Fate is not kind. It is not cruel.
Fate is indifferent.
It does not weep when a child is lost. It does not cheer when a miracle survives. Fate simply flows — unless someone falls between the cracks.
Elias Granger was not supposed to exist.
He should have died that night — or lived as Harry's twin under the eyes of the wizarding world. But Voldemort never looked at him. The Ministry never found him. Even Dumbledore, with all his wisdom, missed the heartbeat under the rubble, the spark of infinite comprehension inside a baby's mind.
He had slipped through fate's fingers.
And in that space, something else began.
---
Elias sat cross-legged on the carpet, eyes closed, fingers tracing the air.
Hermione was watching.
She always was.
It had been three years since he performed his first conscious spell. Since then, his control grew faster than any book could explain. The more he observed, the more he understood. He didn't learn spells — he reconstructed them. From the faint ripple in the air, from the way a wand cut a line, from the symbols buried in books and dreams.
He was six now.
And something inside him was changing.
"I saw you glowing again last night," Hermione said suddenly.
Elias opened his eyes. "That wasn't magic. That was comprehension heat."
She blinked. "What?"
"I think… when I absorb new knowledge too quickly, my body reacts. Like overclocking. It burns."
"Is it dangerous?"
"Probably. But worth it."
She scooted closer. "You're not allowed to die. Ever."
"That's unlikely."
"No." She grabbed his hand. Tight. "Not a joke."
He turned his head slowly, studying her. She was still a child, but sometimes her eyes said otherwise. Her possessiveness wasn't the tantrum of a spoiled sister. It was instinct. She didn't want to own him like a toy.
She wanted to become part of him.
Hermione read books far beyond her age, just to keep up with him. She argued with teachers, isolated herself from classmates, and smiled only for him. She rarely touched others. But Elias? She clung.
When he disappeared into his mindscape for hours — visualizing concepts, constructing fusion arts in imaginary space — she'd wait outside his door. Once, she sat for six hours. No food. No bathroom.
Just her. Just waiting.
---
That night, Elias dreamed.
But it wasn't his dream.
It was Harry's.
He saw flashes — green light, a mirror, a snake. A red-haired boy. A girl with wild hair. A dark corridor and a whisper:
"You have his eyes..."
The connection snapped.
Elias woke, sweating.
It had started.
He had expected it — the twin bond, awakened by growing magic. Harry was becoming aware. That meant Hogwarts wasn't far.
He glanced at Hermione sleeping in the bed across the room, curled up like a kitten beside his open book. Her arms clutched it like a child with a teddy bear.
She always took his notes to bed.
His notes.
Not her own.
Elias stood and walked to the mirror.
Six years old — and yet the mind behind those silver eyes was ancient.
Not tired. Not bitter.
Sharp.
Too sharp for this world.
---
Later that week, something changed.
He was watching a bird through the window, observing its wingbeats and the gravity it defied, when suddenly — he understood.
The arc.
The magical thrust.
The freedom in the air.
And his body moved.
A whisper of wind. A shimmer of light beneath his feet. A pulse in his spine.
He hovered.
Just slightly.
Just for a second.
But that was enough.
The world rewrote itself.
Words filled his vision — runes, concepts, energy webs. Magic, in its purest form, was folding into his comprehension. The sky was no longer a barrier. He could redefine gravity if he truly wished.
The ground called him back. He landed gently.
Hermione was standing behind him.
She had seen.
"You flew," she said.
"Almost."
She stared at him, breath trembling. "You're not like anyone else. I knew it."
"I never said I was."
"Don't leave me behind."
He turned. "What?"
"I know you'll leave one day," she whispered, stepping closer. "Fly off. Ascend. Disappear. But I'll follow you. No matter how far. Even if I have to become a monster, Elias. I'll follow."
The air chilled.
He looked into her eyes.
They weren't childish anymore.
They were hungry.
Something inside her had cracked open — not dark, exactly. But raw. Desperate. Her love wasn't safe.
And Elias? He should have pushed her away.
But instead, he found himself fascinated again.
This world was supposed to be known. He'd read the books. He remembered the plotlines. But here he stood, staring at a girl who was rewriting Hermione Granger into something new — something twisted by love and obsession.
He had fallen through fate's crack.
And Hermione?
She was falling with him.