HP: Bloody Thorns

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.