chapter 66- on your mark, get set... (part 2)

"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.

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