AN: I'm so, so sorry about the wait here. RL has been a bitch and I haven't had the time or the energy to write. The chapter is really short, even by my standards, less than 1000 words. The good news is that I have managed to figure out where I wanted this story to go, and how it needs to end. I predict that there will be either one more very long chapter or two moderate chapters left of this story.

After that, I will probably write a series of drabbles to explain any plot points I did not fill in (things like why Sterling owes Jasmine a debt or how Jasmine lost her magic). I will also take prompt ideas for this story, either in the form of reviews or PMs.

Burning

Her bones were on fire…burning, burning.

Moreau was getting angry. He watched as the media began to pick apart his bought president one story at a time. He knew that Spencer was behind this; he just couldn't prove it. Worse than the commercials, though, was the influx of Interpol, UN inspectors, and businessmen with their eyes on this election. Their presence meant that his movements were seriously limited and he had to be careful with how he handled the prisoners.

His attention veered when he heard whimpers coming from the next room, signaling that the Potter girl was waking up. He never understood the hype about Potter and Malfoy, sure they were well connected, but people were terrified of them. He refocused his attention on his paperwork, ignoring the pained sounds coming from the other room.

The power rushing through her was intoxicating. She had missed this feeling, been empty without it. It wasn't hers, though. She knew that what she was feeling couldn't be hers, no matter how much it hurt her, tore her apart, it couldn't be hers.

Draco sneered at the hotel room he was currently facing. He could not believe that Spencer's "mastermind" had been stupid to put his team so close to the presidential palace. Malfoys did not approve of such stupidity, and he was tempted to try and end the relationship between his best friend and Spencer once and for all.

She could feel him arrive. The Malfoy magic was so familiar to her, more familiar than her own at this point, after all those years of not feeling it. Whatever was inside of her, causing her pain, reached out toward that magic.

Moreau was getting more and more nervous. He was losing control of the situation in San Lorenzo, something that never happened to him.

He jerked out of his thoughts when he heard a crash from the other room. The floor was shaking, the windows rattling in the frames. He had never felt anything like it before. He made his way to the side room. As he got closer he felt the heat burning through the room. Smoke drifted from under the door, little curling wisps that reached toward him, searching.

She felt the heat reach outward. It was searching for the man who hurt her, searching for the boy that was hers, searching for the man she loved, and searching for her best friend. She had no control here, no control over the raging heat around her. It was going to kill her in the end.

The hairs on the back of Draco's neck were standing on end. Something was niggling the back of his mind. He did not know what he was feeling, but it felt familiar. The other wizards and witches in the room looked to be feeling the same way. Ron and the twins kept scratching the backs of their necks, and Hermione kept shifting on her feet, clearly uncomfortable. For those trained in war, this was an unusual reaction to anything. All of them were rarely, physically demonstrative of nerves.

There was nothing he could do about those feelings, though, since he had no idea where they came from. Instead, he turned his focus to the introductions at hand. Spencer had not been overly pleased when Draco had arrived with back-up.

She felt it. She felt the moment it escaped her. Teddy, her Teddy, hurt. He hurt badly. He needed her and her magic strove to answer the call. It pushed out through her skin, she could feel it rush forward, searching, searching.

"Malfoy, why would you bring others into this?"

Draco sneered, "There are forces at work that you do not understand or know about."

Elliot took a visible breath and growled, "Why don't you explain it to me, then?"

"I can't. It's classified."

Elliot's response was a derisive snort, "Classified, right. Next you'll be telling me that you work for some secret government agency and the Jasmine is a spy."

Draco snorted, "Of course Jasmine isn't a spy, too risky."

Elliot and his team blinked stupidly at Draco for a few moments, trying to decide if he was being serious or not. Before they could ask one way or another, a shock wave shook the presidential palace next door.

It had found him. She wrapped him in her magic, protecting and comforting him. She wanted him to stop crying. Where her magic was burning her, burning the man who made them hurt, it cushioned her son, recognizing his need.

Elliot watched shocked as Malfoy doubled over in pain, biting his lip to keep from screaming. The people he brought with him all grimaced at the same moment, their eyes going wide with shock. Elliot could feel something trying to cover him, sinking under his skin, it felt like being submerged in an electrical current, without the pain. He knew, without a doubt, that this was connected to Jasmine.

Then they heard the sirens. The Presidential Palace was burning. Flames were rising from the windows and smoke billowed into the sky. Draco and Elliot shared a look, and then ran out of the room. Jasmine and Teddy were in that building, and they knew that Jasmine was hurt pretty badly.