A moment later.
The hanging girl, the boy who had broken the light bulb, and the boy who had conjured the blood all stood before John as though they were mourning their parents.
"Names." John sat before the three of them and asked calmly.
"Smedley Taylor."
"Bertram Otis."
"Eleanor George."
Smedley was the girl's name, Bertram was the light bulb boy, and Eleanor was the last one.
As it happened, John had seen all three names when he entered.
Glancing at Eleanor's trembling legs, John said evenly, "Dispel the illusion."
At those words, Eleanor finally gave up trying to hold out.
With a wave of his hands, the blood that had covered their ankles vanished.
The dilapidated old corridor disappeared as well.
In its place was a cozy space filled with all sorts of handmade sculptures.
The three of them looked about seventeen or eighteen.
In other words, high school age.
But all three were unusual.
They possessed extraordinary abilities.
Smedley could fly, allowing her to float in midair.
That was why she had played the hanging victim.
Bertram could control electricity, making the light bulbs flicker.
Eleanor could create realistic illusions to frighten people away.
All three were children the orphanage had taken in.
John looked at Eleanor, his gaze settling on the boy's clouded left eye.
Eleanor's eyes had originally been blue, but for some reason, one of them had gone blind.
He was not the only one. Smedley looked only fourteen or fifteen, her body thin and frail, nowhere near the height or weight she should have been at her age.
Bertram, meanwhile, had only one arm.
This was the result of an inhumane human experiment conducted in the Wizarding World.
John had destroyed that operation and rescued the children there.
None of the three remembered the