Interlude (Chapter 11 ½)
Harry licked the spork in his hand, wiping all the remanents of his delicious cheesecake from the prongs. He knew he should not have been eating, here in the lab, but the other scientists had gone for lunch, and he was alone.
The tesseract sat innocently in front of him, a giant mass of blue electricity, humming lightly as its innards shimmered and shone.
Regretfully sucking the last of his lovely cake from his mouth, he stared mournfully at his spork. The metal cutlary piece, no matter how much he wished, simply refused to magically sprout another mouthful of delicious cakeness.
He had made the cake at 2am. It sounded silly, yes; if anyone asked, what would he say? Oh, I have insomnia and I couldn't sleep, so I baked a cheesecake at 2am? Never-the-less, it was totally worth it.
Standing up (He had been sitting on a co-worker's desk – not that the co-worker knew), he grabbed the tuppaware container that had once held his cake and wandered back over to his own desk, tucking it away in his bag, but pausing as he went to put the spork away.
It could kill him.
But he soooo wanted to see what would happen!
It could make him explode. It could burn his eyes out. It could boil his brains.
But it was so interesting!
Ok. Here goes;
Harry wandered up to the tesseract, staring at the shummering blue energy that sprouted from it, holding the spork out away from his body. Gloves would not help in this case. If the enormous amount of pure energy were to jump through his utensil, it was going to liquify him whether or not he had rubber gloves on or not.
He could only hope that his powers as the Master of Death were going to let him live.
The spork went closer.
Harry's eyes widened.
The spork touched the tesseract.
… Nothing happened.
Harry frowned, leaning forwards. Perhaps if he -
It was so loud. Like thunder in a drum, stuffed inside his brain and amplified by a thousand microphones. An earth-shattering boom.
Fire. All over him. His head! It felt like lightning was running through it!
And blue! The blue was everywhere!
The scent of something burning reached his nose. He realised that it was his hair.
At least there were no burns on him.
Dozens of people raced into the room at once, crashing and shouting, panicking.
What they found – instead of the disaster house they were expecting – was Dr. Evans.
He was standing in front of the tesseract, a spork held loosely in his hand. He hair was standing directly up, as if he had been electrocuted. His hair was also still smoking slightly. His skin was singed, blackened with soot in places. His clothes had a few holes burnt in them, and were also blackened.
Dr. Evans had a blank, stunned look on his face, slightly surprised.
A nine-foot ring of scorch marks on the floor marked how large the explosion had been.
And standing there, completely fine apart from the singed, stunned look, was Dr. Evans. Alive.
And then he could not help it; all Harry could do was burst into laughter.