Chapitre 1: Drums of Change
Austere white walls surrounded him, and a constant beeping echoed in the background. It annoyed him to no end, the sound drilling into his skull like a broken record.
There wasn't much he could do about it, though. Moving anything came at the cost of feeling his whole body scream in agony - either that or failing to move anything at all.
A frustrated groan escaped him, indignity and scorn begging to be released somehow. All he could do was pathetically moan in pain, however. Things did not look good, not one bit.
As the doctor in charge of him explained, it would be a miracle if he could ever walk or function normally again. Getting run over by a rich asshole usually did that to you.
An asshole the police had a 'hard' time identifying - and wasn't that surprising? Considering the car's flair, one could argue it would be a children's game to figure out who did it.
He could still remember the quick glint of silver as the car barreled down the street. The thing's plating was made entirely of chrome, and it sure stood out like a sore thumb.
Another agonizing lance of pain coursed its way through his body. He couldn't even scream, chest heaving up and down. And the doctors were giving him painkillers? Really? Because it sure didn't feel that way.
'You are okay. Everything is fine. You are still alive, and you still have your job.' He repeated in the solitude of his mind, going over the words like a mantra.
His boss at work had been the most understanding, even going as far as to offer help transitioning to the new lifestyle and the difficulties that came with it.
It probably had something to do with the guy having a paraplegic daughter. Sympathy was much easier to earn when people could relate to your pain.
'You only need fingers to type and eyes to continue working. Your wage is good, and you have a good health care insurance. There is physical therapy, hiring helpers…'
Even as his mind went through every possibility, he couldn't muster any cheer. Any reassurance just sounded like hollow words. The whole situation was a bad joke.
He had his whole life figured out. He could say without doubt that his parents were proud of his accomplishments. Everything was good, only for a stupid bastard to ruin it all.
To have all that go down the drain that quickly? And because of someone else? Hatred did not even begin to describe it. That's not to mention how distraught his mom had been.
Seeing the most important woman in his life cry like that hurt more than being run over a thousand times - and that shit hurt like hell.
His father? He had never seen the man that silent - his eyes would wander around at times, pupils devoid of light. He couldn't even imagine how his sisters were faring.
It wasn't just his life that got screwed over - his entire family was in pain, and that filled him with nothing but impotent anger. All he could do, day and night, was groan in pain and flail his limbs around.
He would never walk again. The culprit would likely get away with it. And his family could do nothing but watch on as the doctors did their best, only to inevitably fail. He couldn't help but cry at that, like a kid afraid of the dark.
For one brief moment, as the pain intensified, he wished he had either his father or mother alongside him so they could hold him close and say that everything would be fine.
The sobs intensified, echoing in the empty room just as the emotionless beeping sound did. Yet, he couldn't do that. If he were to cry, his mom wouldn't be able to take it. And he did not know what his father might do.
He had to be strong for them. He still had his job, coworkers willing to help, and the mental faculties necessary to sort out the mess that was his life. Slowly, the sobs ebbed down, tears drying on his cheeks.
Suddenly, a loud beep came from the IV next to him, and like the well-timed delivery of a bad pun, he could feel something go cold inside his chest at that exact moment.
A quick flutter of dread cut through pain as if he knew what was about to happen, and he tried screaming. His tongue didn't work, however, as did the rest of his mouth.
Sounds blurred together, swimming in and out of focus as he choked on his sobs. Even as the sun entered the room from outside, he could feel the shadows in the corners engulf everything.
The distant sounds of children playing outside grew quiet, as did the constant beeping. His mouth opened in one final desperation. If it was to cry out for his parents or to the nurse, it did not matter. The room remained silent till the very end.
[ - - - ]
There was no empty void waiting for him. Neither was there heaven or hell. Instead, his perspective suddenly shifted - as if tilted sideways - and he found himself on a chair.
In front of him, a math book lay on the table, half-written scribbles on its corners. Pencils and pens littered the rest of the space. Unbidden, the name Thomas Granger suddenly appeared in his mind.
A vague remembrance, like fluttering butterflies, scattered around his dazed mind. Names, places, events. It all came rushing, with no seeming order. Thomas Granger, the damn name echoed in his thoughts again.
He - now named Thomas, almost 11 years old - did not even have the luxury to deny reality. Just like his new name, the realization that he had died came unbidden. Undeniable.
'Thomas Granger, twin brother of Hermione Granger.' He had reincarnated. The sentence sounded so alien it made him tremble with shock.
Yet, he could not deny it, no matter how much he wanted to. There was an undeniable truth to it, like saying that Earth orbited around the Sun.
At that, there was a beat of dead silence as he took in his surroundings - the world paralyzed for one brief second as he took in the absurd reality.
Then, everything in the room blew outwards. Windows cracked into a million spider webs, and his pencils lurched toward the walls, wood snapping at the impact.
Like a ripple in a still pond, he felt something ricochet from within his body, drumming in low frequency. His veins stilled - his heart jumping - and everything went silent again.
Then, his chair cracked under his weight, and he came toppling down to the hard floor. Even with the sound of feet rushing upstairs to his now-bedroom, he fell unconscious right then and there.
[ - - - ]
She saw it all too often as an educator - the inevitable wedge that drove two siblings apart. When one happened to be magical, while the other was ordinary, such was the only possible outcome.
Even should envy not cause that wedge, then differences in lifestyles would. Worse, there was nothing that Professor McGonagall could do about it. Muggle-born siblings were, after all, almost as rare as lightning striking twice in the same spot.
Nine times out of ten, one sibling was special while the other was not. The boy - Thomas Granger - had already locked himself in his bedroom after she delivered the news to the family.
He had told them he had to study, though she doubted that was why. It was the holiday season, after all, and the boy seemed like he was about to tear up.
"I should probably go talk to him-" The mother started, only for her to interrupt.
"That can wait, Mrs. Granger. I must inform you of everything there is to know about wizarding laws, and I'd rather have both your attention for this."
She sighed, eyeing the worried-looking Hermione Granger to the left of the dining table. If only things could be more simple.
"This matter requires absolute secrecy, and, as the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and Britain's laws dictate, only the family may know. As I was saying, the first term begins on September-"
There was a sudden ripple in the air then, something immaterial phasing through the whole house. A fleeting draft of cold air crossed the floorboards, somehow going up the stairs-
'Accidental magic.' The thought immediately came to mind, but it made no sense. There was only one person upstairs, and Thomas Granger was no wizard.
If he were, the Book of Admittance would've already identified his name. She'd never heard of such a late display of magic. All these thoughts crossed her mind in less than two seconds.
The very next moment, all the windows upstairs cracked loudly, glass shards scattering everywhere. Wood snapping and loud bangs came right after, echoing in the now-silent kitchen.
Mr. Granger was up the stairs before she could even say anything. So did Mrs. Granger and Hermione follow right after. Still dazed, McGonagall rose the flight of stairs slowly, coming to the sight of an unconscious Thomas and a thoroughly wrecked bedroom.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
DiscountChangeling
DiscountChangeling Back in my times, this site didn't have these 'italics' and 'bold' thingies -ah, truly the wonders of technology!
I did write a few novels in the past, only to later drop them - and then lose my account's password. Don't judge, am stupid.
Regardless, do share your thoughts. Formatting, dialog - things good so far? Thoughts?
Chapitre 2: Diagon Alley
"It seems your son is a rare case of late blooming, Mr. and Mrs. Granger." The strict-faced woman said, lips rising ever so slightly. "The two of them may go to Hogwarts."
"Though, I am afraid your son's letter may not arrive until later. It might be best to skip the unnecessary steps and buy supplies for both."
To the left of his bed, a pint-sized girl jumped up and down, the gap in her teeth showing as she smiled, "We can both go, together!"
There was also a man - Robert, his new memories supplied - behind the girl, rubbing her messy brown hair as he smiled. "Isn't that great, Tom? You can go to the same school as your sister."
"Just make sure to put all that energy to good use." A woman - Helen - told him from the right side of his bed, wearing a wry smile as she eyed the wrecked room.
"That might be for the best." Said McGonagall, smiling just the tiniest bit. Everyone smiled at him, a bit worried but also relieved. Thomas took it all in, faces blurring together.
They weren't his family. This new body wasn't his. He could still feel the phantom pain of the car accident - it loomed over his shoulder like a specter.
The sobbing, the cold, the fear of dying - he could remember it all. He had died alone in the hospital, afraid, and he couldn't even imagine what his family's reaction would be. Could his parents pull through their grief? Would everyone be okay?
He wouldn't get an answer. He had everything taken away. Thomas did not even have the right to grieve or rage. Instead, he eyed the people surrounding his bed, his body feeling cold.
"I will." He suddenly replied - voice quiet - just going through the motions.
"Now, seeing that you are not injured, I shall take you all to Diagon Alley to buy your school supplies."
"Wouldn't another day be best-"
"Apologies, Mrs. Granger, but I am on a tight schedule." And she did look apologetic. "There are still a few more students I must visit today."
Taking out her wand, she waved it a single time, to the surprise of both Robert and Helen. "Before we are on our way, however, allow me to do this. It is the very least I could do."
That immediately broke Thomas from his inner turmoil, a brief surge of awe breaking through the grief and anger.
Instantly, glass shards flew across the room, somehow not hitting anyone, and melded back perfectly with the broken windows. Wooden pencils fixed themselves, going toward their supposed location on the table. And even the broken chair's leg righted itself up.
By the end of it, the bedroom looked tidier than it was before the 'explosion.' The awe stayed with Thomas for a surprisingly long time, though it did not last forever.
"Well, let us be on our way." The strict McGonagall had her expressionless face back, smile gone as she left the bedroom.
"Come on, we have to go to the library first! There are so many books to read before term begins, I don't even know where to start." The pint-sized girl said, bouncing down the stairs.
Like a hellion of pure energy, her brown hair danced left and right, tangling onto itself even more.
[ - - - ]
Hampstead Garden Suburb wasn't far from the Leaky Cauldron, so McGonagall thought it best to go in a car instead of Apparating. She, unlike her colleagues, had some modicum of common sense when dealing with muggles.
So, they all took Helen's medium-sized car and went on their merry journey to the Leaky Cauldron, following McGonagall's instructions to the very letter.
Fortunately, it was a blessing in disguise for Thomas, who still had yet to break out of his inner thoughts. The drive was silent despite Hermione's enthusiasm.
Thomas just stared out the window, slowly settling into the pace of things. He had read the books of Harry Potter, twice even - once when he was younger, and another time alongside his younger sister.
As he pondered, his reflection stared back at him from the car's window. He, unlike Hermione, had their mother's black hair, as well as her amber eyes.
Shortly, he should be getting his wand and school materials. Then, he had a month or so before the first term started. He had until then to sort out his thoughts and feelings.
After that came the clusterfuck that was to be the brother of Hermione Granger, who would inevitably get dragged into the main plot - one way or another.
'You are still alive - somehow - and everything is shit. But you are not disabled, and you still have your wits.' He repeated his mantra, though the words sounded somewhat sarcastic.
Nails digging into his palms, Thomas noticed they finally arrived. The Leaky Cauldron was just like any other bar on the outside, though more dingy and rustic in appearance.
The interior, however, was a completely different story. Magical creatures, people wreathed in dark robes, and the whimsical notes of a Shawn filled the bar.
Self-cleaning brooms swept across the wooden floorboards, and towels rubbed dirty glasses at the counter. As they entered, a few patrons glared, only adding to the theme.
The closest thing that Thomas could compare it to was the ambiance of some medieval tavern, though adapted to the wizarding world.
'Those glares are probably because of our appearance.' Thomas frowned. 'We couldn't look more muggle even if we tried.'
McGonagall seemed to agree. She quickly took them away from the glaring patrons and to the dividing wall between the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley.
She tapped a few bricks with her wand and the wall folded onto itself like origami. Instantly, Robert and Helen gasped in surprise, as did Hermione. If it weren't for his inner issues, maybe he would do the same too.
Dozens of gravity-defying shops greeted their eyes, the 'street' still stuck in centuries past. Cobbled stones paved their way, and unlit oil lamps stood to the left and right.
Children and adults in robes and pointy hats crowded the alley, with owls and other strange flying animals swooping between the people. Thomas could also hear other archaic musical instruments echoing in the distance, such as the flute and viola.
He let himself wash away with the distant song - it reminded him of dancing with his sisters at a medieval fair in Switzerland. Diagon Alley was beautiful - a gateway from the mundane world.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley." McGonagall allowed herself a small smile as she said this. Then, strict to a fault, she resumed her walk, a stunned family following close behind.
[ - - - ]
They did not dally long in most shops, to the chagrin of her daughter, who wanted to see and experience everything Diagon Alley had to offer. And, were someone privy to Helen's true thoughts, Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour did seem like a good stop.
Regardless, Professor McGonagall was a strict and efficient woman. They quickly exchanged pounds for Galleons in Gringotts Bank and went about the rest of their trip.
In that case, Helen was thankful, as she couldn't say these goblin creatures were the most pleasant company to be around. It wasn't just their atypical faces or grotesque warty skin that put her off.
Their attitude was worse than that of bankers, their smile a bit too sharp for her liking as they discussed policies and customer rights. It almost looked like they wanted to scam their clientele.
Which, now that Helen thought about it, wasn't that different from most banks in the mundane world. But she digressed, shaking off errant thoughts as they reached an antique little shop.
The shop was unlike most buildings in Diagon Alley, which looked as if they might topple over their weight at any moment, their structure crooked as it was.
McGonagall had reassured them that it was merely an aesthetic choice and that the infrastructure of these buildings wasn't compromised.
Helen wasn't sure which one was worse: the fashion trends in the wizarding world or if the buildings were to be structurally unsound. She would keep that question for later when she was alone with Robert.
At the front, with cylindrical windows framing it, the shop's logo read: 'Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 BC.' That was a long time ago, Helen couldn't help but remark.
"Here, you will get your wands, which will remain with you - I hope - for the rest of your lives." McGonagall's voice brought her back from her musings.
"It isn't the wizard who chooses their wand, and there are no two equal wands. Each is unique, just like their owners."
"As such, finding your wand is an extremely personal experience, and both Hermione and Thomas should go in alone." She explained, eyeing Helen as she did so.
"Tom, you can go first." Said Robert from her side before she could protest. "It will be fine, you mother-hen." He whispered just to her, smiling.
"Really?" She whispered back, eyes narrowing even as she smiled at her son. "Go on, dear, we will be waiting outside." Someone would be getting the cold shoulder that night.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS
DiscountChangeling
DiscountChangeling
Had a change of heart - author notes will stay here. Also, power stones. Barely started, but I'm already greedy.
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