hermione Jean Granger. There's a reason that you're safe, that you're alive and they were not."

"It's their time, Hermione. I know it hurts a lot, I know how it feels. I am so sorry."

Hermione only shook her head, refusing to believe his words. "No, no, no."

"It's not yet your time to die, Hermione. You still have a lot to learn and live for. Your parents may be gone in this world, but they will stay forever in your heart. Remember that, okay? Those who love you never really leave you."

Hermione just stared at him for a moment, her mouth slightly open. "Since when did you become so smart?"

Harry cracked a smile. "Since you became my best friend, little sis."

She scrunched her nose at that. "I'm not little."

"I know," he said, the smile never leaving his face. "But promise me, Mia, you'll move on. The pain will get easier and you'll be fine, but you'll have to try. Just don't give up, okay? That's all I ask."

"I can't promise that, but…" she trailed off. She averted her gaze to the window where she could see the sun sparkling between the broken clouds. The sun's rays seeped through the window that retold her a promise of tomorrow.

A promise that seemed to convey her a new start, a fresh beginning.

She looked back at him with a soft smile on her lips and nodded her head yes, eyes as alight as the stars in the night sky. "Yes, I will."

It was then that Harry decided that he would do anything just to keep that fire burning bright. And nothing would stop him from doing so.

Author's note: The response has been amazing! I would like to thank each one of you who fallowed, fave'ed, reviewed this story. I hope you guys stay with me throughout this journey. Let me know what you think of this. Don't be shy to point out any mistakes or telling me what you don't like. I read and reread many times before posting but chances are there are always going to be that some mistakes will slip past.

Also, a big thanks to those who followed and added me to their favorites. Hope you like my other stories as much as this one:-)

Forgot to mention in last chapter, constructive criticism is always welcome. That's it for now. Stay tuned:-)