Harry Potter and the Michaelmas Term

It was the night before school began, the night before they were all due to catch the train from King's Cross. Everyone was busy packing their trunks with books and with clothes; some to go back to Hogwarts for another year; some, with apprehension, preparing to go for the first time. Last minute homework was being done, last minute essays that had left undone over the holidays.

There were some students, however, who weren't packing or catching up with work. They had business elsewhere. They were sitting in the drawing room of the Malfoy manor deep in the Wiltshire countryside. The curtains were drawn against the night, and there was little light in the room other than the flickering of the flames in the fireplace, and the glimmer of candles scattered around the room. Four students were there: Slytherins, about to go back to Hogwarts for their last year. Boys sitting in some trepidation, given who their visitor was. Because there was also someone else there: a tall skeletal figure in a long dark cloak, a hood covering most of his face. White bony hands protruded from the cuffs of the cloak, and little of the white skull like face could be seen. Lord Voldemort was meeting some of those who were still counted among his supporters.

"Why is Potter so important to you?" asked one of the seated boys.

Voldemort looked at him carefully. Of all the boys present, this was the one he most needed to convince, to win over on to his side. He knew that this boy was worried about being here, worried about meeting Voldemort, worried about the consequences if he were found out.

"Potter is important for several reasons," he said quietly. "Potter is seen by too many as the last hope of the wizarding world." He heard Draco Malfoy make some disgusted sound, and smiled a small inward smile. "They see him as their saviour, think that somehow he will make life safe for them. But if Potter were, shall we say, removed from the scene, then there would be panic. In that panic would lie our opportunity. There are many wizards - perhaps more than you think - who at the moment are sitting on the sidelines, waiting and watching to see what will happen, watching to see who will prevail. With Potter eliminated, many of those would become our allies once more. And we cannot defeat the Ministry and free your fathers without more allies."

Theodore Nott looked back at him. "Talking of the Ministry - they raided our house again last Thursday."

"And?"

"And well, they found ... stuff ... they shouldn't," said Nott a little reluctantly. "We had to pay another fine."

Voldemort waved a white, thin, bony hand around him. "And how long will this manor remain in the hands of the Malfoy family, and other manors too, if the Ministry carries on like this, raiding homes, levying fines as they see fit?"

He didn't expect an answer. It was a rhetorical question. But he knew he had a receptive audience. These boys feared for their homes and their families.

"Potter escaped from you last time," Nott reminded him.

Another time, another place, and the boy would have suffered for that remark. Suffered more than he could imagine. But fear would not work here. Not at the moment. Persuasion would have to be the key to this boy. Voldemort chose his words carefully.

"Indeed he did," said Voldemort softly. "He escaped again. He has escaped from me too often, I know that. But he has not defeated me. And he will not defeat me. He has never defeated me. On the contrary, it is because of him that I have this new body."

"It's because of him you lost your old one."

Voldemort beat down the surge of fury, of rage, that rose up in him at those words. How dare such a youngster be so insolent to him - Lord Voldemort! How the boy would have regretted that remark, if circumstances had been other than they were. But for the moment, he would have to overlook such arrogance. Only for the moment. The time would come, a time when remarks like that would be punished for their insolence ... even so, Nott must have seen the glint of rage in those cold red eyes: for a moment he looked apprehensive, scared.

"True," said Voldemort, recovering himself, falsely emollient, pretending the insolence did not matter. "As a baby. And not through any action of his. But after that, all he has succeeded in doing is evading me. To rid ourselves of him for once and for all, we need to find a different way to entrap him, for good this time, and finish the job for once and for all. Rid ourselves of him for ever, and we can seize control of the wizarding world, and make it our own."

"How are we going to do that?" asked Nott boldly.

"We must look to his weaknesses."

"What are they?"

"A very good question. You should know him well enough by now. Have you no ideas yourself? No ideas of his weaknesses?"

"I do," said Malfoy suddenly.

Voldemort turned to look at him. "Indeed?"

"His friends. Don't capture Potter - capture one of his friends. He'd do anything to try and play the hero and rescue them."

"Exactly, Draco, exactly. So who are they and how will we do it?"

"There's that mudblood Granger, and the two Weasleys. Any of the Gryffindors, really."

Voldemort nodded slowly, and gently coaxed his pupil along. "So how do we capture them and so bring Potter to us?"

"It would be difficult," said Draco. "I mean, they hate me just as much as I hate them. And Crabbe and Goyle too."

"Which leaves only one person," and they both turned to Nott.

Nott shrugged. "So you really think they're going to make friends with me?"

"Either that, or you manage some means to abduct them instead. But it would be far easier if you could first gain their trust."

Nott smiled a twisted smiled. "Yeah, right."

"You have not crossed them yet. They know of you only by reputation."

"You mean my father's a Death Eater and I'm in Slytherin. And you think they'll talk to me knowing that?"

"That depends on you, Theo. And your powers of persuasion. Do you really want to wait until the Ministry raids your house again, and tales away what little you have left?"

"No," admitted the boy reluctantly.

"Then it is up to you. You want rid of Potter as much as I do. You want to see the grip of Ministry crushed as much as I do. And to do that, you must find some way to get Potter to me."

Nott looked at the others. "We'll work on a plan."

"Do that. But we will meet again before you take any direct action. I want to know all the details of your plans before you act too hastily." The boys nodded. Lord Voldemort surveyed his audience. "Remember, when you climb into your beds tonight, where your fathers are spending the night. And the next night. And the night after that. If you want them freed, you know what you have to do." He paused to let the message sink in. "I will leave you to think about it. And I shall be in contact soon. Until then ..."

And the flames of candles flickered momentarily as the tall thin dark figure vanished from the room.

Early next morning, Harry gathered his luggage together and set off for King's Cross, with Lupin as company for the journey to the station.

"It'll get me out of the house," Remus said mildly, when Harry protested he could quite easily travel by himself. "Sitting around all day in Grimmauld Place isn't good for me, and I need the exercise."

Harry wasn't quite sure whether Remus was being entirely honest, or whether he was coming along as an escort, but gave him the benefit of the doubt. The company would be welcome in any case.

They had started walking towards the Tube station when Harry spied a taxi driving towards them and waved at it.

"Bit extravagant, that, isn't it, Harry?" Remus asked as the taxi slowed down for them.

"It won't break the bank."

And given what they were carrying, a taxi was really quite sensible - as well as saving quite a bit of time. When they arrived at the station, Harry paid off the cabbie while Remus went to find a trolley. Just as the taxi was driving away and they were loading up the trolley, Harry heard his name being shouted, and saw someone waving at him from another black cab.

He walked over and saw Dean dragging his trunk out. Needless to say, his father had been driving him.

"Hi, Harry!"

"Dean. Mr Thomas."

Mr Thomas stopped the engine and stepped out.

"Remus has just got a trolley," Harry told Dean. "There's room for your things too."

"Oh, good."

"You all right, then, Harry?" asked Mr Thomas.

"Yeah, fine."

Mr Thomas lowered his voice. "Dean showed us a copy of one of those wizard newspapers - what was it called, Dean?"

"The Prophet."

"That's right. It had all that stuff in it about you escaping from some bloke. Didn't understand most of it, but Dean thought it was something special."

"I'll say! Did you really make a Portkey, Harry?"

"Yeah."

"Wow. I thought it was illegal!"

"It is," said Harry with a grin. "Arbuthnot didn't complain, though."

"Arbuthnot? The Minister?"

"Yeah."

Remus came up with the trolley.

"Hi, Professor Lupin," said Dean.

Remus looked at him amused. "Come on, Dean, it's not Professor any more."

"Yeah, well, better you than some we've had." And Harry could certainly vouch for that.

Remus gave a rare smile. "Thank you, Dean. That is the sort of compliment that I do treasure."

Dean looked embarrassed, then said: "This is my dad, by the way. Professor Lupin used to teach us - Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Mr Thomas reached out automatically to shake hands. As they clasped, he hesitated momentarily. "You're the bloke who lives with Harry?"

"That's right."

Mr Thomas glanced at his son. Oh, oh, thought Harry. He's realised who it is and he's going to say something - but to his credit, Mr Thomas did not.

"Coming onto the platform with us?" asked Remus, missing the by play.

"Er - there's a problem, see - I'm what you folk call a Muggle."

"Oh. Well, if you don't mind sitting on the trolley, we'll push you through."

"Will that work?" asked Dean.

"Oh, yes," said Remus. "And I can bring him back."

"Won't it look a bit odd?" asked Mr Thomas. "I mean - a bloke sitting on a trolley like that?"

"Nah," said Dean. "The Muggles never notice us."

Mr Thomas looked a little bewildered, but rallied gamely. "Okay, then."

The four of them walked into the red brick station, moving through the crowds towards the platform.

"I'll take the trolley," said Dean. "Just sit on it, Dad."

Mr Thomas did as his son told him, and Harry had difficulty not laughing at the sight of his face as he hurtled towards the brick pillar.

Harry and Remus followed, to see standing Mr Thomas with a dazed expression on his face as he looked at the train standing by the platform, and all the students and their parents busy preparing for the journey. Some parents were tearful as they prepared to send their children away; small eleven year olds looked extremely apprehensive; whilst larger and more confident boys and girls swaggered their way along, all seasoned hands by now.

Harry took the trolley from Dean, who in turn took his father's elbow.

"Come on, Dad."

They walked down the platform. Harry was in one way grateful for Mr Thomas' presence, because it diverted attention away from him. Anyone more Muggle like in this company would be difficult to imagine. Mr Thomas looked quite dazed as he took in the wizarding robes, the cages of owls, and all the other wizarding paraphernalia.

Further down the platform Harry caught a glimpse of Mr and Mrs Weasley standing together by themselves. He waved, and they brightened as they saw him coming their way.

"Harry," cried Mrs Weasley, and enveloped him in an enormous hug. Slowly he broke free, and caught sight of the grin on Mr Weasley's face.

"And Dean," she said, catching sight of him behind Harry. Dean looked a little apprehensive lest he too was caught up in one of those hugs.

"Hi, Mrs Weasley. And this is my dad," he said quickly.

"Mr Thomas? Oh, of course, Dean and Olive came to stay the other weekend."

Mr Thomas smiled. "I hope they weren't any trouble."

"Not at all," cried Mrs Weasley. "They were both very good. Excellent company."

Mr Thomas put his arm on his son's shoulder, and they smiled at each other. Harry was struck by a pang as he saw the obvious affection between father and son - something he'd missed out on all these years, something he'd never really known, and never would know.

Mr Weasley said eagerly: "And you're a Muggle, aren't you?"

"Yeah," said Mr Thomas, blinking.

"Tell me ..."

"Not now, Arthur!"

"Hi, Harry." Ron was climbing down from the train, Hermione close behind.

"This is Ron, Dad."

Ron saw Mr Thomas and held out his hand. "How do you do, sir."

Behind him Ginny giggled slightly.

Slightly bemused, Mr Thomas took his hand.

"And Hermione."

She smiled and again Mr Thomas shook hands.

"Dean's a good mate of ours," Ron went on.

"Yeah," said Harry. "He took Ron and me on a tour of London one night. I remember when Ron ..." Ron was shooting him an infuriated glare, and Harry faded off into a tactful silence. Just then the train whistle went, getting Ron - and Harry - out of a tight spot.

"Better get our things on the train," said Dean hastily.

"I'll give you a hand," Ron told him, now off the hook.

The next few minutes were spent loading their things, and then the youngsters scrambled aboard. They hung out of the window waving at Remus, Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Mr Thomas until the train picked up speed.

Ron slammed up the window and looked at Dean and Harry. "You wait!"

"What was all that about?" asked Ginny with mock innocence.

Ron said nothing but stomped off to the compartment in an ominous silence.

"We'll tell you later - but only if we're feeling mean," said Harry.

Ginny wrinkled her nose at him. "Bah!"

Hermione looked at Harry and Dean but decided it was better not to delve any deeper.

They all joined Ron in the compartment. Ron was carefully avoiding their eye by stowing his luggage more securely.

Dean broke the ice. "Thanks - both of you - for being so good with my dad."

Ron turned round: "That's okay."

Dean sat on the seat and looked at the two of them. "He had a hard time getting to grips with it all after Harry's visit. Me being a wizard, like. He'd never really grasped what it all meant before. Bringing him on the station like that was great."

"Hey, no worries, Dean."

Harry felt that pang of bitterness again. He had no father to see him off onto the train. No mother, either, unlike Ron. Okay, Mrs Weasley might be a bit clinging at times, but that was better than having no mum at all.

"Harry?"

He suddenly realised Dean was talking to him. "Sorry - I was miles away."

"Yeah. We noticed."

He did his best to force a smile. "So how's Olive?"

"She's good. I'll miss her, though." He screwed up his face and looked around at the compartment. "I mean, in some ways, it's good to be going back to Hogwarts, and I know I'll miss it when I leave, and all my mates there, but you get tired of school after a time."

"Tell me about it," said Ron. "Working with Bill in the summer - that was really great. And now I'm going back to Potions essays."

"You need to know it," said Harry mildly.

"Oh, I know I do. Doesn't make it much better, though, does it?"

"True."

"So you think you'll work at Gringotts after you've left school?" asked Dean.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Whatever."

"You could do a lot worse."

"Yeah. Good job. Money. I dunno."

"No satisfying some people," said Harry with a grin.

"Maybe not. And what are you going to do then?"

"I've no idea, Ron."

Dean stared at him, obviously surprised by this. "I thought you were going to work at the Ministry."

"Yeah. Maybe. Maybe not. Just as decisive as Ron."

"Well, if you don't work at the Ministry, what then?"

"Good question, Dean. I wish I knew the answer. Seems you're the only one to have your life sorted out."

Dean looked down at his hands. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"No, it's us that should be sorry. We shouldn't take it out on you."

Ron sighed. "Enough. Tell Dean about beating the Cannons."

The small group of Slytherins had made certain that they had a carriage all to themselves. Anyone brave enough to want to try to sit with them was greeted with Draco Malfoy's fiercest scowl, which was enough to drive away even the most foolhardy.

But now Draco was staring out of the window at the passing scenery. Not that he saw any of it - his mind was too busy with other things.

"It's all right for him to say - 'just bring me Harry Potter'. All very well, but how?"

Goyle flexed a muscle or two. "Easy enough. You think I can't deal with a runt like Potter?"

"Yeah? And be hexed half a dozen times before you've even lifted a finger?" Goyle blinked. "No, we can't do it that way."

"He must be on his own sometimes," contributed Crabbe.

"Oh yeah - but what do we do then? What are the chances of taking him on successfully? Maybe if his back's turned - but we want something better than that. Something that we can be more confident about."

Draco stared again unseeingly at the passing countryside.

"What we've really got to do," he went on slowly, "is to get him to trust one of us." Goyle gave a sound which might have been a snigger. "Yeah, I know, it won't be you, or me, or even Vincent - but what about our quiet friend?" The other three stared at the fourth member of the carriage. "Theodore," said Draco quietly.

"What?"

"Just the man."

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" mimicked Draco savagely. "What I mean is, we've got to get Potter to trust you."

"There was a silence, then: "How?"

"Good question." Then, his eyes narrowing, he went on: "There might be one way."

"Oh? What's that?"

Draco stared hard at the boy opposite. "That - army - of his. What do they call it now?"

"The Defence Group?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Well, some Slytherins have joined, haven't they?" Goyle cracked a knuckle, and Crabbe hissed something. "Why doesn't one more Slytherin join?"

Confusion was written on the other boy's face. "Who?"

"You, of course," said Draco. God, how slow was this boy?

"Why?"

"Because," said Draco patiently, "you can pretend that you think it's a good idea, and that you're not friends with us at all."

"You want .. me .. to join that lot? Potter's gang?"

"Yes, I do," said Draco coolly. "Join it and make friends with them."

Nott spluttered. "Make friends with them?"

"There seems to be an echo in this compartment."

"Suppose I do. Then what?"

"Then you start telling Potter how wonderful he is. And one day you tell him about something - something in the Forest, say. Something like that. And you say to him - come on, quick! You're needed. And being Potter, he follows you down, just waiting for the chance to rescue someone. Except he doesn't find whatever it was, but the Dark Lord instead."

Slowly the idea sank in. The others stared at him in admiration.

"It might work," said Theodore slowly.

"It might work if you do it properly. Do you think you can?"

"I might be able to."

"Well, we can always coach you if need be." Draco stared out of the window once more. "It might just work. It might just."