Avenging Fire

Gavin Smythe certainly turned out to be a surprise.


Filch resentfully escorted an apprehensive Helena to a seldom used and currently empty classroom in the morning after she had another light and bland breakfast along with the potion Snape had given her the previous day. True to his word, the potion almost completely eliminated her pain and soreness.


The trip to the classroom had taken quite a while. Helena had recognized the symptoms of arthritis in Filch’s gnarled hands so it wasn’t surprising that they went at no faster pace than that of a quick shuffle.


“In there.” Filch grumbled and hobbled away.


Shivering a little at the chill which the hospital-like scrubs Madam Pomfrey lent her did nothing to stop, Helena padded into the classroom in the thin slippers also procured by the healer. The scrub top had ‘St. Mungo’s’ stamped on the right breast area.


“Wizarding hospital.” Pomfrey explained as Helena mused that hospital attire seemed to be the same no matter which world you were in.


Inside the classroom was a black midget with reading glasses perched at the end of his nose and sporting a thick gold hoop through one earlobe. He looked like the black, midget version of ‘Mr. Clean.’ He currently was busy inspecting various pieces of classroom furniture when Helena walked in. Upon hearing her enter, he stopped and looked at her intensely, especially the space around her head. Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he finally smiled warmly and held out a hand to shake.


“Dr. Nyx, I’m pleased to meet you at last. I’m Gavin Smythe. Welcome to our Paranormal family.”


He wasted no time ushering her towards a small table on which a leather attaché case rested and motioned for her to be seated. Climbing up on the other chair, he dug in the attaché and brought out a hardcover book and slid it over to Helena. His feet were dangling far off the floor and he absentmindedly tapped them together. The book’s title simply read, ‘Paranormals’ and under that, ‘by Gavin Smythe.’


“I’ve written a definitive text on our kind. Any later questions you may have will most probably be in there. But for right now, I’m sure you have quite a lot to ask me.”


She did indeed but where to start? Her mind had been swimming since the day she awakened and Dumbledore told her that she was an unbeknownst until now, Paranormal. Smythe noticed that she appeared completely overwhelmed. That was common, he thought. Most newly manifested Paranormals walk around as if in a daze for the first few days, either not believing what had happened to them, or too ‘freaked out’ to do much else.


“How about I start? I’m assuming that Mr. Dumbledore repeated to you what I had told him, so you know by now that you’re a Paranormal. Don’t be put off by the word. I know that you come from a scientific field and have probably associated the word with ‘psychics’ and other such frauds. The word has been hijacked so whatever preconceived notions you have as to what a Paranormal is, let them go. The prefix ‘para’ has several meanings. The one that best describes us is ‘beyond,’ as in our abilities are beyond what is normal or average in other words.”


Helena finally managed to collect her thoughts and join in the conversation.


“I already mentioned this to Dumbledore, but honestly I have never heard of such a thing. No one has ever mentioned anything even remotely like this to me. He said it was because…uh, ‘we’…don’t know it ourselves until the day we manifest.”


“That’s right. When a magical is born, a spell can instantly identify them. We however have to have a catalyst to cause us to manifest and therefore be identified. Incidentally, the Ministry of Magic is notified, magically of course, when a Paranormal manifests for the first time. You have 30 days to register with them.”


Helena blinked.


“Register?”


“Outrageous isn’t it? We’re not considered magical and therefore not a part of their world, but they keep tabs on us just the same. I’ve been lobbying them for years to at least give us the option of applying for citizenship, but I haven’t had much luck. Some of us, like the pre and postcognants, have difficulty living in the non-magical world. Some of us have even been committed to psychiatric wards for long periods of time.”


Helena reflected on this. If a patient presented to her claiming to see the future, she too would initially suspect that person was actively psychotic and/or suffering from schizophrenia.


“Pre and postcognants aren’t what you think; they can’t ‘see’ the future or past. They only receive glimpses and flashes of things that have a lot of energy surrounding them. Like murder, or extremely violent acts. For instance, a postcognant who walks into a room where a brutal murder took place will only see the act itself in one instantaneous flash. They pick up on the hatred and terror that lingers. You psychologists have a term for it, ‘Flashbulb Memory.’”


Helena distractedly flipped through the book, letting the pages shuffle under her thumb while Gavin waited for her to ask another question.


“Is it always going to feel like this? I mean, I was physically assaulted but let me tell you, when I woke up, I hurt like hell all over and had the worst headache I’ve ever had! More so than what you would expect from the injuries.”


“No, your brain and body will quickly adjust; however the first time we manifest is usually very painful. I remember when I first manifested. I was absolutely convinced I was dying.”


“What are you then?”


“I’m a psychokinetic like you. I can see what is known as the aura, which is simply bioelectrical energy surrounding a living thing. Every living organism has an aura, even plants. I also have what is referred to as Extra Sensory Perception.”


Helena looked doubtfully at him. To her it sounded like what psychics claim and she held zero stock in anything ‘psychic.’ In fact, she’d love to see psychics arrested for fraud and deceiving desperate people into believing they could read the victims futures or talk to their dead relatives…for a fee, of course. In the past, she had some patients who spent a great deal of their money on these charlatans. No good ever came of it.


Smythe grinned wickedly at her.


“Don’t believe me? Go over to that bookcase and select a book. Open it to a random page.” he instructed, turning around so that he wasn’t facing the bookcase.


She walked over and selected a ratty tome on Herbology and let the book fall open to page 214.


“Page 214. Mandrakes. There are two illustrations of Mandrakes and there is a small ink smudge in the upper right hand of the page.”


She selected another book entitled ‘Introductory Spells’ and let the book fall open.


“Page 57. The Lumos spell.”


She glanced over at the midget. He couldn’t see what was in her hands and it was highly unlikely that he had memorized every single page in every single book. The rational part of her mind was still screaming in protest however. Even her magical family members couldn’t do what he had just done. Rattled, she replaced the books and padded back to the table and sat down silently.


“Can you…I mean, are you a pyrokinetic as well?”


“No. Just psychokinetic, aura detection and the ESP. We don’t all have the same abilities. What I’ve gathered from my research, whatever abilities we do manifest are genetically determined. Your Paranormal ancestors had either pyrokinesis or psychokinesis or both. Hence, you do as well.”


“Why me?”


“You have magicals in your family that you are related to by blood, correct? Both sides?”


“A few, yes.”


“Think of us as cousins to magicals. Our abilities are the result of recessive genes, passed on by two non-magical parents who each carry magical blood. That’s why we’re not as common as magicals. With them, only one parent is needed to pass on the magical genes.”


Helena felt a little more secure. Genetic theory she understood!


“That’s interesting because I’ve always felt that magical ability was the result of some kind of genetic mutation. Kind of like how some tribal groups develop immunity to certain diseases. Mutations don’t have to necessarily be harmful. Most are innocuous but some are adaptive or beneficial. In our case, it sounds like the X chromosome is responsible for our…’Paranormalicy’ I guess…since both parents are needed. Magical ability apparently can be passed on by either the X or the Y.”


“I guarantee that in both your mother and father’s sides of your family, there were Paranormals somewhere on the tree. Because of the recessive nature however, it may take a family many generations to produce one. You might be the first one in several hundred years!”


“Aren’t I special?” Helena quipped with good natured sarcasm.


Smythe chuckled.


“You won’t feel so special these first few days! In fact, you’ll be cursing the fact that you switched on. You’re going to feel as though you’re exercising a new limb which is how I picture our abilities. I’ll train you for a week and afterwards you’ll practice on your own. Hopefully it’ll become close to second nature in a few months. So, let’s begin.”


Smythe hopped down from his chair and dragged it into the middle of the room.


“When I mentioned to Dumbledore about how I hoped you were skilled in biofeedback, what I meant was that those who are skilled in the practice have a good mind/body connection which is vital in learning mastery over your abilities. Since you do, you already have a leg up. Being a psychokinetic as well and I found that it helps initially if you move your body in pantomime of your minds action. Like so.”


Smythe stood a few feet behind his chair, reached his arms out as if he were gripping the chair’s back then proceeded to psychokinetically lift the chair. He kept it levitated for a few moments then lowered his arms, the chair matching his pantomime.


“Now you try.” motioning for her to join him.


Helena stood three or so feet behind the chair and held her arms out like Smythe had done. She stood there bewildered at what to do from that point on.


Lift the chair with my mind?! she thought. How am I supposed to do that?!


Smythe nodded encouragingly.


“’Feel’ your hands are gripping the chair. Imagine your muscles flexing. ‘Feel’ the weight of the chair. Now…lift!”


Helena just blinked, feeling helpless.


“Just because you aren’t physically touching the chair doesn’t mean you aren’t in control of it. Get in touch with your mind and transfer your will to lift the chair to the chair itself. It will move for you.”


Helena thought of lifting the chair.


Nothing.


She flexed her muscles as if she were about to pick it up.


Nothing.


“You can do it, Helena. Will your mind to pick up the chair!”


She took a moment to focus intently on the chair that sat motionless a few feet in front of her. She imagined her hands gripping the back and how the wood would feel if she were actually touching it. Unconsciously she adjusted her fingers to how they would be positioned if she were actually grasping it. She flexed her arms muscles in preparation as if she were getting ready to lift. To her astonishment, the chair vibrated and levitated a few inches off the floor. It clunked to the floor when she gasped in surprise and broke her concentration.


“Excellent!” Smythe said beaming. “Now, let’s see if we can keep it up in the air for a few seconds longer.”


She repeated her actions but this time kept her concentration focused on keeping the chair aloft.


“Now, set it down.”


Lowering her arms, she clumsily set the chair back on the floor, almost tipping it over because it came to rest on two legs before righting itself with gravity.


Smythe kept her lifting the chair up and down for the next hours before he called a break so that she wouldn’t become frustrated. Helena looked at the chair as if it were an alien artifact. Had she really lifted it without laying a finger on it?! By the time he called their break, she had managed to lift it up to the ceiling and down again smoothly.


After allowing her to shake off the tension in her muscles, Smythe had her not only levitate the chair, but float it throughout the room. Helena felt a bit silly following underneath the floating chair with her arms over her head, but it did seem to help her focus, although that was becoming increasingly difficult to do.


Snape’s potion was either wearing off or she was developing a new round of aches from pantomiming moving the chair to and fro. Additionally, a horrendous headache had settled in along with a gnawing hunger. She was unsure as to what was causing her headache, exercising her new psychokinesis or low blood sugar or perhaps both. She was relieved when Smythe finally called lunch.


Modesty prevented her from heading to the Great Hall to get something to eat. She was dressed in St. Mungo’s hospital scrubs and scrubs, no matter how new or nice they were, always resembled pajamas. She thought briefly of going back to the infirmary to get some headache medicine from Madam Pomfrey, but she was simply too worn out to bother with the long trip. Still weak from the attack and switching on, her energy stores had been used up these first few hours of the day. Ultimately, she decided to just stay put and soldier on until the day was done.


“Are you alright, Doctor?” Smythe asked, eyeballing her.


“Please, call me Helena. Yes, just a little tired is all. Why don’t you tell me about yourself, Gavin.” she said, slipping into her psychologist role by way of habit.


Smythe talked about his non-magical school teacher wife, the various magicals in his family, switching on when he was beaten severely during a robbery, learning how to control his abilities on his own, and then writing a book after years of research and helping other Paranormals master their abilities. Halfway through his story, Helena had crossed her arms on the desk and rested her forehead on them. Her head was hurting terribly and she felt weak and very faint. Smythe’s voice began sounding like it was coming from under water.


“Doctor? Helena?”


She raised her head, not wanting to worry Smythe with thinking she was getting ill. The action however set her head spinning and she struggled to focus on Gavin. He was starting to become blurry and a tunnel began forming in her vision. She saw his mouth moving but the only thing she could hear was white noise in her ears.


Smythe noticed Helena had become very pale and disorientated. He hopped from his chair onto the top of the table and felt her forehead then reached down and felt her pulse. Thready. Her skin was clammy and damp with pre-syncope perspiration.


“What have you eaten today?” Smythe demanded as knelt on the table in front of Helena and lifted her face so he could check her eyes.


“Toast, I think” she said weakly as her head kept trying to fall back down to the desk. “Tea.”


“Before that? When did you last eat?”


“I can’t remember…before the wizards…maybe” she slurred.


Just let me sleep! she thought.


Incoherent and shaking, she struggled to stand despite Gavin trying to push her back down into her chair. Orthostatic hypotension sent her down to the floor and into unconsciousness.


“Bloody hell!” was the last thing she heard before she floated off into darkness.




Lunchtime in the Great Hall had ended and Professor Snape was heading towards the dungeons to get a head start on marking parchments during the hour before his next class when he noticed a group of students standing, pointing, and whispering. Changing his direction, he made a beeline intent on subtracting house points for loitering and clogging traffic in the corridors. He was dismayed to find Dumbledore weaving his way towards the front of the gaggle of students and McGonagall beginning to shoo them away to their next classes. Undoubtedly there were plenty of insufferable Gryffindors mixed in there and their house had recently been awarded an unfair number of points because of that know-it-all Granger girl’s habit of regurgitating entire chapters of information when only a simple answer was required. He hadn’t followed suit of course, but he knew Filius and Minerva were unduly impressed with such displays.


The approach of the Potions Master parted the throng of students quickly.


“If the rest of you lot do not disperse this instant, your respective houses will be in the negative numbers for the next several weeks.” he growled.


Then he saw what was so interesting to them.


A black, bald headed midget, who could only have been Gavin Smythe, walked behind a floating Dr. Nyx who was unconscious and very pale. Smythe was breathing hard, but not at the effort of levitation, since to him psychokinesis was effortless. He had levitated Dr. Nyx from the secondary Transfiguration classroom on the 4th story all the way to the main floor which meant that he had taken the shifting stairwells. For a person with shorter than average legs, it made for a physically strenuous journey.

When Helena fainted, Smythe levitated her out of the classroom and asked a passing student where the infirmary was. He groaned inwardly when the student informed him that the infirmary was on the ground floor, four stories down. He went as fast as he could, but the journey had taken more time than he had wanted since he had to take stairs slowly. Meanwhile, Dr. Nyx remained unconscious and became more pallid in appearance.


“Er…Severus, do you mind?” asked Dumbledore, motioning towards Dr. Nyx. “Take her to the infirmary via the floo. Mr. Smythe and I will follow.”


Snapping his head around with a glare, he sent all remaining students scrambling away. Deciding that he could move faster if he simply carried her rather than use the Locomotor spell, he walked over to where she hovered and looked at the midget, indicating that he should release the levitation. Dr. Nyx dropped into his arms and he walked quickly to the nearest floo. His long gait left the Headmaster and the midget far behind.


Exactly how fragile are these Paranormals? he thought as he studied the unconscious woman in his arms. What had gone on in the few hours of this morning to cause her to faint? Perhaps it was simply too soon to have started her training. Even witches and wizards shouldn’t try to learn new spells and transfigurations if they were ill or fatigued or injured.


The material of her scrub top shifted and when he readjusted his hold, his hand brushed one of her breasts. Scowling, he quickened his pace not wanting a repeat of the night in Dumbledore’s office when he had to pick her unconscious nude body off the floor and carry her through the floo and into the infirmary. It had caused an involuntary physical response in his trousers and he had been grateful for dim lighting and long frock coats.


“Oh! Oh dear, what’s happened here?!” Poppy Pomfrey asked when Snape brought Dr. Nyx through the infirmary’s floo.


“I have no idea.” he answered as he carried Helena over to her bed in the back of the infirmary.


Madam Pomfrey was running her wand over Helena when the floo’s flames turned green again and Dumbledore and Smythe walked in. Smythe pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and ran it over his brow.


“What did you do to her?!” Pomfrey demanded, stomping up to the small man.


“Nothing whatsoever! The Headmaster said she was unconscious for two days. Why has she only been given tea and toast since awakening?!” Smythe shot back in an accusatory tone.


The healer bristled. Was this man actually insinuating that she starved her patients?!


“Mr. Smythe, Dr. Nyx sustained blunt force trauma to her abdominal region and the abdominal cavity is most likely contused. It is quite standard to put the patient on a restricted bland diet. I am not in the habit of starving my patients!” she seethed.


“Why has she fainted?” Dumbledore asked, trying to figure out how to defuse the tension between Smythe and Pomfrey.


“Our brains require a lot of energy when we work with our abilities, causing our metabolisms to rise. Especially for newly manifested Paranormals since the brain works hard to adjust and also since they work with their abilities more than average while they learn to master them. Her blood sugar obviously bottomed out severely. She needs to eat!”


“Poppy, can she have something?” Dumbledore asked.


“I suppose she can have some soup. Nothing too spicy or savory however. I really ought to give her some nutrient broth though.”


Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. Madam Pomfrey’s ‘nutrient broth’ was a grayish, slimy gruel that tasted worse than it looked. Yes it contained everything the body needed, but only if you could force yourself to swallow it down.


“She needs protein and glucose. If I had known she hadn’t eaten anything substantial for more than two days, I wouldn’t have allowed her to begin working with her abilities.” Smythe said and shot another pointed glance towards Pomfrey.


Snape watched the proceedings with quiet impatience. If the woman needs to eat, let her eat. If Dr. Nyx was allowed to get too weak, she might not be able to control her abilities and that could spell disaster.


Great Merlin’s pubes! Must everything be so aggravatingly complicated? Snape thought as he watched the three continue to debate the best course of action. An irritated stomach was far better than sending the infirmary up in flames or flinging a screaming student through the air, although the later painted a satisfying portrait in the Potions Master’s mind.


The whole situation might be somewhat amusing if it wasn’t so ridiculous.


With an exasperated sigh and snap of his fingers, Snape summoned a house elf and sent to creature to retrieve a bowl of beef and vegetable stew left over from lunch, a bread roll, and a carafe of milk. There you are Mr. Smythe, protein and glucose.


“Ennervate.”


“Oohhhhh goddamn!” Helena moaned quietly and brought her hands to her head to cradle it, keeping her eyes shut in pain.


“Sit up, Doctor.” Snape instructed, taking the tray from the house elf who had winked in beside him.


Helena opened her eyes and glanced around in annoyance. She was dizzy, her head was killing her, and she felt nauseated from low blood sugar, not to mention she had lost consciousness. Again. She looked up with surprise at Snape who was holding a tray of food, impatiently drumming an index finger on the side of it.


“Unless you prefer to eat an inedible, monstrous concoction, I suggest you sit up now.” he drawled.


The smell of food pulled her upright as effectively as if hands had righted her. Snape set the tray across her lap and with one final exasperated glance towards the gesticulating group, swept unnoticed out of the infirmary before she could voice her thanks.


Smythe, Pomfrey and the Headmaster stopped when the odor from the food finally wafted over. Poppy immediately noticed that Snape was nowhere to be seen and narrowed her eyes. Of all the nerve! Usurping her authority!


“Well Poppy, it looks like a decision has been reached.” Dumbledore chuckled while Madam Pomfrey harrumphed.


Smythe advised Helena to bring eat a good breakfast in the morning and to bring snacks along with some headache remedy.


“I’m sorry about today, Helena. For now on, if you begin to feel weak or shaky, please let me know! I’ll see you in the morning. Rest up!” he said and left the infirmary.


When Pomfrey turned towards the Headmaster, prepared to voice a complaint about a certain snarky Potions Master who obviously thought he knew better than a highly skilled and competent healer, Dumbledore quickly took his leave.


“I must go and summon an Order member to return Mr. Smythe to his home. Good day, Madam Pomfrey. I hope you feel better soon, my dear.” he called to Helena who was inhaling her first decent meal in the last few days. She waved an acknowledgement in return.


Sighing with resignation, Poppy tended to her patient, clucking the importance of communicating honestly with a healer, administering headache and pain potions, all the while quietly composing the tongue lashing she had planned for a certain dungeon dwelling wizard.