Elias Granger was not like other children.
Not even like other magical children.
At first, it was small — he learned spells by watching them once. Not reading. Not practicing. Watching. He mimicked wand movements with uncanny accuracy and adjusted them on instinct. His first accidental magic at four years old wasn't a levitation or light spell. It was a compressed defensive rune network that repelled a hex cast by an angry wizard in Diagon Alley.
That man had been trying to abduct Hermione.
Elias hadn't even been scared.
Only curious.
The Grangers didn't remember much of that day. Memory charm. Aurors. Cover-ups. Muggles protected.
But Elias remembered everything.
And Hermione did, too.
---
It was raining again when the incident happened.
He was alone in the attic — a place Hermione used to avoid until Elias started storing his spellwork there. She claimed the dust gave her allergies. He suspected it had more to do with the fact he didn't invite her in.
He needed solitude.
What he was doing today required silence.
He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, with a book hovering in front of him — a torn section of an ancient magical text scavenged from Knockturn Alley's forgotten corners. It spoke of "Insight beyond Veil," and "Understanding not earned."
He called it Heaven-Defying Insight.
Most witches and wizards needed years of study and training to even interpret concepts like soul-bound spellweaving or mental law creation.
But Elias didn't need years.
He needed moments.
He activated a new rune pattern in his mind, letting the information spiral through layers of understanding — languages, magical law, cause, and effect, emotional resonance, and beyond.
Then, for the first time, he fused his emotional state with knowledge itself.
Information Fusion.
Conceptual Rewriting.
Instant Comprehension.
He felt the moment the universe shuddered around him.
The moment the magical fabric of the world noticed.
It wasn't just comprehension.
It was defiance.
And the universe didn't like being defied.
The lights in the attic flickered. The runes scrawled on the wooden beams started to hum with rising tension. Wind burst through the sealed window.
And then came the Warning.
It wasn't a voice.
It was a presence — ancient, weightless, immeasurably vast. Like the stars were watching him and disapproving.
A silver crack formed in the air in front of him — reality itself fracturing for a split second.
His body screamed. His skin split in two places. His bones pulsed with fire.
But his mind…
His mind was reborn.
---
Downstairs, Hermione jolted up from her book, her hand tightening around her wand.
"Elias," she whispered, and ran.
When she threw open the attic door, she saw him on his knees — bleeding from his palms and forehead. The silver tear in reality had faded, but its impression lingered like a burn mark on the soul.
She rushed to him.
"What happened?!"
"I pushed too far," he said weakly, teeth clenched. "It... it fought back."
"What fought back?!"
He looked up.
His eyes shimmered with something inhuman. Like they reflected layers of reality no one else could see.
"The world," he said simply. "It doesn't want me to understand it."
Hermione stared.
And then her hands cupped his cheeks, tears welling up.
"You're bleeding! Why would you do that?! Why didn't you tell me?!"
"I needed to know if I could. If I could break through."
"But what if you died?!"
"I wouldn't," he said. "Not yet."
He tried to stand. His legs shook, but he held firm.
Hermione didn't let go of him.
"You don't get to push me out," she whispered. "Not after everything. If you're going to break the world, Elias—" her voice trembled, eyes fierce "—I'm going to be right there, helping you do it."
He looked at her.
Saw the cracked devotion in her soul. The gleam of something too bright, too fierce, too obsessive.
And in that moment, part of him accepted it.
Because something had to anchor him. To remind him of the ground, as he reached further into the sky than anyone had ever dared.
And if that anchor was twisted, needy, possessive?
So be it.
---
Later that night, Hermione watched him sleep from across the room.
He twitched occasionally — his mind still digesting the knowledge he'd absorbed. His skin pulsed with faint runes beneath the surface.
He was changing.
And she loved him for it.
Not in the innocent way a sister might love a brother.
No.
This love was selfish.
Protective.
Unnatural.
But when he'd looked at her and didn't recoil — didn't pull away — she'd felt a door open in her heart. One that would never close again.
Elias belonged to no one.
Not even the universe.
But if anyone could claim a piece of him...
It would be her.