Chapter 67- on your mark, get set....( part 3)

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!".

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