Although they never discovered exactly what Amanda's parents had done to her brain, it was undeniable that something had been tampered with.
Still, after examining her, the doctors at the private hospital agreed that whatever had been done, her brain now appeared completely normal.
Only her brain-wave patterns and the development of her emotional center were abnormal, and medicine had nothing to offer there; Amanda would have to release the restraints on herself, bit by bit, and learn how to feel.
Armed with the detailed report, the Granger family left the neurology wing and stepped into the lobby. Hermione spotted Amanda at once: the girl stood in a corner, eyes vacant, muttering something under her breath.
Seeing that blank, expressionless face, Hermione's nose stung. She didn't need to get closer to know Amanda was reciting a textbook. Her brain had been violated—how helpless, how desperate she must have been—and by her own parents. The thought made Hermione, an outsider, shudder.
Amanda must have felt even worse. On impulse, Hermione forgot they were in a hospital lobby; she didn't care about manners.
She ran over with open arms and hugged Amanda fiercely, as though she could fold the girl into her own body and keep her safe.
Amanda's recitation paused. She glanced at the person embracing her, recognized Hermione, and resumed reciting.
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, steadied herself, then let go and forced a smile.
"Let's go home."
Amanda stared back with lifeless eyes. She didn't want to smile; her brain automatically analyzed the anomalies in Hermione's expression.
The muscles of Hermione's smile were stiff; her eyes were red, her breathing ragged. Amanda concluded that the smile was involuntary.
"If you don't want to smile, then don't," she thought, devoid of emotion.
Somewhere deep in her mind a voice insisted she didn't want Hermione forcing that smile.
Why she didn't want it—she couldn't say; she simply didn't.
Hermione gave a laugh that was almost a sob, though no tears fell.
She gently ruffled Amanda's hair. "Of course I want to smile. I love smiling."
Here was a girl who felt nothing, who didn't even understand emotion, yet she tried to comfort her—absurdly, endearingly kind.
Amanda nodded without changing expression. "All right."
Since Hermione said so, it was fine; Amanda didn't really grasp why Hermione would fake a smile anyway.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger stood nearby, giving the girls space, respecting their moment; they knew better than to intrude.
Still, even the usually oblivious Mr. Granger sensed something.
He turned hesitantly to his wife. "Dear, are Hermione and Amanda…?"
Mrs. Granger raised an eyebrow—so he'd noticed. Faster than she'd expected.
No point hiding it; her husband wasn't narrow-minded, merely overprotective.
"Yes," she nodded, "but for now it's only Hermione who has feelings. Given Amanda's situation… and Hermione hasn't fully recognized her own heart yet."
In other words, Hermione didn't realize she already loved Amanda.
Mr. Granger nodded, his gaze complicated.
Amanda was heart-breakingly worthy of compassion, but she had to learn every feeling from scratch. He could imagine how exhausting the road ahead would be for his daughter.
After so many years together, Mrs. Granger read his mind. She patted his shoulder.
"Love means both give. If Hermione loves her, she'll sprint toward her—thorns and all—and pull Amanda free."
Mr. Granger was silent, then smiled gently and patted his wife's hand. "You're right. We just support them."
"Amanda's a good kid. If they end up together, I'll rest easy."
Mrs. Granger chuckled. "You've known her five minutes and already decided?"
He shook his head, smiling. "It's obvious—polite, diligent, heart-breakingly well-behaved. You think so too."
"Mm." She pressed her lips and nodded.
Indeed, compared with other children Amanda was almost too good—so good Mrs. Granger wished she'd be noisier, more reckless, instead of this flawless machine.
The girls climbed into the car; Mr. Granger started the engine while Mrs. Granger passed back packed breakfasts.
"Eat a little, but not too much—lunch is soon."
Hermione and Amanda accepted the bags in perfect unison.
Amanda pulled out a jam-smeared slice, opened her mouth wide, and the bread vanished in a blink.
Before Hermione could stop her, it was already swallowed.
She caught Amanda's wrist. "Slowly, okay? No rush."
Amanda blinked mechanically. "Okay."
She took out another slice and began eating it bite by deliberate bite.
Hermione exhaled in relief, then bit eagerly into her own sandwich.
Mm! Delicious! Hermione's eyes suddenly lit up—not that Mum's sandwiches were bad, mind you.
It was just that Amanda's sandwiches were a completely different style, and that style happened to be extraordinarily tasty.
Because Mrs. Granger had warned them not to eat too much, Amanda stopped after two slices of jam bread, and Hermione also quit after one sandwich.
After packing up, Hermione pulled Amanda into her arms again. Closing her eyes slowly, Amanda resumed her mental simulation—but this time not of brewing Potions.
Instead she visualized growing herbs. Pleased she'd supposedly let Amanda rest by making her'sleep' on the ride, Hermione smiled and resolved to urge Amanda to 'nap' as often as possible at Hogwarts.
The car rolled to a stop in the Granger Residence garage, and Hermione, still cuddling Amanda, had fallen asleep without noticing.
Mrs. Granger glanced back, stifled a giggle, and called softly, "Amanda, Hermione, we're home."
Hearing her full name, Amanda instantly dropped the herb-cultivation simulation and snapped her eyes open—bright and alert, clearly never truly asleep.
Mrs. Granger blinked. So she hadn't been able to sleep yet still let Hermione cuddle her?
This child is too well-behaved, she thought. Once Amanda learns about emotions, will she let Hermione push her around?
By now Mrs. Granger had forgotten Hermione was her own daughter; she worried instead about Amanda being bullied.
Turning her head slowly, Amanda looked up at Hermione's peacefully sleeping face.
With the caution of touching fragile porcelain, she extended a hand and nudged Hermione.
"Hermione, Hermione, we're home—wake up."
The flat, emotionless voice rang beside Hermione's ear, yet to her it sounded beautiful, pulling her instantly toward consciousness so she could look at the speaker.
Hermione opened drowsy eyes and, seeing the blurred Amanda, instinctively reached to stroke her cheek.
Only after a yawn did she fully wake and lead Amanda out of the car.
The four of them stepped inside; the moment Amanda had swapped her shoes she checked the clock she'd located yesterday.
Eleven o'clock—time to prepare lunch. Slippers on, she headed for the kitchen without pause.
So naturally that Hermione and Mr. and Mrs. Granger stood stunned for two seconds.
Then all three came back to their senses and hurried after her.
In the kitchen Amanda was already taking ingredients from the fridge while her brain calculated ratios and nutritional balance.
Her parents had cared deeply about this, convinced that only healthy eating kept them strong, so Amanda planned every meal precisely.
At table they ate slowly to savor each dish and nutrient, often finishing thirty minutes after Amanda.
Now she reasoned that Mr. and Mrs. Granger—and Hermione—should do the same; it would benefit their health.
So her mind automatically began the usual calculations.
Mrs. Granger sighed at the practiced movements, stepped forward, and gently relieved her of the ingredients.
"Amanda, you just had a check-up and gave blood. Why don't you rest with Hermione? I'll handle lunch."
Amanda lifted her vacant eyes and nodded. "All right. Thank you, Auntie."
"Good girl. Go sit with Hermione, watch some television—lunch will be ready soon." Mrs. Granger pinched her cheek and signaled Hermione to take her away.
Hermione quickly linked arms with Amanda, careful of the needle marks, and led her to the sofa while Mr. Granger stayed to help his wife.
Hermione flicked through channels—plays, films, cartoons—unsure what to choose.
She looked at Amanda. "Is there anything you'd like to watch?"
Amanda turned mechanically, her face expressionless.
Television... she rarely watched. At home her parents watched; she had no time to relax.
Yet deep in her memory she'd glimpsed an old cartoon once, in a mall.
She'd been eight. Mum told her to browse the bookstore while she went to a clothing shop.
On the way Amanda passed a store full of screens; one showed an ancient cartoon with two bears and a bald man.
Unlike modern educational shows, it served no obvious purpose.
It made her feel... something. But what? Her head throbbed; even her perfect memory couldn't retrieve the emotion.
She only remembered being caught, slapped, and listening while her mother phoned to report the shop.
Reason: broadcasting meaningless cartoons that harm children's studies.
After the call her mother told her to stand up and took her home.
Looking at Hermione, Amanda spoke in a monotone. "I want to watch... a cartoon."
Hermione switched to an animation channel: thomas the tank engine was on.
She set the remote down and gently hugged Amanda as they watched.
Honestly, Hermione had found cartoons dull since she was ten, or maybe she'd simply outgrown them.
Yet watching with Amanda made them interesting again. She glanced aside.
Amanda's eyes remained dull, her face blank, but for an instant Hermione thought she saw a flicker of light flash across them.
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