On the other hand, Hector was quite independent, unlike children with autism or other disabilities. Yes, he couldn’t perform complex sets of actions, as he would quickly withdraw into himself, but he managed immediate needs and tasks as if acting on reflexes alone, following a long-established routine. And, as always, he stared into the distance, a sight that deeply worried those around him. For someone unaccustomed to it, it was a haunting image.
Hermione, like her parents, also struggled with Hector. From the age of seven, when she finally understood that Hector would perish without outside help, the girl began actively assisting her parents so they could devote more attention to her brother—though she herself didn’t want to. She helped around the house, did her homework independently, and sought solutions to her own, albeit childish, problems. Deep down, she harbored a slight resentment toward Hector—he was the source of an overwhelming number of problems and worries! Because of him, her parents rarely had time for her. Even if that wasn’t entirely true, children often see things differently.
Hermione also had a big secret. She could do incredible things, though mostly by accident and uncontrollably. The girl hid her gift for telekinesis and similar abilities from her parents, knowing they already had enough to deal with.
On the fourth of July, 1991, no one expected anything unusual. It was another modest, quiet holiday. Hector would eat cake with everyone, receive gifts—mostly drawing kits, as he didn’t have the capacity for anything more complex during his brief "glimmers of consciousness." Afterward, he would return home, and the rest of the family would breathe a sigh of relief, congratulating each other on surviving another difficult year. Hermione would proudly share her school achievements and modestly look down when asked about friends—she had none, as there was no time for them.
Everything was proceeding as usual. Hermione sat at the table, staring at her knees, when the inevitable question about friends was asked. But then, the unexpected sound of the doorbell interrupted the moment.
"I’ll get it," Robert, a medium-height, fair-haired man and the father of the family, stood up and headed for the door.
Emma, a beautiful brunette with short hair, set her teacup aside, listening to the conversation at the door. Hermione did the same. The girl resembled her mother in facial features, but her hair was a mix of both parents—a curly, unruly mass of various shades of blond, from dark to very light.
A couple of minutes later, Robert returned to the living room, followed by a tall, stately woman in an emerald-green, floor-length dress and a black robe. Her age was indeterminate, but she was clearly not young—light wrinkles and streaks of gray hair suggested she was older than Emma, though at first glance, one might not guess her to be over forty.
The woman introduced herself as Professor Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration and Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. With a deft flick of her wand, she convinced the family of the existence of magic, delighting Hermione and astonishing her parents. In short, she had come to deliver two invitations to study at Hogwarts—one for Hermione and one for Hector.
"Professor," Robert’s face darkened. "There might be a problem with Hector."
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"What is it?" McGonagall asked, sitting at the table and sipping the offered tea. "Where is the young man, by the way?"
"He’s upstairs," Emma replied.
Everyone rose from the table and headed to the second floor, stopping in front of Hector’s door. Emma spoke again:
"Are you familiar with a condition like autism?"
"I have some idea," McGonagall nodded, her stern gaze shifting between Emma and Robert.
"It’s very similar, but not quite the same," Robert added as Emma opened the door, and they all stepped inside.
The room was simple, painted in light colors. An ordinary, neatly made bed stood against one wall. Chalk and plastic boards covered the walls, filled with incomprehensible symbols, signs, and diagrams, occasionally interspersed with familiar numbers. A wardrobe stretched from the far corner to the window, and next to it was a low table meant for sitting on the floor—Hector only used chairs when necessary, like in the kitchen. Leaning against the wardrobe, a black-haired boy sat on the floor, his blue eyes staring vacantly into the distance. McGonagall was slightly surprised by how striking the boy’s features were. Yet, his face showed no emotion—just a blank mask. It was unsettling.
"Let me clarify," the professor said after a moment’s pause. "Does Hector ever become more... aware?"
"Rarely, and not noticeably so."
"Has he been like this since birth, or did something happen?"
"Since birth. We’ve done every test imaginable, consulted countless specialists, but the only thing we’ve learned is that his brain activity is abnormally high."
McGonagall pursed her lips and adjusted her glasses.
"I would recommend calling a healer from St. Mungo’s."
Seeing the puzzled looks from the adults and Hermione, McGonagall explained:
"St. Mungo’s is a magical hospital. Perhaps our healers can help, or at least determine a course of treatment."
Only Robert noticed the shadow of sadness on the professor’s face. She had clearly encountered something like this before, but it wasn’t her place to delve into it.
After receiving consent to call a healer and realizing the Grangers couldn’t handle this alone, McGonagall conjured a ghostly cat, whispered to it, and sent it off. It dissolved into thin air. As the professor explained, she had summoned a trusted healer. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. On the threshold stood an elderly, slightly plump man with streaks of gray in his dark hair. He wore a simple dark robe and introduced himself as Healer Smethwick.
For about half an hour, the healer circled the motionless Hector, waving his wand and muttering incantations. Curiosity and enthusiasm were evident on his face. Robert clenched his fists in frustration, but Emma patted his shoulder.
"Now you understand how the parents of that boy felt when you hovered around during the examination, saying, 'What an interesting case!'"
A few minutes later, Healer Smethwick put away his wand and approached the watching adults.
"What did you find?" McGonagall asked.
"It’s strange and unusual, but not critical," the healer replied with a slight smile. "The boy has become more aware over the years, hasn’t he? I see that’s true. And no oddities, magical manifestations, or anything like that have been noticed in him?"
"Not in him, but in Hermione, yes."
Emma, like Robert, had noticed some oddities in Hermione that could easily be attributed to superpowers. That’s why McGonagall’s appearance hadn’t been entirely shocking. But now, they wondered if their little girl would face similar challenges—and if so, how?
Smethwick glanced at Hermione, who blushed in embarrassment, and grinned.
"Is there something we don’t know?" Emma asked with a smile, though her tone hinted at an impending serious conversation.
"It’s not that you don’t know…"
"That’s not the point," the healer interrupted, turning back to Hector’s parents. "He is physically healthy, though a bit thin—likely due to lack of exercise. The problem is that his brain and magic are entirely focused on a much more important task. It’s as if he’s restoring the integrity of his soul."
"Soul integrity?" McGonagall echoed, voicing the question on everyone’s lips.
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