23:07 GMT
31 August, 1990
Dear Mr. Ezekiel Bohr,
It is my privilege to inform you that the Headmaster has selected you as the Head Boy for this year. Although it is uncommon for non-prefects to become Head Boy or Girl, it is not unheard of, and I personally doubt that your lack of experience will hinder your ability to undertake this responsibility whatsoever.
You are required to attend a brief meeting in the second passenger car of the Hogwarts Express at 11:00 AM sharp. Here, you will be instructed in your duties, and given the password to the Head Boy's and Girl's private quarters.
Best of wishes,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Dear Professor McGonagall,
Honored as I am by your decision, I respectfully decline the position of Head Boy.
Sincerely,
Ezekiel Bohr
Dear Mr. Ezekiel Bohr,
The Headmaster would like to inform you that you "will accept the position of Head Boy whether you like it or not."
Best of wishes,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Dear Professor McGonagall,
It was my understanding that a student reserves the right to decline the position of Prefect or Head Boy if he wishes. Please explain why I am being excepted from this rule.
Sincerely, Ezekiel Bohr
Dear Mr. Ezekiel Bohr,
The Headmaster wishes to meet you privately after the start-of-term banquet. He does not wish the matter to be discussed until then. Please assume that you are Head Boy until then.
Best of wishes,
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Ezekiel read the letter wearily by the light of a small spell hovering over his shoulder. He sighed and let it slide off the edge of his desk. It floated in the air for a moment, then began to fold itself into a perfect paper crane. The crane flapped its wings and did a single lazy circle around Ezekiel's desk before soaring gracefully into the fire.
He looked over at the beat-up dresser in the corner, or rather, at the wand collecting dust on top of it. With a single, silent hand gesture, he summoned it to himself. Looks like it's that time again. He dropped the wand into his Muggle suitcase, then went to bed, extinguishing the light that dutifully followed him around with a lazy wave of his hand.
00:03 GMT
28 February, 1974
Assistant Healer Fuerenne held the babe at arm's length, as if it may explode at any moment.
"...Healer? Is there something wrong?" Mr. Bohr asked, a look of concern on his strong-jawed face.
"He's silent," she replied. "I've never seen a newborn completely silent."
Then Fuerenne looked into the babe's eyes, which were wide open and bright blue. A look of fear, a very sharp look of fear looked back at her. Fuerenne's eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. No baby should be able to give a look like that.
"May I see him?" Mr. Bohr, putting more than a little pressure in his voice.
"No, not yet, I'm sorry, I need to test him. Something is very strange..." She set him down on a pile of towels on an examination table, and began to wave her wand in circles around him, muttering spells to herself. Every now and then, when a break came in her chanting, a bright glyph would materialize over his head, every one of them identical, all of them glowing a reassuring green. Fuerenne stepped back, thinking hard to herself. There's definitely something different about him, but he's passed all the standard tests. Then a notion crossed her mind, and her breath caught. It matches, it definitely does, she thought.
"Healer. What is wrong with my son?"
"He may... well, I don't know, it's much too early to make that kind of assumption but I need to test anyway..." Then she waved her wand again, and muttered a series of incantations that went on for nearly a minute straight.
A new glyph materialized this time, floating above the baby's head, casting a bright red glare in his wide eyes. Fuerenne audibly gasped.
"Is my son alright?" Mr. Bohr asked, the strain clear in his voice.
Fuerenne ignored him, and began to brandish her wand in the practiced motions, finishing with a small flourish and the incantation, "Expecto Patronum."
A tabby of molten silver burst out of her wand, landing lightly on the tiled floor and turning to look up at her. Fuerenne knelt and told it, "Go straight to Mistress Yennith. Interrupt whatever she is doing and tell her, 'The boy is born, and has confirmed MP.'" The cat nodded once, meowed silently, and sank through the floor.
"Healer Fuerenne," Mr. Bohr said. "What is wrong with my son?"
Fuerenne turned to face him, leaning against the table as if she were faint. "Your son... he has an extremely rare condition. He... he shouldn't be in any danger, if action is taken immediately."
"Surgery?"
Fuerenne shook her head. "No, MP and MPM are psychological, kind of. He must be treated with the utmost care. Mistress Yennith will explain when she arrives."
As if on cue, the door burst open, and a tall woman with cropped black hair rushed in. Her green Healer's robes had wide sleeves, with luminescent white silk lining the inside. The customary Healer's hat was askew, and she was clearly out of breath, as if she had run all the way to that room. "Show me the boy."
Fuerenne jumped off the table and gestured to the baby, who was still completely silent. Yennith loomed over him, closely examining his face under the pale light coming from her sleeves. Carefully, she lifted the babe off the table, and held it at arm's length, staring closely into his eyes.
Mr. Bohr instantly recognized the process, and stepped forward, his mouth open to protest. Fuerenne waved her wand and cast a silent Protego, stopping Mr. Bohr in his tracks. Do not interfere, she mouthed at him with the utmost urgency.
For ten minutes, Yennith stared into the baby's eyes, which regarded her with a cool apathy. Fuerenne and Mr. Bohr watched silently; Mrs. Bohr was still unconscious on the bed, totally neglected.
Finally Yennith blinked once, twice, and shuddered frightfully. The baby now looked at her with a palpable awe. Yennith set him gently back onto the towels, then pointed her wand and muttered, "Somnium." The baby fell asleep instantly.
Yennith sank into the other visitor's chair, wiping the sweat from her forehead. "Wake the mother," she instructed Fuerenne, who hastened to obey.
"Mistress Yennith?" Mr. Bohr said. "What the hell is going on?"
"Ennervate."
"Is something wrong?" Mrs. Bohr asked, looking around groggily. "Where is he?"
"Sir, Madam," Yennith said, "your son has a condition called MPM. I've just verified it with Legilimency."
"Legilimency! Surely that's dangerous to perform on a newborn," Mrs. Bohr protested, lurching into a sitting position.
"It is," Yennith admitted, "but it was necessary in this case."
"What is MPM?" Mr. Bohr asked.
"MPM stands for Magical Perceptivity and Manipulativity. It is a much rarer and much more powerful form of MP, Magical Perceptivity."
"And what does that mean?"
Yennith sighed and leaned forward in the chair. "Well, does Hogwarts ever teach about the Fabric of Magical Energy?"
"No," Mr. and Mrs. Bohr both said.
"That's no surprise, it's an obscure bit of knowledge. The concept is that there is a sort of framework of flowing magical energy that envelops the entire Universe, which is invisible to you or I. Wizards can manipulate it with wands, and to a very slight degree by themselves, as in the cases of accidental magic among juvenile wizards. It is, quite simply, the substance of magic. It's the reason we have the powers we have."
"What does this have to do with my son?" Mr. Bohr asked, impatience showing in his eyes.
"A wizard with MP can observe this Fabric. There are three known wizards with MP alive today."
"And MPM?" Mrs. Bohr asked.
"A wizard with MPM can observe the Fabric, and manipulate it telepathically. Your son is the seventh wizard with MPM in recorded history."
There was a very long silence as this sunk in.
"Can I see him?" Mrs. Bohr asked tentatively.
"No, you may not."
Mr. Bohr flared up. "Why not?"
"There is a third factor that can interact with the Fabric besides wands and wizards themselves – emotion. Your son is able to sense the emotions of those around him as direct interference in the Fabric. As a newborn with a developing brain, any exposure to emotions, especially those of his parents, could be very dangerous."
"How dangerous?"
"The best-case scenario, should you not allow us to care for your son, is that he will develop an extremely strong case of autism."
Fearfully, Mrs. Bohr asked, "What is the worst-case?"
"He goes completely insane and is unable to communicate or function at any level beyond breathing."
The parents took this in, the implications slowly dawning on them. "What happens if we let you... care for him?" Mr. Bohr asked.
Yennith looked up at him with sympathy. "Your son will be taken to a specially designed facility, where he will be cared for indirectly, through scrying and long-distance magic. If you allow us to care for him, this is the last time you will see your son for eleven years."
Mrs. Bohr's breath caught.
"Th-that's absurd! How can you separate him from us?" Mr. Bohr sputtered, tension evident in his voice.
"Think, Mr. Bohr! Imagine the emotions of you and your wife should you ever visit him. A single visit could damage him permanently. He must be isolated until his brain has matured sufficiently, or I can promise you, the results will not be pretty."
Mr. Bohr looked back at his wife. She looked up to him with teary eyes, and nodded. "Fine," Mr. Bohr said, deflating. "Fine. If it's best for him, we'll give him over to your care."
Yennith smiled tentatively. "Thank you, Mr. Bohr."
"How much will it cost us?"
"Oh no, you needn't pay for it," Yennith said, shaking her head. "This is a research opportunity – we'll gladly pay for it all."
The Bohrs nodded.
"Fuerenne, get the boy," Yennith said, standing up and walking to the door.
"Wait!" Mrs. Bohr cried, stopping Yennith and Fuerenne in their tracks. "He must have a name." Yennith nodded to Fuerenne, who carried the babe over to his parents.
Mrs. Bohr stroked his head once, twice, and whispered, "Ezekiel." She kissed his forehead, tears openly falling down her cheeks now. "Goodbye, Ezekiel."
Then Fuerenne carried the baby away, and Yennith closed the door behind them.