Sorry it took so much, guys, but I had to study a lot this week…It's exams time at my school here in Italy, so I will have very little time to write in the next few weeks. Anyway, I will try to add a new chapter every week or so. For the ones who reviewed this story, thank you! The others, shame!


Chapter 2: Five Weeks

I looked at myself in the stained mirror of the hospital bathroom, and sighed: my skin was snowy pale against the black of my jacket, and a red cut stood out on my right cheekbone; my bushy, curly hair was pulled up in a high ponytail, tamed for once, and my face looked sharper, somehow, without the dark curls falling around it. I wasn't surprised, though: I had always been skinny, but in the last week I hadn't eaten almost anything, so I had grown even thinner. My chocolate-brown eyes were tired and sad, and there were dark, bruise-like shadows under them. That was all that the small mirror showed back: a sad, lone girl. What I couldn't see in my reflection was the huge, heavy wheelchair I was sitting in. I took a deep breath and pulled myself out of the bathroom slowly, trying not to hit anything on my way.

Emma was sitting on my bed, holding her stuffed Eeyore tight against her chest. She looked even smaller and frailer in her black jeans and jacket. "Thank you, Lav. For everything," I said, pushing myself towards the bed. Lavender Brown, a short, chubby sixteen-years-old girl with blue eyes and tangled blonde hair, smiled. "Don't worry, Mione. You don't have to thank me."

Lavender and I were best friends since third grade; people always wondered why we were always together, since we were exact opposites, not only in our appearance but also in our attitude -I was a bookworm, always reading or studying, and I was really shy and introvert; Lavender, instead, was a rambler, outgoing and enthusiastic, and a real chatterbox-, but we didn't have an explanation for that: we were best friends, period. She had come rushing here as soon as she saw the news' report about the accident, and she had helped me in every possible way, from going to my house to take the black clothes Emma and I needed for the funeral to go with my sister to the cafeteria downstairs to convince her to eat something. Right now, she was here to help us to the hospital's lot, where her father waited for us to go to my parents' funeral. I had to beg the doctors for two days to get the permission to attend the service.

Lavender and Emma went out, and I followed them, trying to get used to my new way of moving. If I had to spend the rest of my life on that thing, it would have been better to learn to use it quickly. Lavender's father helped me into the car, and I thanked him, shame flushing my cheeks: I hated not being able to do things myself, having to ask for help to do even the easiest move. But there I was, just a useless weight to carry for anyone. The ten-minutes ride to the cemetery was utterly silent, and when we arrived there was a small crowd of people waiting for us, all of them dressed in black. They were talking, but they went silent as soon as I approached, sitting on the wheelchair, the concrete proof of what had happened.

I knew how they saw me: the poor Granger child, who had somehow survived the terrible crash and who was now forced to depend on others to live. I hated their pity and I hated them as they walked to me one by one, saying how sorry they were for my terrible loss: I had never seen most of them in my whole life, even if they professed themselves good friends of my parents. Liars, all of them: probably they hadn't seen my parents in years. I answered dryly, and I heard more than one of them saying I had a horrible attitude.

But I didn't care.

I managed to keep control for the whole ceremony, but when they lowered the two coffins in the hollow I couldn't hold myself anymore, and I started to cry, holding Emma's hand. My parents were in a hole in the ground, there was no other way to see it.

I pushed myself forward to the edge of the hollow, two white roses in my hand. They were two wonderful flowers, perfect and elegant. Modest, not like those orchids I saw around. I held them with such force the thin, curved thorns punctured my fingers and palm. Blood spilled from the tiny cuts, dripping on the white petals.

I looked at it with self-consciousness, feeling just like that rose: death had tainted my innocence with blood. I kissed the flowers and let them fall in the hole. I knew the people around me expected some tearful, touching speech, but I didn't know what to say: how can you say goodbye to someone you have known for your whole life, someone who had held you when you cried and taken care of you when you were sick? It was impossible, unimaginable. But I had to do so. Not in front of all those strangers, though.

So I spoke softly, my voice barely above a whisper. "Goodbye, Mom, Dad. I love you." Emma, her small face wet with her tears, sniffed. She had two roses in her hand too, but they were pink. She let them fall onto the coffins, whispering: "Goodbye, mommy, daddy. I'll miss you, but there's Mione with me, so you don't have to worry. I love you." Her words made me want to cry even harder, so I took her hand and pulled her onto my lap, holding her tight. "I love you, honey, do you know that?" I whispered into her hair, stifling a sob. She nodded, curling up against my chest. "I love you too."

Mr Brown took us back to the hospital, and I thanked him and Lavender for helping us so much. "I'll come and visit every day," Lavender promised hugging me. I smiled sadly. "You'll find me here," I said, half-joking. The doctors said I would have had to stay there for a few weeks, until they could take off the cast, so… We waved at them as they drove away, and we went in with the nurse waiting for us at the entrance. "You know what? We go and change from these horrible black clothes, and then I'll take you to that playground area in the children wing." Emma smiled a little. "Really?" she asked, her face lighting up. I nodded. "Yep. C'mon, let's get to our room."

Emma changed into her favorite pink sweatshirt, and I put back on my hospital robe, longing for my old, comfortable clothes. Just a few more weeks, I reminded myself. We went out and, with a little of luck -and help from one of the nurses- we eventually reached the playground area.

It was a large room with the walls painted of a warm, bright yellow and a soft, fluffy light blue wall-to-wall carpet on the floor. There were toys all over the place -stuffed puppets, dolls, Lego blocks, toy cars, puzzles and such things-, and five or six children were playing with each other. Emma hesitated by my side, squeezing her stuffed donkey with such force I thought the poor puppet would have exploded, and she didn't leave my hand, staying close to my wheelchair. "Don't worry, honey," I told her, smiling. "Go playing with them." She nodded, but didn't move of an inch. Then one of the kids came towards us, smiling. She was maybe six or seven; she had blonde pigtails and kind blue eyes, and a million freckles on her nose and cheeks. She held out her hand, and Emma took it sheepishly, following the little girl to the small group of kids. I smiled, shaking my head, and pulled back towards the benches where a few women -the children's mothers, probably-, were chatting in a low voice.

One of them, a thin, tall woman with a long nose and piercing light green eyes, looked at me with a sly smile. "Oh, is that dark-haired girl your baby? She's so cute!"

I scowled at her: was she saying that Emma was my daughter? I mean, I barely showed my seventeen years, how could I have a five-years-old child? "She's my sister," I said dryly, biting my lip to hold back what I really wanted to say. The woman's smile grew wider. "So why are you taking her here? It looks like you are the one who should stay in bed…Where are your parents?" I stared back at her in open dislike.

"They are dead," I said coldly, looking her in the eye. The woman shut up immediately, and I couldn't help but smiling with bittersweet satisfaction. For once, I was the one who had the last word.

We stayed there for an hour or so; then we went back to our room. When we got in, though, we saw we weren't alone: there was a woman sitting in the armchair by my bed. She was tall and lean, with pale blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun on the back of her head and light blue eyes. She was dressed in black from head to toe -black trousers, black jacket, black shoes-, except for her white shirt. Her whole person screamed Social assistant!

I straightened my back and pushed my wheelchair towards the woman. "May I help you?" I asked politely. She smiled. "If you are Miss Hermione Granger, I think you can," she said. I managed to smile back. "I am, ma'am." I pushed my wheelchair forward so I was in front of her, and Emma climbed on the other cot, the one she slept into, looking at the woman in suspicion. I was so proud of her! The woman smiled kindly at us, and I put on my best I-am-a-really-good-girl expression on my face. "I'm Anne White, but you can call me Anne. I'm here talk to you about some dispositions of your parents. I know it's not a good moment for you now, but we really have to work these things out…" I looked at her in surprise.

"You-you are not a social assistant?" I asked, suddenly hopeful. Anne smiled. "No, I'm not," she said laughing. "So you are not here to take Emma away, aren't you?" I asked before I could stop myself. "Again, I'm not. Why should I?" I smiled, a genuine smile this time. "It's just that-I mean, I'm not an adult yet, and we don't have any relatives, so I thought she might have been given to another family." The woman shook her head. "No one's going to split up the two of you, I can assure that to you."

I sighed in relief. "Thank you," I whispered to no one in particular as Anne pulled a few sheets of paper out of her bag. "I'm here to read you your parents' last will." Then it hit me: their testament. I didn't expect them to have one. "Substantially, they left everything to the two of you. The house, the money…everything they owned. But since Emma is only a child, everything is yours. Or, at least, it will be, as soon as you'll be eighteen. Which you will be in…"

"Ten months," I said. "But if I'm still a minor, where will we go? To a…stepfamily until I'll be officially an adult?" I asked, suddenly worried. She had assured me Emma and I would have been together, but what if we had to go and stay with a new family? Anne shook her head, half smiling. "No, nothing like that. You see, it's not true that you don't have any relatives: your father's aunt lives in a small town named Ottery St Catchpole, and she'll be the one who will take care of you until next July, when you'll be eighteen."

I smiled: a relative! Oh, that would have been perfect! "My father's aunt…So, she was my grandfather's sister, right?" The woman nodded. "But where's this…Ottery St Catchpole? I've never heard of this town…Is it here in Washington?" Anne looked a little uncomfortable. "No, not exactly. It's in England." I frowned. "England? You mean New England? It's on the East Coast! It's, like, a thousand miles from here!" I complained. Everything we still had was here: our home, our schools and friends. How could we move so far from Seattle, even if it was for less than a year?

"No, Miss Granger, I mean England. The old England." I widened my eyes. "England? It's in Europe! It's-it's on the other side of Earth!" I was shocked: England? I had just a few images of it, and those were just things like red double-deck buses, the Big Ben, Queen Elizabeth and Shakespeare! We couldn't really have to move to England! "Yes," said Anne with a grimace of sympathy. "I know it's far from here, but it's this, or a stepfamily. And, in that case, you and your sister could be easily separated: social assistants usually send older kids like you to institutions."

Emma jumped off the bed and climbed onto my lap, taking my hand. "Mione, I want to stay with you," she said in a small voice. I took her in my arms. "Don't worry, honey, we'll stay together. I won't let anyone take you away from me, I promise. We'll go to England, if that's what we have to do." Anne smiled, caressing Emma's ruffled hair. "I guess that's all. Your parents' lawyer will do the rest of the work, you don't have to worry about anything." I nodded, trying to smile. "When shall we leave? I mean, I guess I'll be stuck here at the hospital for a few weeks, since they have to take off my casts before dismissing me, so…"

Anne put her papers back into her bag. "I've already talked with the doctors: you'll be out of here in five weeks, and then you'll leave. We'll give you the time to pack all of your things first, don't worry about that. I'll give you the plane tickets myself three days before the departure. So, I guess I'll see you in five weeks, Miss Granger." She held out her hand, and I shook it.

"Five weeks," I repeated sadly. I had three weeks to say goodbye to all of my friends and leave the town I was born into. I sighed: it really sucked.

As days passed by, I discovered that there were not much things to do at the hospital. Emma and I explored the wing of the hospital we were in a bit, but soon the nurses complained about our wandering, and we stopped. Emma spent a few hours to the playground in the children ward, but after a while she decided to quit -she was too shy to make friends with the other kids; sadly, she was too similar to me in this-, so we ended up in our room, reading -well, I read, while Emma played with her Game Boy, which Lavender had brought her the day after the funeral-.

My very few friends came visiting me two or three times, but eventually they just ended up phoning me every once in a while to know how I was, probably thinking that, now that I was about to leave to spend the rest of the year in England and they couldn't ask me help with their homework anymore, it was useless to keep in contact with me. I thought I would have suffered seeing how little they cared for me, but then I realized I didn't care for them, either: they needed me just to copy my essays and tests at school, and I didn't need them at all, for anything.

Maybe leaving would have been easier than I thought.

The only one who stayed with me was Lavender: she came visiting every day, bringing with her sweets, flowers, books, peluches and every kind of things to keep Emma and I happy and busy. After a while, our days took the sweet, comfortable path of routine, and, too quickly, the five weeks passed, and I found myself not prepared for this -at all-.

The day Dr Abigail came to take off my casts it was raining, and I tried not to take it as an omen as she led me to her office, Emma bouncing happily behind us. She didn't know anything about the conditions of my injuries, and I decided I wouldn't have told her anything, so I left her waiting for me on a stuffed chair outside while the doctor worked. I was frightened, even if I would have never admitted it, even to myself. Today, they would have told me whether or not I could have walked again. The doctor moved forward to help me getting onto the narrow cot in a corner, but I shook my head, stopping her. "I can do this myself," I said stubbornly. I grabbed the metal bars on the side of the bed and pulled myself up with my arms, clenching my teeth as my muscles protested for the labor. I had done it several times in the last few weeks, but it took anyway much more effort than I thought it would have been necessary.

Eventually, though, I smiled proudly at the doctor, straightening my back, my cast-wrapped legs lolling over the side of the cot. While the woman worked to break the casts, I kept looking at the ceiling, at the rain out of the window, at the goldfish in the small bowl onto the doctor's desk -at everything but at my legs, basically-, holding my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I was painfully aware of every second passing by.

Then, suddenly, I felt the tight grip of the casts loosening, and I was free.

I bit my lip, closing my eyes for a second, praying silently. Tell me it's going to be ok, tell me it's going to be ok, tell me it's going to be ok…Then I looked down, and my breath caught in my throat: my legs were incredibly thin, due to the long immobility, and my pale skin was marked with long, thick scars the color of unripe cherries. I felt tears well up in my eyes, and the doctor misunderstood them. "They can be removed surgically, don't worry. It will need a few months for them to heal completely, but then you will be able to get rid of them." I nodded absentmindedly, not looking at her. I didn't tell her I was going to keep them as a memento of what I had been through.

"Try to move your right leg, very slowly," she told me. It took a while to do so, but eventually I accomplished, swaying weakly one leg, then the other. It was strange: I almost didn't recognize those muscles as mine, after all that time. And it was hard even to wiggle my toes. The doctor moved my legs carefully, testing the way the wounds had healed, and she seemed pretty pleased. Hope rose in my chest before I could push it aside.

And then: "You know, I think you are a very lucky girl." I smiled, and a tear escaped my eyes: maybe I would have been able to fix myself up, even this time.

As soon as I came back to my room, I grabbed my cell and phoned Lavender. She answered almost immediately -she knew today was the day-, and I burst out: "TheysaidmylegsarefineI'mgoingtowalkagain!"

"What did you say? Please, Mione, slow down: I know your brain runs ten times faster than mine, but have mercy of me, I really didn't get anything!" I laughed, happiness and relief pouring out of every single pore of my skin. "They said my legs are fine," I repeated, barely able to keep myself from shouting with joy. "I'm going to walk again!" Lavender squealed on the other end of the line. "Really! Oh, my God! Oh, my God! That's wonderful! Hang on for a second!" I heard her running away, crying: "MOM! She's fine! She's fine!" Typical of Lavender, spreading the good news to the family and friends. Then she came back to the phone. "I'm so, so, so happy! When will they dismiss you?" I smiled. "They said tomorrow."

"Perfect: we'll get you home, don't worry. And I'll help you pack everything: I recruited my brothers ten days ago to do the work -they owed me one-, so you won't have much to do!" I laughed. "That's great, Lav. So, see you tomorrow morning?"

"'Course!"

It was wonderful to wear my clothes again: I was totally sick of those hospital robes. It took a while to put on my jeans and an old pair of sneakers, but eventually I did it. Then I grabbed my favorite hoodie -lilac, with a large pocket on the front- and started to pack the few things we had brought there in a duffel bag. I was fighting with the fastenings when I heard a soft knock on the doorframe. I was sitting on the bed, so I just lifted my eyes to face the visitor. It couldn't be Lavender, it was still too early for her to be here. I wasn't surprised, so, as I recognized Anne White's pale blonde hair and light blue eyes.

"May I come in?" she asked, smiling. I nodded, giving a last tug at the zipper of the bag and finally closing it. "Your doctor told me you are healing well," she said, sitting on the end of my bed. I nodded, lowering the bag onto the floor. "Yes, it seems like that." Anne's smile grew wider. "I'm happy for you: you'll see, it won't take that long to recover. Anyway, I came to give you your tickets." She handed me two long cards.

"Your plane leaves on Friday at 10.30 from Seattle/Tacoma International Airport. I talked to them about getting you on board with your wheelchair, and they said-" I interrupted her, shaking my head. "I won't need the wheelchair. My muscles can support me, even if with effort. I can get on board with crutches." I was determined not to use that stupid thing more than I needed to. The doctor said I could start trying to walk around with sticks if I wanted, and the previous afternoon I had spent almost two hours trying to get on my feet by myself. It hadn't been easy, and I had had to support myself completely on the crutches, but after a while I had regained a little confidence with walking. I had three more days ahead to practice, so it shouldn't have been big trouble -at least, I hoped so-. Anne smiled, nodding. "You are a very brave girl, do you know that?" she asked softly. I shrugged. "I just want to make things the better I can, for both my sister and I. And I don't want to depend on a stupid wheelchair or on other people. I'm made this way: it's not bravery, but pigheadedness." The woman nodded. "It's just another way to call it," she said, standing up. "So, I'd better go. I just came to give you the tickets and the last information you needed."

She held out her hand and I took it, shaking it. "Goodbye, Miss Granger."

I smiled back at her. "Goodbye."