Realizations

Credits: Thanks to Bored Beyond Belief, Molly Morrison, and my talented group of writing buddies!

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Chapter 31: On Your Mark, Get Set...

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July 25, 1995

"Mr. Euan Abercrombie," Minerva McGonagall read from her list of incoming First Years, making the boy's name appear on a standard acceptance letter, then stuffing it and an appropriate supply list into an envelope with a flick of her wand. Her enchanted registration quill and envelope sealer hovered beside her, ready to address and close the envelopes as fast as she could fill them.

Years of experience had made McGonagall an old hand at this task, but she was feeling rather frazzled today as she went about it. Thank goodness she still had a little time before the letters to returning students had to be sent out! She'd considered just doing the whole lot, before realizing she couldn't. She and the other heads of house had submitted their recommendations weeks ago--just before the end of term--but Professor Dumbledore still hadn't selected this year's new Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl yet.

Frowning at the slip, McGonagall paused to search through her papers, making sure he hadn't dropped it off while she was out. Odd. The headmaster usually had the list at her disposal early in the summer so she would have it whenever she wanted to begin sending out the student letters. Perhaps it had slipped his mind in all the excitement.

Sighing, Minerva shook her head sadly. Excitement indeed! As soon as she finished here, she planned to go back to Diagon Alley to search for the mysterious "Jim Patterson" again. She'd caught tantalizing glimpses of the boy through the Leaky Cauldron's windows, but he'd neatly managed to escape close inspection by staying inside the pub late Sunday afternoon and evening, and Flooing to some unknown location for most of Monday. If this kept up she was going to have to try and sneak inside the Leaky Cauldron or one of the other shops to observe him instead of simply catching him on the street as she'd planned.

Unfortunately, that would have to wait. Right now, the First Years had to take precedence. The Muggleborn students' letters really had to go out today if their families were going to have any time to make plans. It would be a shame if they couldn't take advantage of the guided tours of Diagon Alley. As it was, the first Sunday in August was probably going to be something of a rush, but it couldn't be helped. It seemed like there had been no end of distractions and delays this summer--everything from You Know Who's return and Harry Potter's disappearance to getting booklets printed. Luckily, she hadn't needed many, so the printer had graciously agreed to squeeze in a short run for her.

For a fee, of course.

Smiling, Minerva surveyed the neat stack of booklets on her desk and decided it had been worth it. Such a simple, practical idea! It really was disgraceful that no one had thought to offer tours before. If anything, it showed how little effort had been put into easing the transition into the Magical World. Students like Hermione Granger most recently, Lily Potter in the past, and others over the years should have been enough to smash the "pure blood" propaganda into tiny pieces, but the "Muggles/Muggleborns are inferior" sentiment remained nonetheless despite all efforts to change it.

By the time Miss Rose Zeller's letter was finished, there were several noticeably thicker envelopes in the stack. Not seeing any reason to delay, McGonagall had decided to take care of all the incoming First Years, rather than sending some now and some later. Frowning critically, Minerva plucked one of the thicker letters out of the pile and absently weighed it in her hand, making sure the new booklet along with the welcoming letters and extra correspondence wouldn't be too much for the school owls. After some deliberation, she had left the acceptance letters alone, and simply added an extra note advising the Muggle families of this new service, and instructing them to pick a date and respond if they were interested in participating.

Letters finished, McGonagall gathered them up, meaning to go directly to the owlery, then paused and flipped quickly through them, scanning the addresses and making sure none of them were headed anywhere...unusual. In all her years of sending out student correspondence, she'd never once thought to double check her enchanted quill. There was no need to, as the device was quite accurate, but one of the images Albus had shown was the day Harry Potter had received his first Hogwarts letter.

Cupboard under the stairs indeed! While no one, except perhaps Sirius, had blamed her for the oversight, Minerva still felt horrible about it. Of course the bigger question was why Potter's folder hadn't warned them of his circumstances, but the idiots at the Ministry were blocking any progress in answering it. Albus was handling that particular problem, and Minerva did not envy him.

While she was reading, the fireplace flared to life.

"Minerva--Oh!"

"MinNOIva–Ow!"

Looking up at the noise, McGonagall's eyes widened and she rushed over to the fireplace. Albus Dumbledore and Abigail Penstone had evidently appeared at exactly the same moment, and bumped into each other.

"Professor Penstone, how wonderful to see you. Please forgive my clumsiness," Albus greeted, recovering first.

"Nothing to forgive, Professor Dumbledore," the little blonde witch replied, still rubbing her forehead. "You're looking well...considering," she grinned. Glancing up at Minerva she added, "You too, Minnie. Lighten up, we're both fine and there are no students here for you to scare," she said, winking at her worried friend.

Minerva's lips twitched a little at that, but she resisted hiding behind the fan of letters. "I leave the scaring student duties to Severus," she informed the American witch primly.

"Fine, fine, intimidating, then. Did we catch you on the way out?" Abigail asked.

Minerva nodded. "I was just getting ready to send the acceptance letters out to the new First Years," she said, speaking to both her guests before turning to Abby. "Did you send a letter to the student you contacted me about, or shall I send one out with these?"

In reply, Abby held a letter up for Minerva to take with her fireplace tongs. "I tried to send it, but it came back," she reported with a puzzled look on her face. "I knew it was about time for you to send out the rest of your letters, so I thought I'd ask you to try if you don't mind."

"Certainly," Minerva said, accepting the letter and adding it to the top of her stack.

"Excuse me Professor, but did you say the letter came back?" Dumbledore questioned.

Abigail nodded. "Yes, it was very strange. Jet is one of our most accurate overseas carriers. He flew away decisively enough, but he came back this morning with the letter, acting like he'd lost all sense of direction. As luck would have it, all of the other overseas capable birds are away at the moment."

"I'll take care of it," McGonagall assured her.

"Thanks, Minnie. Well since I caught you on the way out, and the Headmaster obviously wants to speak to you, I'll be on my way. Give me a shout when you're ready to go visit that family."

Minerva nodded. "I'll do that, Abby. I daresay it will be in the next few days. Lovely to see you."

"Goodbye Professor Dumbledore, nice bumping into you."

"And you, Professor Penstone. Please stop by and say hello when you come to Hogwarts."

Smiling, Abigail gave him a little nod, waved to Minerva, then disappeared with a pop.

Once she was gone Albus became all business. "I have something I would like to discuss with you, Minerva. Stand aside and I'll walk with you to the owlery."

Nodding again, Minerva did as he asked, straightening her stack of letters and gasping when she looked at the one Abigail had just given her. "Albus! It's happened again!"

"What has?" Dumbledore asked, looking up from brushing the soot off his robes.

Wordlessly, McGonagall held up the letter.

Miss K. Wright
Unknown
England

She'd expected his expression to mirror her own, a mixture of confusion and frustration, but to her surprise, Albus smiled a very satisfied smile instead.

"Check, Mr. Potter," he murmured softly, taking a letter out of his pocket, before turning to her. "I think I have an idea what's become of our wayward student. Come. I'll explain on the way."

As they entered the corridor and started towards the owlery, they were met by Professor Snape. "I just received a general summons for this evening, plus a separate message instructing me to bring the potions I brewed," he reported, falling into step with them without missing a beat. "I think it's safe to say that something is afoot."

"Yes, that would agree with information I received from another source," Dumbledore said consideringly. "Severus, come with me to my office to start alerting the Order. Minerva, meet us there as soon as you post your letters. Unless I am very much mistaken, the attack will take place tonight."

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"Take it easy, will you?" Stephen Wright complained as he headed up the street, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Unfortunately this wasn't easy when a body had a snowy owl semi-permanently attached to one shoulder. She loosened her talons ever so slightly in response to his complaint, but she obviously didn't plan to let him out of her sight.

Impressed in spite of himself, Steve considered the bird as he continued on his way. At first he'd been surprised by the boy's rather unusual pet, but had quickly shrugged it off after remembering he was dealing with rather unusual people. Besides, Tom had just told him the British magical community used owls to deliver messages. In light of that information, it made perfect sense, although he was still having a little trouble getting his head around that concept. After all the science fiction and fantasy reading he'd done and role playing games he'd participated in, glorified carrier pigeons weren't the first thing he thought of when he'd speculated on how wizards might communicate with one another.

Sparing a glance at his watch, Steve grimaced and picked up his pace. His little outing had taken longer than he anticipated. The shopping had been the worst of it, though. Once he'd gotten to the Leaky Cauldron things had gone much more smoothly. Tom had been immensely helpful, listening carefully while he sketched out the situation, showing him where Jim kept his things, and offering to look after the bird while the boy was unwell. Between the two of them, they'd packed a small overnight bag without too much trouble. Things were rolling right along until he tried to leave.

That was when he learned the owl--Hedwig--had other plans. As soon as it became evident that Jim wouldn't be returning that evening, and more importantly, that Steve was going to wherever Jim was, she'd invited herself along for the ride, latching onto his shoulder and refusing to let go. Tom hadn't even been able to coax her into her traveling cage.

So, now, instead of simply throwing a few necessities together for the boy, he had his shopping bags, plus Jim's bag, plus a birdcage and food, plus a very concerned owl clinging determinedly to his shoulder. Oh, well. At least she wasn't in danger of drawing blood anymore.

When he reached the house, Steve hesitated a second, remembering how his wife disliked the care and maintenance of caged creatures, then shrugged and walked up the front steps. If Jim shook off illness as fast as Tom claimed, he'd only be down for a few days. They'd manage. Besides, he thought, warily eyeing the talons clamped on his shoulder, I'm not exactly in a position to refuse!

"Well, here we are," he informed his passenger, convinced by now that she could understand English. "He was sleeping when I left, so sit tight and we'll see what's going on," he continued, setting the cage down so he could pull his housekey out of his pocket.

"Steve?" Janet called, almost before he could get the door shut again. "Steve? Is that you?"

"Yeah," he replied, squashing his first response which was, No, it's your friendly neighborhood burglar. Janet didn't sound like she was in the mood to play.

"Good. Grab the mop and bucket and come up here, will you? I'm in the upstairs bath."

Aw, no, Steve groaned inwardly, scrunching his face in distaste, even as he called an affirmative back to his wife. That didn't bode well. While there was a faint possibility that Kitty or Becky had spilled something, or maybe slopped a little water out of the tub, with three sick kids in the house it was far more likely that someone was, well, sick.

Blecch!

Come on, Wright. Suck it up, he counseled himself as he detoured into the kitchen. He couldn't abandon Jannie to cope alone--not if he wanted to keep his health, home, and marriage, anyway--but if there was one thing he absolutely detested it was dealing with severe stomach upset.

Working quickly, he dropped off his purchases and Hedwig's accessories, securing the perishables in the refrigerator before grabbing the items Janet requested. Taking advantage of the kitchen sink, he added some water and a small squirt of soap to the bucket...just in case.

The bathroom door was only half closed, so he could easily hear what was going on inside. "Come on now, swish and spit," Janet was saying, verifying his earlier suspicions. Steve set Jim's bag down in the hall outside, guiltily relieved that the worst seemed to be over as her patient obeyed and the toilet flushed. Frowning, he noted the mostly quiet state of the house, and instantly decided it must be Jim in there with her. Kitty and Becky were not known for being "suffer in silence" types.

He was just about to announce his presence when Janet poked her head out, making them both jump in surprise. "Housekeeping," he joked weakly, while she leaned against the doorframe with her hand over her heart.

"Cripes, Steve, you scared me to death," she scolded, before noticing the owl on his shoulder and looking at him for an explanation.

"This is Hedwig, Sparky's owl," Steve introduced, not knowing what else to say. "Hedwig, my wife Janet." He waited uncertainly, not sure what her reaction was going to be, but Janet obviously had other things on her mind. After she got over her initial surprise, she shrugged in a "okay, fine, whatever" kind of way and nodded distractedly to the owl before trotting down to the linen closet to fetch a washcloth. When she returned she lowered her voice and quickly brought him up to speed.

"Jimmy's a little sicker than he was letting on," she murmured, nodding first at the boy who was still kneeling in front of the loo, then indicating the clear, green splatters on the floor. "He obviously didn't have anything in his stomach, and I'm sure all that acid felt wonderful against that throat of his. As soon as his stomach settles we're going to have to get some fluids in him. Were you able to find Popsicles?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Be advised they're known as 'iced lollies' here. How are the girls?" he asked as she wet the washcloth in the sink, bracing for the news that they were vomiting, too.

"Sleeping. They're both feverish now, but so far Jim is the only one who's throwing up," Janet reported, before wringing the cloth out and walking back to her patient.

Jim, Steve noted, had definitely seen better days. Poor kid. The boy was pale, sweaty, and looked about ready to die of chagrin. "Hey, bud," he greeted sympathetically, trying to keep things light as he dipped the mop into the bucket. "Feeling pretty puny, eh?"

He'd kept his voice soft, not wanting to startle Jim or wake the girls, but the boy started violently all the same. When Janet knelt beside him, he flinched away from her and immediately started to apologize.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he fretted, his voice raspy and rough. "I'll clean it up, I swear."

"Shh. Don't be silly," Janet said, making him break off in surprise when she coaxed his head up and began to bathe his face with the cool cloth.

"But...but I..."

"You threw up. Yeah. Did you do it on purpose?" she inquired, finishing his face and picking up one of his hands.

Jim looked a little taken aback at that. "No," he admitted, watching as she worked.

"Well, good," Janet responded, "because if you did, you have bigger problems than a little stomach bug." She inspected the hand she was working on, then nodded and reached for the other. Steve noted with amusement that while Jim didn't seem to know what to make of this behavior, he wasn't doing anything to stop it either.

"Look, Sweets, everyone gets sick," Janet continued patiently, as she finished her ministrations and tossed the cloth into the sink. "It's just one of those things. No one thinks any less of you, and it's not a sin to need a little caring for now and then, okay?"

Jim was looking at Janet like she'd grown another head, so Steve decided to put his two cents in. "On the other hand, if this had to happen, at least you reached the tile before you lost it," he said, giving Sparky a teasing wink. "Cleaning the carpet would have been a real pain."

Jim managed a weak smile at that. "Yeah."

"Oh, and speaking of cleaning," Steve continued, wringing the mop over the bucket, then dumping the soapy water in the tub, "I brought some of your stuff from the Leaky Cauldron--oh! Here it is," he said, grinning as Hedwig launched herself off his shoulder, then fluttered back in with the overnight bag gripped firmly in her talons.

Steve waited while she dropped the bag unceremoniously on the floor by the boy and settled on his outstretched arm before continuing. "You'll probably want to take out your contacts and change into your pajamas before Jannie makes you go back to bed. Might want to brush your teeth, too," he added as an afterthought, stopping and giving Sparky a quizzical look when he grew tense and wary again. "What is it?"

Jim closed his eyes a second, stroking Hedwig's snowy plumage. "Do you remember what we were talking about at the Leaky Cauldron?" he asked at length. "Before you showed your letter to Tom and me?"

"Vaguely. I think you said you wanted to tell us something, and you were afraid we weren't going to like it," Steve supplied, while Janet nodded. "But seriously kid, this can wait until you're well again."

He'd meant to calm and reassure the boy, but if anything, Jim seemed to grow even more agitated. "No," he disagreed stubbornly. "It can't. Please. Please listen. You're in danger." Turning his head, he looked at Janet. "Remember the day we met? You asked me about my family and I told you my parents were killed when I was a baby?"

"Yes," she verified, drawing the word out a bit while she searched her memory. "That was when you were sent to live with your aunt and uncle, wasn't it?"

"That's right. I wasn't lying to you, I just left a few bits out. The thing is, my mum and dad were killed by a dark wizard. He had a group of followers--I guess the closest Muggle comparison would be a terrorist organization."

Feeling colder by the minute, Steve took Janet's hand, and listened, transfixed, as the boy's tale unfolded. By the time Jim finished, he and Janet were shocked speechless.

"So let me get this straight," Janet said, ticking off the salient points on her fingers. "Your real name is Harry Potter. When your parents were murdered, you were sent to live with your aunt and uncle who, by the way, decided to move overseas this summer without a forwarding address. Furthermore, you survived the Killing Curse with nothing but a scar, you're supposed to be the last great hope against this Voldemort character who 'returned' somehow at the end of last month, and you've been hiding in disguise all summer?"

"Erm, yes."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," Janet mumbled, holding her forehead, while Steve ran a hand through his short, brown hair. Whatever he'd been expecting the boy to say, it hadn't been this!

"I'm sorry," Jim--Harry said miserably, his voice a hoarse whisper by now. He reached out an uncertain hand, finally laying it gingerly on Janet's shoulder after a series of tentative pats. "I didn't want to mislead you, I just...I don't know. I'm sorry to be so much trouble. I'll just take Hedwig and go."

Steve snorted before he could stop himself. "Yeah, suuuure you will," he scoffed, watching the boy's wobbly attempts to stand for a couple of seconds before taking him by the upper arm and hauling him to his feet. Startled by the sudden movement, Hedwig fluttered up to perch on a towel rod, watching the proceedings carefully.

"Don't be ridiculous, Sparky," Janet scolded gently, steering him over to the sink while Steve lifted the overnight bag onto the counter. "You're in no condition to take care of yourself, and Tom certainly doesn't have the time to look after you--not without closing the Leaky Cauldron at any rate. Besides, I'm going to be taking care of sick kids for the next few days anyway, so you might as well stay here until you're feeling better."

Sighing, Harry fished his toothbrush out of his bag, then bit his lip. "But..." he tried again, but Steve interrupted him.

"Look kid, I appreciate what you're trying to do, and it's good to know that you don't want to put us in any danger, but the problem is we may already be there," he pointed out, indicating his wife. "Jannie's managed to attract the attention of some fruitcake and we still don't know--hey! Whoa! Easy there," he said, quickly moving to steady the boy when he wobbled unsteadily, and his toothbrush clattered noisily into the sink.

"No, oh no, oh God," Sparky mumbled, bringing a trembling hand to his mouth and looking like he might be sick all over again.

"What? What is it?" Janet asked, moving to his other side. "Please honey, talk to us. We can't help you if you don't tell us what's wrong!"

"I think I know where your letters came from," he said shakily, then stopped as though uncertain how to proceed. "I...my scar...it's hard to explain, but sometimes I know what Voldemort's up to. It's like a connection of sorts. Sometimes I just get vague feelings, other times, I can see or hear him." He swallowed painfully, and paused as though trying to gauge their reaction.

"Okay," Janet encouraged, while Steve nodded beside her.

The boy blinked in surprise. "Okay?" he echoed incredulously.

"Oh, trust me, I can relate," Janet informed him with a wry grin.

"But doesn't this sound odd to you?" he pressed. "How do you know I'm not having you on?"

Steve exchanged a look with Janet. "Harry, I just learned magic exists today. Do you really think anything you tell me is going to sound all that weird given that?"

"Besides, Steve and I have a lot to learn, and you've never let me down before. I was sort of hoping you'd continue translating for us," Janet added, making a grateful smile appear on the boy's face. Steve watched as he seemed to argue with himself, before shrugging and facing them squarely.

"I overheard a conversation between Voldemort and some of his followers today, right before I came back to the Leaky Cauldron," he stated, still watching them as though he expected to be corrected or dismissed. When they remained silent, he went on. "One of them admitted to sending owls to some Muggles. Voldemort was angry because they're supposed to be laying low. He thought the Ministry of Magic had gotten involved because the owls are bringing their letters back undelivered now."

"Are they?" Steve wondered aloud. "The Ministry, I mean." Harry considered that briefly before shaking his head.

"I don't think so. The Minister doesn't believe Voldemort has returned since he only has my word to go on."

"Wait, so you're saying nothing's being done about this Voldemort person?" Janet asked, aghast.

"Not that I know of," Harry verified with a shrug, before returning to the earlier subject. "The letter thing seems to fit because I've been having trouble getting owls as well. Only Hedwig seems to be able to find me."

Steve turned that over in his head, deciding it didn't sound altogether bad. "So, this is a good thing, right?" he asked, seeking validation. "It seems like a measure of protection."

"Maybe," Harry allowed, rubbing his forehead like he had a headache coming on. "Not being able to get mail is a bit of a nuisance, though." Steve guiltily realized that the kid was still sick and should probably go back to bed instead of standing here discussing hypotheses. He opened his mouth to say just that, but Janet beat him to it, clapping her hands once and assuming a brisk air.

"Well, whatever it is, it'll keep for now," she declared, patting Harry on the back. "C'mon. Finish up, and we'll get you back to bed. How's your stomach now? You should probably try to drink something if you can."

Obviously thrown by the sudden change of topic, Harry blinked uncomprehendingly before looking uncertain again, "Are you sure you want me to stay? I mean..."

"We're sure. I don't know what kind of people you're accustomed to dealing with but I'll be damned if I'm going to throw a sick kid out in the street. If no one knows who you really are, we'll be safe enough until we can get this straightened out," Steve reasoned while Janet bustled off to the kitchen. "But for Pete's sake, warn me if you feel sick again."

Fortunately for Steve's delicate sensibilities, Harry was able to finish up without further incident, and was soon tucked back into bed. Just to be safe, Steve brought the bucket along with them. Harry was still showing signs of being nauseated, and really wasn't in any condition to be running back and forth to the bathroom. In fact, he'd broken a light sweat just walking from the bath in the hall back to the room they'd settled him in.

Trying to put the boy at ease, Steve cast around for something to say, finally drawn back to Harry's rather unusual eye color. The song "Jeepers Creepers" had come rather forcibly to mind when he had removed his contact lenses and put on his glasses instead.

"Good call with the color contacts," he complimented offhandedly, taking a seat in the chair he'd dragged in, and hoping it didn't sound too random. "You did a really good job with your disguise. That eye color of yours is cool and all, but it sticks out like a sore thumb."

Harry made a little noise of agreement, and smiled slightly at the praise. "I didn't think it was going to work, but all I had to hide was the eyes and the scar. That's what people look for," he offered diffidently. "My hair, too, I reckon, but I can only do so much with that."

"Like the reporter the other day," Steve said, realization dawning.

"Yeah, like that."

"Well you know," Steve said, only half teasing, as he ran a hand over his own close-cropped brown hair, "you could always get it clipped short."

"My aunt tried that once. It didn't work out," Harry commented, glancing over at the door.

Guessing that Harry was wondering what was holding Janet up, Steve chuckled and shook his head. "Give her a few minutes," he advised. "She's gathering."

Leaf-green eyes regarded him again. "Gathering?

Steve nodded, keeping a cool facade on the outside while gleefully anticipating his wife's return on the inside. Janet was going to have kittens when she saw Harry's true eye color. "Yeah. It's impossible for her to go downstairs for one item," he confided in an exaggerated manner. "She's probably thought of about a half dozen things you might like to have. Her family calls her 'Little Miss Just-In-Case' behind her back."

Harry chuckled a little at that, but soon sobered, looking as though he was recalling something unpleasant. Steve fell silent for a moment or two, trying to decide if now was the time to go poking into this particular can of worms. Upsetting sick people generally wasn't the best idea, and as a rule he left the "hunches" and "feelings" to Janet, but Harry had some traits and mannerisms in common with some troops he'd known in the past. Janet probably wouldn't be back for a few minutes, so he flipped a mental coin and decided to go for it.

"Jannie told me that you don't talk about your family a lot," he started conversationally, "and I'm not going to ask you to now," he added hastily when the boy stiffened in surprise, and his eyes, which had been about to droop closed, popped open. "However, I think I'm safe in assuming that your aunt and uncle aren't people you ever felt you could depend on. Is that right?"

He didn't want pity, that much was plain, Steve noted, as he raised his eyebrows questioningly, requesting confirmation. He could almost hear the boy weighing his options, and by the look on his face, he was bracing for platitudes or a lecture of some kind. When Steve remained silent, he finally shrugged and nodded.

Reasonably assured he wasn't barking up the wrong tree, Steve continued, veering away from the aunt and uncle, and reaching for the heart of the matter. "When you're in the military, you meet all kinds. Some are kids fresh out of high school, others are older. Some join because of their ideals, others just want the college money. It's an interesting life, but one thing that's really stressed is teamwork," he remembered aloud. "It sounds simple, but some people I knew really struggled with it. The reasons were about as varied as the people themselves, but what it all boiled down to was, it was hard for them to rely on others."

Harry didn't say anything, but he looked down guiltily almost out of reflex. Steve watched him for a second or two then nodded, and subtly shifted the topic again. "I know you're afraid for the people you care for, and that's a very good trait, but I think you're making a mistake trying to do this alone. In my experience, it's better to have someone around to watch your back."

Troubled green eyes raised to meet his again. Harry obviously hadn't completely bought the idea, but at least he hadn't dismissed it out of hand. Actually, this was going better than Steve thought. He hadn't expected Harry to immediately agree with him anyway. Things just weren't that simple. Normally what he'd found worked best was to throw an opinion out for consideration and let the person in question mull things over for a while and come to their own conclusions. One last point, then it would be time to back off and let the ideas marinate.

"Look, I don't know what's going on, but we all seem to have been dragged into it together," he said honestly. "You have experience I lack, so instead of considering yourself 'trouble', think of yourself as a valued member of the team. There's safety in numbers, and the more eyes we have the better--especially where the girls are concerned." He paused a beat then added, "well, the little girls, anyway. I pity anyone stupid enough to get on Janet's bad side."

Harry looked like he might comment to that, but changed his mind when they heard the topic of their conversation climbing back up the stairs. "Hey! You decent in there?" she asked softly, still out in the hall.

"Depends on your definition of 'decent', but I think you're safe this time," Steve replied, making Harry chuckle when he climbed to his feet with a theatrical groan. Dropping his voice, he leaned in and predicted, "you wait, she won't be here five minutes before she says 'just in case'."

"Hi, sweets," Janet smiled as she entered, carrying a tray that held the ice water she'd gone down for, plus various odds and ends like a bottle of pain reliever, broth and soda crackers, the book he'd started the night he'd watched Kitty and Becky, tissues, and a little bell. "Sorry to take so long, but I thought you might like to have these...just in case." Taking his cue, Steve stood behind her and spread his hands in a "See, What Did I Tell You?" sort of way, watching, amused, as Harry struggled not to laugh.

Janet was so caught up in her explanations she didn't notice the side conversation...which was probably a good thing. Steve moved over to the wall and leaned against it, waiting for Janet to stop pointing at the tray and look up. The bell was so Harry could get their attention without having to shout, she knew he was sick but she thought he might be able to tolerate broth and crackers, and he was to please drink as much water as he could.

As the number of unexplained items on the tray diminished in number, Steve found himself leaning forward in anticipation. It won't be long now...hah! he chuckled to himself as Janet broke off right in the middle of assuring Harry that he could have another book if the one she'd brought had bored him to sleep, and exclaimed, "Oh, my God!"

"He was wearing color contacts," Steve supplied, grinning mischievously while Janet gripped the boy's chin and turned his head so she could look him full in the face. "The green is his natural eye color. Cool, eh?"

"Cool? Cool?" Janet repeated, her voice going up at least an octave. "That's the most despicable, disgusting thing I've ever seen!"

That was the last thing Steve had expected her to say. Harry, too, judging from the shocked and hurt look on his face. "Janet," he scolded unbelievingly, launching himself away from the wall and hurrying over, but she wasn't listening.

"It isn't fair!" she wailed, throwing her hands in the air. "Thick, dark lashes, and absolutely gorgeous green eyes wasted on a man!" She paused a moment then rounded on Harry. "Tell me you have your mother's eyes!" she demanded authoritatively. "Lie to me if you have to!"

"I have my mother's eyes," the boy dutifully repeated, after blinking a few times and uttering a startled laugh. "No, really!" he insisted when she crossed her arms and gave him her famous "Are You Putting Me On?" look. "I have photos back at the Leaky Cauldron."

Janet smiled the sappy smile Steve had been expecting from the first, and sat in the chair by the mattress. "Good," she said, reaching out and smoothing the boy's hair back from his face.

"So you like them, then?" Harry asked, as though seeking verification.

Janet blinked like she'd been slapped. "Of course I do! Your eye color is stunning--oh," she interrupted herself, obviously realizing what she'd said a moment ago. "Oh, that sounded awful, didn't it? I'm sorry, sweetie. Sometimes my mouth gets ahead of my brain," she admitted, sheepishly. "Forgive?"

Harry quirked a little half smile. "Forget it."

Janet smiled gratefully, absently laying the back of her hand on Harry's cheek, then frowning and leaning closer. "Does this mark on your head hurt, Sparky?" she asked, studying it closely, but being careful not to touch it, "it's awfully red."

Harry shrugged, seeming unsurprised by the observation. "It twinges a bit," he admitted, obviously trying to downplay and allay her fears. "The link, you know. Voldemort has been excited about something all day, but I can't tell what," he said, trying without success to stifle a yawn.

"Well, don't worry now. Rest and get better," Janet advised rising from the chair. "We'll be right here if you need anything."

---

Lord Voldemort sat on a slightly raised dias, smirking smugly to himself. Running an appraising eye over the growing assembly before him, he enjoyed the looks on the faces of his Death Eaters as they arrived. They were curious at least, appalled at most, but no one was brave (or perhaps foolhardy enough) to ask what was on all their minds.

Namely, 'What are these Muggles doing here?' or at the very least, 'Why aren't we torturing them?'

Unconcerned, the Dark Lord let them stew. He would tell them what they needed to know when the time was right, and not one second before. His plan was a stroke of sheer genius if he did say so himself, but for it to work absolute secrecy was required. He couldn't risk losing the element of surprise. If Dumbledore somehow found out and stuck his long nose in, the whole thing would be for naught. Ironic, really, since it was the old man's machinations that had inspired this plot in the first place.

Smiling at Nagini as she slithered up the side of the throne like chair he was sitting in, Voldemort stroked her head idly while continuing to gloat over the coming attack. Ten days ago when he and Severus Snape had twisted Potter's address out of Wormtail, he'd immediately began to consider how to make the best use of it. Truthfully, he'd been unusually indecisive in deciding how to deal with his foe.

His original scheme had been direct and to the point: Rig the Tri-Wizard Tournament, harvest the boy's blood, kill him in a Wizard's Duel, and portkey his remains back to Hogwarts. Simple, elegant, and guaranteed to put the Wizarding World in an uproar.

Suppressing an angry growl, Voldemort ground his teeth together. He still hexed hapless lackeys in frustration when he recalled how Potter had taken advantage of the round trip Portkey spell on the Tri-Wizard Tournament cup and made good his escape. Did that scruffy brat not have any sense of the dramatic? Could he not comprehend that the return spell was supposed to send his lifeless body back to Dumbledore's doorstep after he'd served his purpose and suffered a stunning defeat? He still had the note he'd planned to pin to the boy's shirt announcing his return.

Still, it hadn't been a complete loss, Voldemort admitted grudgingly. Things might have even worked out for the better. Thanks to Potter, someone's dead body had been sent back to Hogwarts, sparking off confusion and panic as he'd planned. The Dark Lord had gotten a great deal of entertainment listening to the eyewitness account Severus Snape had given, and the secondhand tales his Death Eater parents had gotten from their children.

Even better, the other boy's death had put Potter in a very awkward position, and cast if not blame, then strong suspicion on him and anyone who supported him. The minister had also sunk his head firmly in the sand, stoutly refusing to believe a word Potter said.

An unexpected bonus.

If he played his cards right he'd have more than ample time to plan and regroup, Voldemort gloated, regaining a bit of his previous good humor. The question remained, though, what should he do about Potter?

Initially, after the boy's escape, he'd spent a lot of time plotting a "fitting" end for his foe, but the more he'd thought about it, the more he reckoned he'd had the right of it in the beginning. Simpler was better. Once he had the boy in his clutches he'd kill him straightaway. No traps, no duels, nothing he could manage to wiggle out of. It was a pity, since some of the ideas he'd had were truly magnificent, but he couldn't risk another fiasco like the night in the cemetery.

He'd waited fourteen years to curse Harry Potter into oblivion. He could wait a little longer.

In the meantime, he'd indulge in his current scheme. Things were coming to fruition tonight, and judging from the complete confusion in his Death Eaters' faces and thoughts, no one knew what he was up to.

Leaning his elbows on the arms of the chair, the dark wizard steepled his fingers in front of his face. This attack had been a very close thing, he admitted, recalling how he had disapparated away from the shack where Pettigrew had been questioned, leaving Snape to deal with the mess. The information had been exhilarating and maddening at the same time. On one hand, he knew the boy's exact location, on the other hand, if he approached, he'd almost certainly trip half a dozen alarms.

Taking care to stay out of range of any warding, he'd apparated to Surrey, feeling manic glee and utter frustration by turns. He wasn't stupid enough to risk being seen, but being this close to his quarry without being able to act was intolerable. Sneering in disgust, he'd hidden himself behind an invisibility spell and watched enviously as those worthless Muggles paraded up and down the streets, and then it had hit him.

There might be a use for Muggles after all.

Muggles could approach Potter's home without being detected by the Ministry. Muggles weren't considered a threat. In fact, if there was a risk of a Muggle stumbling across something magical, the Ministry of Magic would simply cast a few Muggle Aversion Charms to simply keep them away, much like witches and wizards would use screen spells to keep insects away from their outdoor gatherings.

So how could he use this to his advantage?

Looking around the Muggle neighborhood he found himself in, Voldemort had been immediately struck by the similarity of the structures. If Potter's home was simply one in a crowd, he could examine any house he chose to get a general idea of how the place was laid out. All he had to do was get close enough to see which model Potter lived in...

...or send someone to look for him.

Voldemort smiled a very self-satisfied smile as he recalled his little brainstorm. He had very nearly laughed out loud as the perfect plan occurred to him. It was genius, sheer genius, and the beauty of it was, no one would ever suspect what he was up to.

Eager to test his theory, he cast the Imperious Curse on the next Muggle who passed by, and ordered them to find number four Privet Drive.

He had waited tensely for the woman to return, ready to melt into the shadows if he had miscalculated, but within an hour she was back with very startling news.

Potter's residence seemed to be for sale.

Puzzled, Voldemort had returned to his headquarters, trying without success to resolve some conflicting factors:

If Potter had been moved to another home, the defenses around in this neighborhood should have been dismantled and reconstructed elsewhere.

He had several "trusted" agents within the Ministry, Lucius Malfoy among them, who would be aware of a project of that magnitude, yet no one had said a thing.

Deciding to try again in the daylight, he'd traveled back to Surrey the next day and repeated the exercise.

That was when things had gotten interesting.

Snape's potion should have ensured Wormtail's information was correct, and the Muggle from the night before had been quite sure she'd found the proper house, but none of the Muggles he'd bewitched and sent in search of number four the following day had been able to see it.

Curious, he had waited for some report from Malfoy or one of the others planted in the Ministry, but no one seemed to have noticed anything unusual with regard to Potter's whereabouts, even when very subtly questioned.

He'd been on the verge of calling a full meeting and cursing all his Death Eaters for general incompetence, when a new scenario had occurred to him.

Dumbledore.

The old codger was laying a trap for him.

Voldemort was not privy to the whys and hows of the situation, and had no idea how many layers of subterfuge there were (Dumbledore's seeming "feud" with the Minister might be a clever front for all he knew) but the more he pondered it, the more it seemed absolutely correct. Impressed in spite of himself, the Dark Lord marveled at the example of almost perfect secrecy. What was worse, he'd been so busy planning the perfect revenge, he'd very nearly fallen for it.

That, of course, had put a whole new slant on things, Voldemort gloated as he watched more Death Eaters arrive. The ones who had been among the first to answer his summons were being eaten alive with curiosity by now. Too bad.

If Dumbledore wanted to play that way, he was certainly up to the challenge.

I give you points for originality, old man, Voldemort sneered to himself. You're good, but I am better.

After a ridiculously short amount of research, he'd learned that Muggles, like wizards, had elements among them that would sell out their own mothers for a few pounds. Running an appraising eye over the street toughs he'd hired, Voldemort's lips twisted in a cruel smile. They had been enchanted to see what they expected to see, so they were oblivious to the confusion they were causing, and actually quite calm as they waited for his order to proceed. If they did well, he might allow them to live. Good help was so hard to find.

His intended victims would be sleeping, and not expecting a physical attack.

It's going to be just like old times, Voldemort exulted as he watched a few more Death Eaters appear. There were just a few more to go now. After everyone else arrived he would call the last one on the list...one Severus Snape.

---

Harry groaned softly as he shifted on the bed, trying without success to find a comfortable position. He didn't think he could ever recall feeling this horrible...well, not without the Cruciatus Curse being involved, anyway. On top of a miserable sore throat, scar pain, and general body aches, fever was making him too hot or too cold by turns, not to mention drowsy and lethargic, and his stomach was enthusiastically trying to turn itself inside out every hour or so--whether there was anything in it or not.

Wincing at the memory of his last bout, Harry kicked weakly at the blankets covering him, desperate to escape the overheated feeling of his skin. Vomiting and sore throats were bad enough separately, thanks. Together--eurgh! The raw acid on his throat combined with his weakened state and the protests of his abused abdominal muscles had been enough to reduce him to tears.

"Shh. Easy now..." a voice said softly in his ear, making Harry stiffen in surprise, then sigh with relief as the stifling blankets were pulled back. Janet, the small part of his brain that was still semifunctional supplied, as she gently bathed his boiling face and half baked arms with a cool cloth.

"How's he doing?" a new voice asked, after a while.

A sigh. "About the same. What did the doctor say?"

"About what you thought--keep him comfortable, push fluids. There's a viral bug going around that generally runs its course in about twelve hours. Those sore throats are another matter. The doc thinks the kids will probably need antibiotics, so I made an appointment for them tomorrow morning."

"Are Kitty and Becky still asleep?"

"Mama! Muh-Mah-Maaaaaaa!"

"Offhand, I'd say no. Here, tag in. They aren't going to settle for me again."

"I can't imagine why, we all know what a wonderful nurse you are."

"True, true, I missed my calling..."

Harry sensed rather than heard or saw Janet leave and Steve sit down as he lay teetering on the verge of sleep. This had been a new experience for him all the way around. For one, he couldn't recall being so wretchedly ill before. For another, Janet and Steve's reasonably calm attitude towards the whole situation and the way they managed to split their time between the girls and himself were decidedly novel events.

He wondered fuzzily how he would have fared if they'd allowed him to return to the Leaky Cauldron, then decided not to dwell too deeply on that. At best he would have spent an uncomfortable night on the floor of the loo. At worst, well, things could have gotten...messy.

The flannel was back, this time folded and draped neatly on his forehead. "There. Now, let's try a little of this, what do you say?" Steve's disembodied voice coaxed, just before a now-familiar straw prodded his lower lip.

As he dutifully took a few small sips, Harry wondered absently what time it was. His off-again on-again dozing made it difficult to judge how long he'd been there. He thought about asking Steve, but it just seemed like too much effort. Besides, going by the sounds of the house and the street outside, it must be getting quite late. London was never completely still and silent but Harry had noticed a definite ebb and flow to peoples' comings and goings when he had been working nights at the Leaky Cauldron. The wee hours of the morning had always been the worst. That was when the relative quiet could get oppressive, and the slightest noise seemed to be amplified tenfold.

Of course this wasn't always a bad thing, Harry noted distantly, picking up the soft creak of the rocking chair and Janet's voice finishing Dr. Seuss' "What Was I Afraid Of" in the girls' room next door. She was reading about picking a peck of Snide. For some reason that part always reminded him of Professor Snape. The snarky git probably ate too much of it as a kid... he thought muzzily, shifting restlessly on the bed as the dull ache in his scar increased.

"Harry? What is it, bud?" Steve's voice asked uncertainly, as Harry uttered a small whimper and lifted his hand to his scar. "Is the rag warm?" he asked, quickly plucking the flannel off Harry's forehead and returning it cold-side down.

It helped a bit, but not nearly enough. The link was taut and humming with power. Harry cried out again and cursed his bad luck, as he began to perceive what Voldemort did, and what sounded like the babble of a small crowd echoed in his head. The last thing on Earth he wanted was for Steve and Janet to witness him having a full blown, no holds barred, scar episode.

"M'okay. Just...headache," he managed to gasp, before being borne away on a fresh wave of pain.

"Welcome my Death Eaters, in a few moments we shall begin this evening's festivities..."

"Puh. If you're okay, then I'm the King of Mesopotamia. Janet!" Steve called, making Harry wince then moan as his stomach lurched and prepared to rid itself of whatever bile had been manufactured in the last sixty minutes.

"Harry? Aw, jeez, kid, no..." Steve groaned, before heaving a resigned sigh, and helping Harry roll over to the side of the bed. "All right. C'mon. Get it over with."

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"'Old Faithful' impression. Encore performance. Said his head hurts, too."

"Poor thing..."

Dimly aware of someone speaking softly to him and wiping his face, Harry squeezed his eyes shut, and poured all his flagging strength into the link. He couldn't lose the connection now that something big was going down! It was just so hard to focus, and he was so tired. He squeezed the hand that miraculously appeared in his as running footsteps faded into the distance then returned, then gasped in surprise as something very cold was pressed against his forehead.

"Ice?"

"Yeah. Unless you have a better idea. Easy kid. It's good for what ails you..."

"Ah, welcome, Severus. Crucio. Wormtail, take his wand. Lucius, distribute the potions."

Professor Snape! Harry thought in consternation, fear giving him enough energy to push out one last time and breach a barrier of some sort. Exhausted, he leaned over and put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Jimmy--Harry? Harry? Can you hear me?" Janet asked, her frightened voice sounding very far away.

Startled, Harry opened his eyes and gasped. It happened again! he realized with a start, twisting around to see the silvery link in the small of his back. Concentrating, he could sense Steve and Janet trying to tend his now-unconscious body. Luckily, they didn't seem to be aware of the silvery link that was extending up from his physical self, anchoring him to it.

"I think he passed out. He's probably better off for now..."

Nodding, Harry shifted his focus from his physical body back to his current location. They were frightened and concerned, but far from panicked. He'd take a quick look 'round, figure out what Voldemort was up to, if he could, then get back straightaway.

There was some sort of commotion in the room adjoining the one he was in, so Harry drifted over to look. He still felt the drag of his unwell body to a certain extent, but he was much more clear-headed and alert now that he was away from it. Pausing to peek out a window, he tried to identify his location, but was unable to do so. It wasn't the ivy covered house, and it wasn't the shack from his last episode. Evidently Voldemort was fond of meeting in random locations instead of operating exclusively out of the manor house as Harry had first thought.

The room he found himself in was packed with people. Harry ran an eye over the crowd, noting with disgust that Bryce and Tammy, the two Lancaster employees who had quit suddenly, were among the new recruits. Gits, he thought a little contemptuously as he drifted by.

Voldemort, meanwhile, had positioned himself on a raised dais, clearly intending to address the assembly. Harry scanned the crowd, searching for his potions professor, and frowning when he saw four people who were obviously Muggles milling around with the rest of the crowd. Curious, he made his way over to them.

"Bit of a weird job, what?" one was saying as he approached.

Another shrugged, saying that the money was all that mattered.

Harry blinked as the enormity of the situation hit him. These Muggles weren't prisoners! They were part of the attack! While he was still trying to get his head around that, Mr. Malfoy approached.

"Here, you lot," he said brusquely, handing out what Harry knew to be Snape’s potions. "When you are let into the house, your job will be to throw these at the walls," he said, handing out thin roughly ball-shaped bottles filled with blue liquid. "These," he continued, holding up a different set of bottles filled with an amber liquid, "contain an...accelerant. Meet us outside the structure when the job is done to collect the rest of your payment."

Harry was horrified at the implications, but the Muggle who seemed to be the leader merely acknowledged the instructions with a terse, "Right, guv."

Lucius nodded in return. "Wait here. We shall be leaving directly."

Voldemort seemed to have been waiting for Lucius to finish up, because as soon as Malfoy turned away from them in a swirl of flowing robes, he began to speak.

Whoa, Harry thought, amazed at how quickly all chatter ceased. Of course the fact that the speaker tended to cast the Cruciatus Curse on those that annoyed him probably had a lot to do with it.

"Tonight will mark a victory for us that will not soon be forgotten," he announced, raising his arms dramatically as he spoke.

Harry rolled his eyes. Blah blah blah, he thought impatiently as the dark wizard continued to expound on the upcoming attack. Get to the point, would you?

Listening to Voldemort with half an ear, he continued his search for Snape, finally spotting him and Wormtail over by the far wall. Snape didn't seem to have suffered any lasting damage from his recent ordeal, but his face was grim as he listened to the Dark Lord's speech. Pettigrew's attention was almost fully focused on the Slytherin Head of House. Harry looked at his parents' betrayer in disgust, a familiar ball of anger forming in his stomach. The rat's wand was out and held at the ready, and he looked like his nerves were strung about as tight as they could go. Personally, Harry reckoned he'd probably scream, faint, or wet himself if anyone so much as spoke to him. On the heels of that thought was the fleeting regret that he was currently unable to tap Pettigrew on the shoulder and say "Boo."

Wishing he had his pen and notepad, Harry carefully studied the room he was in and the faces of the people he could see, trying to internalize as many details as possible. He was concentrating so completely on his task, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Voldemort stopped talking, whipped out his wand and cried, "Stupefy," dropping the Muggles where they stood.

"I do not wish to employ crude Muggle transportation methods, but a deception is necessary to maintain the illusion," Voldemort proclaimed, stepping down off the dais and transfiguring a very good replica of a sedan in his place. "Put them in," he ordered, pointing his wand at the unconscious Muggles. "Tell them they fell asleep on the ride over when you revive them," he continued as several Death Eaters scrambled to obey. "That should suffice, but if it doesn't, kill them. There are more where these came from, and we can't risk Ministry involvement. I will plant the notion that they got into this vehicle in their minds," he lectured, firing several memory charms into the now-occupied vehicle, and making Harry's scar sting with each and every one. "There. They will think they slept through the trip," he stated, speaking to the Death Eaters surrounding him. "Keep them in this device when you revive them. I will turn it into a Portkey which will take them to your first target."

Harry couldn't help a self-satisfied smirk as he watched the Dark Lord making preparations. The look on Voldemort's face when this whole thing blew up in his face was almost going to be worth the headache his fury would generate later. They could reduce his aunt and uncle's former residence to smoking rubble for all he cared. He'd worried initially that some innocents might purchase the property at 4 Privet Drive and therefore be in harm's way, but according to some adverts he'd found in London, the property was still vacant.

So long, suckers, he thought derisively as Volemort tapped the roof of the sedan and said, "Portus", making the car and all its occupants disappear with a pop.

That done Voldemort turned to issue some last minute instructions. Summoning a cloth-covered box, he motioned for his Death Eaters to gather 'round. Harry drifted nearer, as the dark wizard swept off the cover, and saw that the box was filled with various trinkets.

"These portkeys have been charmed to take you to the targets I have selected. To activate them, say 'Target One', and 'Target Two'," Voldemort instructed, catching Harry's attention. Two targets? I thought he was going to Privet Drive!

"When you finish, you will return here for your reward...or your punishment," the Dark Lord finished, grinning in a way that made Harry very nervous. He's nutters! Why would anyone willingly follow him? he wondered as the Death Eaters each took an item out of the box and said "Target One."

When they had all been whisked away, presumably to Surrey, Voldemort turned back to Pettigrew and Snape. "I'm sure you're wondering about your exclusion, Severus," he purred, taking the potion master's wand from Wormtail's nervous hand.

"I do not question my master's will," Snape replied with a respectful incline of his head. Harry was impressed in spite of himself at how calm the great git seemed.

"We shall see," was Volemort's comment, as he walked around the other two wizards. "There are some who question your loyalty, Severus. They do not dare speak it to my face, but it is there in the dark recesses of their minds. They consider you a liability and think you live in Dumbledore's pocket. That is why you are staying behind with Wormtail and myself."

"I am saddened that my master finds my loyalty lacking," Snape intoned, dropping to one knee. "How may I find favor once again?" His voice was still steady, but the tension in his shoulders and back said he was bracing for one of Voldemort's more painful "punishments." Harry grimaced, and tried to prepare as well, knowing he'd feel it too when Voldemort struck. He was just as surprised as Snape obviously was when Voldemort chuckled evilly, and gestured Snape back to his feet.

"Rise, Severus. This is merely a preventative measure. I can't run the risk of Dumbledore blundering in and ruining things. Come, sit," Voldemort invited, after transfiguring three comfortable chairs. "And just so you don't get any ideas, Petrificus Totalis. You will watch the festivities with Wormtail and me, and after, we will discuss your loyalties in detail. If my followers were mistaken, you may ask anything of them you desire as atonement for their foolishness, but if they are correct..." Voldemort paused and dropped his voice to a toxic whisper. "You will beg for death long before I grant it to you. But for now, let the show begin."

I've stayed long enough, Harry decided frantically, trying to decide how to best warn Dumbledore as Voldemort sent Pettigrew scurrying to draw back a large red curtain. It wouldn't take the Death Eaters long to determine Privet Drive was a dead end. His attention was attracted for a second by the huge wall of glass that had been behind the curtain. Scrying mirror, he realized, recalling a section he'd stumbled across when he'd flipped though his new Divination text. He'd taken a casual interest in such things because of the mirrors Cassandra and her boyfriend Silas used to communicate, but they were nothing compared to this! in fact, specimens this large were comparatively rare because of the immense cost involved and...

Harry paused, blinking, then wiped his hand down the middle of his face. Get a grip, Potter, you're turning into bloody Hermione! So there's an expensive mirror on the wall! Deal with it! The issue is getting a message to the headmaster, but how...Hedwig! he decided, nodding. It was the only way. He'd have to rouse himself enough to write a note and send Hedwig to Dumbledore...after he figured out how to get back to his body, of course.

Yeah.

Sure.

No problem.

Could this get any worse? Harry groaned. He raked a hand through his hair, then immediately wished he'd kept his big mouth shut when a familiar house emerged from the depths of the scrying mirror...and it wasn't 4 Privet Drive.

Harry's heart which was already pounding, leapt into a mad gallop when he recognized the Burrow sitting peacefully and unsuspectingly in the starlight. By the looks of things, everyone was in for the night.

Panicking, Harry stared wildly at the mirror. I have to get to Dumbledore! I have to get to Dumbledore NOW! he thought frantically, even as his head filled with a sound resembling static and the room he was in disappeared in a blinding flash of white. When he came back to himself, and the sparkles cleared from his vision, he found himself sprawled on the ground next to a pair of high heeled buckled boots, topped by a set of iridescent purple robes. Raising his head, he was caught by a pair of piercing blue eyes which were studying him in shocked concern. "Harry?!"