A/N: Before you read this, promise me you won't hate me. Hopefully you will enjoy this chapter as much as I did when the plot bunny began hopping about in my head! So, without further ado, I give you...
Chapter 8
Burning
"Come on in, Hermes."
Oh. My. God.
Those three words repeat in my mind like a broken record as I step into the kitchen. My heart is beating a tattoo against my rib-cage, and yet, my breathing is even. I've learned to never wear my emotions on my sleeve. Darren's eyes widen at the sight of me as he struggles to stand up, using the wall as support. My concentration, however, is focused on Harry, on his eyes, which are boring into mine.
"Perhaps," Harry says cordially, as if the prior confrontation never occurred, "we should all sit down."
Darren snarls, but I hurriedly shoot him a somewhat nervous glare.
"Yes, I believe we need to sort some things out," I reply, pulling out a chair and sitting down, watching Darren reluctantly do the same with his eyes trained on Harry's form. Harry, however, stays standing. It's something he's always done when he feels the starving need to be in control of a situation.
A tensely uncomfortable silence prevails for a moment or two, in which Harry's eyes meet Darren's. They hold their gazes, as if they are in the midst of a mental battle. I barely catch the flash of light in Harry's eyes before Darren stands up swiftly.
"I don't have to take any crap from this psycho. C'mon, 'Mione, we're leaving!" He snaps, grabbing my forearm and jerking me out of my seat.
"Darren, stop!"
"No! The sooner I get you away from him, the better."
"Darren, I-"
"GET YOUR BLOODY HANDS OFF OF HER!" Harry interjects. Darren looks back at him with a somewhat crazed _expression, pulling me tightly against his chest.
"Make me."
Instantaneously, Harry shoves his hand outward in my direction, and a sudden intense feeling of warmth invades my every pore. It's as if my skin is on fire. The burning sensation invades my senses, and for a moment, I feel like I'm dancing within the flames, swirling in a haze of smoldering, pleasure-laced pain.
Darren's figure flies from mine. My eyes open as the fiery feeling leaves my body as soon as it came. He's holding his hand in front of his eyes, watching his inflamed skin begin to blister. The outline of my form is burned into his shirt and pants in a charred black. His eyes dart to Harry, the blazingly blue orbs filled with inescapable fear.
"To hell with the both of you," he mutters, stumbling out of the kitchen and running as fast as he can down the stairs. I hear the front door slam shut and his car speed out of the driveway before I collapse, letting the darkness take over.
~*~
I wake up to find myself lying on an impossibly comfortable couch. Cracking my eyes open reveals a blur of orange. Must be Ron's couch. Why didn't I ever notice how wonderfully soft it was before? No wonder he has so many women come here. I would go out with Ron just to spend an hour lying on this piece of cushioned heaven.
My eyes slide shut again as a hand flattens across my forehead.
"It's good to see you up, Herm," Ron's voice states, "You've been out for a while."
"How long?"
"About three hours."
While I take the time to mull this fact over, Ron reaches into a small basin on his tea table and pulls out a wet rag, laying it where his hand had been moments before. The cool excess water drips down into my hair, but the sensation it creates is soothing.
"You still have a bit of a fever. Keep the rag on your head and drink some of this," he says, handing me a glass of pumpkin juice, "Harry said it should help bring your temperature down."
I nod, my eyes scanning the room.
"Where is Harry? Did he tell you what happened?"
Ron sighed, pulling the table toward the couch so that the basin of water was within my reach.
"When I got home, I went up to Harry's place to grab a bite to eat. He met me at the door in hysterics, saying that he had done something rash and stupid and that he had hurt you. He took me into the kitchen. You were lying on the floor, and there was glass and wine everywhere. You looked horribly flushed, so I bent down to touch you. You were burning up; I mean, your temperature was through the roof.
"Well, Harry's the healer in the house, right? So I told him to pick you up and do something to bring down the fever, but he kept saying that he was afraid to touch you. That he was afraid it would happen again."
"That what would happen?" I interrupted. My curiosity had peaked at the mention of Harry's fear. Had he been the cause of the scorching feeling I'd felt earlier?
"I dunno. I didn't get anything else out of him, really, except for how to break your fever. He left about two and a half hours ago. I have no clue where he went."
Ron stole a glance at the darkened window. Drops of water padded against the pane.
"He'd better be inside someplace. We're supposed to have one hellacious storm."
~*~
Three hours later, when my body temperature had lowered to Ron's approval, I sat in my study, staring at the bottommost drawer of my desk.
It's been locked up for years without you needing to read it, a small voice in my head whispered. It had a very valid point. The file contained within the twelve-by-sixteen-inch space hadn't been opened since I first read it. Then, I'd believed its contents to be ludicrous. How could someone as intelligent and wise as Albus Dumbledore himself come up with something so amazingly outlandish? The entire conclusion had seemed as if it was pulled right out of thin air. But now...
Perhaps the old codger was right.
No. It's not possible. It's just not.
Really?
In all actuality, it is entirely possible. The report that lays in the bottom drawer was the drive behind my desire to work in elemental research. And in my five years of working in that particular field, I have learned that the occurrence of such an elemental anomaly is possible, but highly doubtful. There have only been two people in wizarding history that have experienced such an enigma.
I sigh in exasperation, my fingers fiddling nervously with the threadlike gold chain that has hung around my neck for the last six years. The small golden key that dangles from it rests lightly against the skin between my breasts.
No. I can't open it. I can't rehash the fact that what is written on the parchment could actually be true. It would alienate him. The press would have a field day. He'd be made into the Ministry's personal science experiment.
But what if it helped him?
I pause, fixing my eyes on the drawer's tiny keyhole.
You could help him.
My hand grasps the miniscule key and gives it a sharp jerk, snapping the chain from my neck. I shakingly slide the key into the lock and turn, sucking in a sharp breath at the sound of the faint 'click.'
The drawer slides open effortlessly, revealing a single manila folder. The four words written on the cover in Dumbledore's scrawl glare up at me.
Harry Potter: Idiosyncratic Elemental
A/N: *Looks timidly at faithful readers* PLEASE REVIEW! I'M SORRY FOR THE CLIFFE, BUT IT'S VITAL TO THE STORY! So send me your fave parts, suggestions, comments, whatever. Just give me your opinion...
~Mandy
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