Chapter 65- on your mark, get set.....

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."

_______________

"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."