Harry Potter and the Michaelmas Term

Somehow, being in the company of friends meant that the journey to Hogwarts didn't seem to take as long as it normally did. They climbed out of the train at Hogsmeade station, to the sight and sound of Hagrid rounding up what seemed to be some very tiny First years.

"Hi, Harry," he heard from behind him. Turning, he saw Susan Bones. But this was not the Susan Bones he remembered. Susan had grown up over the summer. Gone were the pigtails and plaits. This was someone else, looking rather elegant even in school robes. No, it was Susan Bones after all. But a more - grown up - Susan Bones.

"Hi," he said, having some slight trouble controlling his voice.

Susan giggled. The girls behind her started giggling. Harry flushed red. Why did girls have to giggle like that?

"Just got to go and ..." He waved his hand at some invisible task. Just what he'd got to go and do he wasn't quite sure, but he knew he couldn't make any sort of conversation to a girl with all her friends listening in.

He headed off to the carriages. It was a beautiful evening, and in that light even the thestrals seemed harmless enough.

"Still there, are they?" asked Ron.

"Yes, there're still there," came a girl's voice from behind them. It was Luna.

Ron looked at her slightly warily and said: "How're you?"

"Not bad." She looked at Harry. "My father was at your press conference."

"Ah, right," said Harry, going red again. But at least this girl didn't giggle. He looked at Luna again. As a girl, she wasn't bad. And she didn't giggle. But she was a bit ... well, barmy. He sighed. Would he ever get the hang of girls? He envied the likes of Fred and George, who could walk up to girls and talk to them quite nonchalantly. He didn't think he was ever going to be able to do that.

The Entrance Hall was heaving with students, all catching up with the summer's news. Harry surveyed the scene with mixed feelings. There had been a time when there would have been nothing better in the world than to come back to Hogwarts. That had been before he had had anything like a proper home. He was coming to enjoy life at Grimmauld Place now the bad memories had begun to fade. He called it home, and it was gradually coming to feel like home.

But even so, there was still nothing quite like Hogwarts, with its impressive corridors and staircases, with its portraits and suits of armour, with its ghosts and poltergeists (where was Peeves? Probably waiting to create mayhem with the First Years.).

And there were still his friends to greet, those he hadn't seen for three months.

"Hi, Harry," came a voice from behind.

"Colin." Even Creevy had grown up over the summer. Not that he had grown much in height, but Harry reckoned his voice finally had broken at last.

"We read all about your press conference!" But he was still as eager and puppy like as before.

"Yeah? For once they got things right."

"We always believed you, Harry."

"Thank you," genuinely grateful, and he was able to give him a smile before pretending to see else he needed to talk to.

And as he stepped forward, he bumped - not quite literally - into Susan Bones again. Go for it, Harry, he thought. He plastered a big wide smile onto his face, hoping he didn't look too much like a serial killer.

"Hi, Susan," he said enthusiastically.

Susan looked slightly taken aback by the sudden new apparently confident Harry. "Oh, hi. Good to see you again."

"Good holidays?"

"Oh, you know, the usual."

Harry wasn't quite sure what a 'usual' summer holiday was. "Excellent!"

"Yours sounded exciting."

"Yeah, well, it was a bit."

People were beginning to make their way into the Hall now. Susan smiled. "I'll catch you around."

"Sure." He gave her a big beam of a smile.

As Susan joined the other Hufflepuffs, he heard a slightly tart voice from behind him. "Practicing our technique, are we?"

"Thank you, Hermione."

Ron looked at the disappearing Susan. "She's grown up quite a bit over the summer."

"I think we can find you a nice Hufflepuff girl too, Ron."

"Don't be such an intellectual snob, Hermione."

"Someone well suited to you, Ron."

"You need to work on the bitchiness."

"And you two need to work on not sniping at each other," said Harry.

"Okay. Pax," said Hermione. "Come on, into the Hall."

The ceiling showed the last glimmerings of the evening sky, refulgent with pinks and reds as the sun sank lower below the horizon. The House tables were filling up with chattering students, and the three of them made their way to the Gryffindor table.

The buzz of conversation began to die down at the sight of Professor McGonagall leading in the new First Years and fetching the stool with the Sorting Hat. The rip on its brim opened as the Hat began its song.

'When first this school was founded ...'

"Oi, Harry," whispered Dean, "look who's on Top Table. It's old Mad-Eye."

'Brave Gryffindor ...'

"It's the real one this time," Harry whispered back.

"I hope so!"

'And on those four our Houses were founded ...'

"Well, I think it's the real one ..."

Professor McGonagall gave a very sharp look towards the Gryffindor table, and Harry and Dean subsided.

'So let me look inside your head,

'Tell you where you should be,

'And then we can all be fed!'

The usual applause for the Hat broke out.

"Adams, Euan," began Professor McGonagall.

One by one boys and girls climbed warily up to the stool where the Hat sat waiting for them. Briskly it dispatched them to one table or another. The Gryffindors watched carefully to see who they getting.

"Well, not a bad haul this year," said Ron as the last girl was dispatched their way. "And now that's done, perhaps we can get something to eat. I'm starving!"

After the first afternoon's Transfiguration lesson, Harry was packing up his books, quills and parchments when he was called over by Professor McGonagall. He closed his bag and went up to her desk at the front of the classroom.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Ah, Harry, I'd like to talk to you for a moment." Almost everyone else had left by now, although Ron was still lingering by the door. McGonagall glanced at him pointedly, and, reluctantly, he went out into the corridor. "About the Gryffindor Quidditch team - I had you in mind as captain for this year."

Harry shuffled his feet and looked down at the pile of essays on the desk - the essays they'd written over the summer.

"Well, Professor, the thing is that I've a lot on this year, and I'm not sure I'd have time for the job."

McGonagall's eyebrows rose. "Not the time? For Quidditch?"

"Well, that and - well, I don't think I'd be the best person for the job."

"And why not?" she asked in a very dry tone.

Harry struggled for the right words. "Well, I know I'm a good player, but that's not necessarily the thing you need to be captain. And being a Seeker - well, the trouble with that is you never have time to watch the game or see how others are playing."

McGonagall regarded him carefully. "There is some truth to that. On the other hand ..."

"You need someone who can give more time and enthusiasm to the game. Honestly, Professor."

"And who might that be?" Harry shrugged. "Your friend Mr Weasley?"

"Well, you could do worse. Ron has the time and the enthusiasm. And he loves Quidditch. And he'd certainly make sure everyone would be out there training."

McGonagall eyed him with a beady stare. "This wouldn't be some ploy to make your friend captain?"

"Well - he'd love to do it, he'd be good, and he's keen. I'll do it if you want me to - but, honestly, I'd rather not."

McGonagall gave a sigh. "You do have a lot on your plate, Potter. And probably better someone who really wants to do it rather than someone who's reluctant." Harry thought the best thing to do was to keep quiet and let the decision force itself. McGonagall sighed and looked at him again. Then "Mr Weasley!"

She hardly had to raise her voice: the tone was sufficient. Ron put his head back round the door. "Yes, Professor?"

"Here, Mr Weasley." Ron came up to the front desk with a sideways glance at Harry. McGonagall eyed him carefully. "Your work was a good deal better last year, Mr Weasley."

"Was it? I mean, oh, good," floundered Ron, not quite sure what this was all about.

"I want a guarantee from you that you will keep up that standard throughout this year as well."

Ron thought about this. "Yeah. Well, the thing is, over the holidays I went to the Aurors' department at the Ministry, and then curse breaking at Gringott's with Bill." It was McGonagall's turn to look a little baffled. "And," Ron went on, "that's what I want to do when I leave school. One of those, that is. And for either of them I know I need really good NEWTs."

"Ignoring the syntax, Mr Weasley, I take your point. You will indeed have to work hard to achieve the grades for positions like that. In a way, you make it even more difficult for me to ask you whether you'd like to be Gryffindor Quidditch captain."

Ron's jaw dropped. This was certainly not what he'd been expecting. He looked sideways at Harry, who found it very difficult not to glance back.

"Mr Weasley?" prompted Professor McGonagall.

"Er, yeah, I'd love to be," Ron blurted out.

"Just remember that it will take a lot of your time."

"Well, I'd still be going to practices even if I wasn't captain."

"True. And I'm glad to see that you have realised that you do need to work. It's not just teachers giving you work for the sake of it. You are going to need those qualifications."

Ron nodded. "I know. I've been talking to Bill, and he's told me that if I do want to work at Gringotts, then I've got to do well. And, well, I honestly haven't decided what I'm going to do next year. But whatever it is, I do know I'm going to need good grades."

"I'm pleased to hear you say that. Well, go away and start organising your first practice."

"Yes, Professor," said Ron, elation in his voice.

Outside in the corridor, Ron turned to Harry and said to him: "Did she ask you first?"

"Yeah," admitted Harry reluctantly. Ron looked at him, not saying anything. "I told her I'd too much on to do it properly," he went on. "Better to have someone who wants the job than someone who's been pressed into it."

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Fair enough. I mean, you're a really good player - I mean, you've go to be, beating the Cannons like that!" Ron still hadn't forgiven Harry for the Tigholt Tiger's victory.

"Luck," said Harry. "Anyway, you don't want a Seeker as captain. I can't do both."

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You didn't turn it down just so McGonagall could ask me?"

"To be honest, I wouldn't have minded being captain. But seriously, I think you would do a better job than me."

"I suppose," said Ron. He stopped for a moment and smiled at Harry. "You remember that time in our first year when you showed me that funny mirror?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, when I looked into it, I saw myself - Quidditch captain. Holding the cup."

"One snag," said Harry.

"What's that?"

"We have to win it first."

That evening Harry prepared himself for a visit to Professor McGonagall's study. This was going to be a difficult conversation, and he had rehearsed it mentally a score of times by now. Leaving the common room, he walked down the corridor, stopped for a moment at the study door to draw a deep breath, and then rapped softly on the door.

"Come in."

He opened the door to see the Professor sitting at her desk, a pile of parchments in front of her, marking Transfiguration essays. Their holiday work, no doubt.

"Yes, Mr Potter, what can I do for you?" she asked, looking up.

He approached the desk, and reached for the words he'd rehearsed so carefully. "Um, well, Professor, I have a suggestion to make to you."

She put down her quill and surveyed him over her glasses. "Yes?"

"You know how we turned out a First Years' Quidditch team last year?"

"Indeed."

"And we played some matches against other Houses?"

"Indeed."

"And we could do the same this year."

"Indeed, we could." Professor McGonagall frowned. "Is there a point to this, Potter?"

"Well, what I'd like to suggest" - he took a deep breath - "is an InterHouse Competition for the First Years. An official one, that is. It'd mean the other Heads of Houses agreeing, of course, and Madam Hooch, and Professor Dumbledore too."

Professor McGonagall took off her spectacles slowly. Harry suspected this was a ploy to give her more time to think. "An InterHouse Quidditch competition for the First Years?"

"That's right. Only First Years allowed to play. They'd need a lot of coaching, of course."

"Hm. Not a bad idea. I could put it to the other Heads of House. I can't see they'd object."

Harry took another deep breath. "Um."

"Yes, Potter?"

"Well, I'd like there to be a cup for the competition. I'd be happy to present one to the school."

Professor McGonagall looked slightly sceptical. "The Potter Cup?" she asked quietly.

Harry was horrified. "No. Not that."

"What then?"

"Well, you don't have to call it anything if you don't want to. You could just call the First Year Quidditch Cup. But I had a thought ... well, if you're going to call it anything, I'd like it to be the Cedric Diggory Cup."

There was a long silence. Finally: "That, Potter, would, I think, guarantee its acceptance by the others."

"You don't have to tell them it's me giving it," said Harry. "You could just say that, well, a friend of the school is giving it."

"They should know," she said slowly, "although not necessarily straightaway. That is a very kind offer, Harry."

"Well," he said awkwardly, "if we were going to name a Quidditch cup anything - that's what I think it should be. The Cedric Diggory Cup. And even if you do tell the other Heads of House who's presenting it, it still doesn't have to become public. Just saying that it comes from an anonymous donor would be fine."

"And it's a very decent thought. I'll put it to the others at our next meeting."

"Thank you, Professor," said Harry gratefully. He turned to the door and grasped the handle, relieved that he'd got through the interview.

"One moment, Potter."

"Yes?"

"It will be a worthy memorial," she said softly.

"Yeah, well, I hope so."

"Good night, Potter."

"Professor."

Outside in the corridor, he leaned back against the door and took a deep breath of relief. It hadn't been too bad after all.

Harry wasn't looking forward to the first Defence Group meeting of the term. He knew that all everyone would want to hear about was his latest meeting with Voldemort - press conference or not. And there was no way he was going to tell anyone how make a Portkey!

Because the numbers had grown so much, he'd divided it into a Seventh Year group and another group for everyone else. And he'd persuaded Mad-Eye to come along as well - perhaps that would take some of the pressure off him. Grudgingly, Mad-Eye had agreed to show them the Imperius curse at their first meeting - though he had also insisted that anyone who wanted the curse cast on them had to sign a piece of parchment first, agreeing to it.

As usual, he arrived early, checking everything was ready. Ron and Hermione came in a little later, then Neville and Luna. The room started to fill up as the rest began to drift in. Luna stood near the edge of the room, looking at all the various bits and pieces on the shelves. Susan Bones came in, caught his eye, and Harry felt himself going red. He did his best to avoid getting drawn into conversation with her by spending the time briefing his helpers.

Just as he was about to start the meeting, the room fell silent, and Harry realised why: the figure of Moody had appeared in the doorway. Even when he was being helpful and friendly, the sight of the old Auror could be very intimidating. A gap opened up in the group of students as he slowly stumped in. He was leaning on his staff quite heavily as if tired: Harry suddenly wondered just quite how old Moody was. But he stopped by Harry, nodded, and said: "Good turnout, Potter."

"In your honour," Harry joked. Moody grunted. Harry raised his voice. "Okay, everyone, take a seat for the moment."

There was a flurry as everyone got a cushion and settled themselves on the ground.

"Welcome back," Harry began. "I'm going to disappoint you all by saying nothing about what happened in the holidays ..." - a groan of disappointment went up from the crowd - "... and I'm certainly not going to tell you how to make a Portkey." There was a slight ripple of laughter. "Instead, I'm going to hand over this evening's meeting to Professor Moody, who's seen and done more than all of us put together."

Everyone clapped enthusiastically.

As Harry stepped back, he saw a latecomer in the doorway; someone who had never been to a meeting before, one of the most unlikely candidates for the group. A Slytherin. A Seventh year Slytherin. Theodore Nott. He heard Ron next to him give an intake of breath and hiss: "What's he doing here?"

"Dunno. I'll go and find out."

As Moody began, Harry slipped along the wall towards the door.

"Nott?" He tried to keep his voice as neutral as possible.

There was a small smile on Nott's face as he stood in the doorway. "Potter."

Harry took his elbow and pulled him back into the corridor. "I'm - well, surprised to see you here."

Nott looked at him and gave a shrug. "Why's that?"

"Well, given your background ..."

"Friend of Draco Malfoy and father a Death Eater?"

Harry was taken aback by the directness of the answer. "Something like that."

Nott shrugged again. "Why not?" he asked once more.

Harry was suddenly aware of Ron breathing down his neck. He just imagine the sort of thing that Ron would burst out with if provoked. He stepped further into the corridor and shut the door in Ron's face.

"You'll have to do better than that," Harry said flatly.

Not gave a sigh. "Are we all to be tarred with the same brush?"

"No," said Harry cautiously, "but you must admit that you seem to have gone along with Draco and his goons quietly enough over the last seven years."

"You don't have a lot of choice if you're in the same house, in the common room, together all day."

"True. So aren't you worried now?"

"What's Draco Malfoy now? A wannabee." Harry remembered Luna using the same expression more than a year ago.

"He could still make life difficult for you."

"You think it hasn't been difficult enough for the last seven years, with him wanting to be the kingpin of Slytherin?"

Harry regarded the boy in front of him. He could be misjudging him. Anyway, what harm would it do? Even if he did report back to Malfoy, what they doing was hardly secret. And it was supposed to be an open school club.

"If you do join," Harry said slowly, "I'd advise you to keep a low profile in there. Seventh Year Slytherins are hardly the flavour of the month. Not ones whose fathers are locked up."

"The sins of the fathers are to be visited onto the sons?"

"Not quite, but not that far off."

"So do I get in?"

Harry hesitated for a long time. "We'll give it a try out for tonight."

Nott raised an eyebrow at him. "So kind."

Harry was more than a bit irritated by the sarcasm, and just opened the door. Nott followed him in.

Moody was in full flight about the Imperius curse: what it did, when it was used.

"Difficult to detect, as well," he growled. "That gave us two problems. Finding out whether someone really was under the Imperius. And then there were those afterwards who just claimed to be.

"Anyway, that's enough of that. Everyone signed the parchment?" There was a murmur of assent from his audience. "Right then. You, sir," pointing at one of the nearest. Harry could see it was Seamus Finnegan. Rather reluctantly Seamus stepped forward. The old Auror lifted his wand.

"Imperius!" Nothing seemed to happen. Seamus stood there as before. Then: "Touch your toes." He obediently bent over and straightened up again. "A handstand." Seamus obliged.

With a flick of his wand, Moody removed the curse. Seamus blinked. Everyone applauded.

"No need for that," said Moody harshly, and the room became quiet again. "This is one of the darkest curses you will meet. I just made the boy do a few tricks. I could have made him turn on one of you and perhaps attack you." The room was very silent now. "And you'd better pray that you never meet the other Unforgivables!" No one said a word. "There's only one here who I know can fight the Imperius curse properly." All the heads turned, and Harry felt himself go red again as eyes focussed on him. "But you can if you try hard enough. It needs willpower, though. Now, a volunteer."

A forest of hands went up. Moody picked someone. Luna. "Imperius!" A pause. "Sing us a song!" Luna's mouth opened, but no words came out. "Sing!" A few strangled sounds came out. "Now that girl's fighting it," said Moody with approval.

"First, you've got to have a mind before someone can control it," Harry heard Ron mutter in his ear.

"Bit harsh, that, isn't it?" Harry muttered back.

"You reckon?"

By the end of the evening Moody had dealt with most of the pupils there, but Harry could see the old Auror was tiring. He pushed his way to the front.

"I'd like to thank Professor Moody for giving up his time," he said loudly. This time the applause was not stilled. Harry turned to the old man. "We appreciate it." He heard Moody mutter something gruffly. "And it should have given you all lot to think about," he told the assembled students. "That's what this is all about : defence. Learning how to fight curses. So, thank you, Professor. And thanks to all of you for coming."

As the meeting began to break up, Moody headed towards the door, then he caught sight of Nott and stopped. The two stared at each other for what seemed to be a very long time. Nott's face was quite expressionless. Then Moody grunted and continued on his way out.

Hermione caught his eye: she was looking worried. Had letting Nott in been a good idea or not? Then he heard Nott's voice in his ear.

"Thank you, Potter," he said rather formally.

"That's okay," Harry replied.

"By the way, I saw you in the holidays."

"Oh?"

"The famous Harry Potter beating the Cannons at Quidditch."

Harry felt a jab of resentment at the phrase 'the famous Harry Potter'. But Ron spoke over his shoulder.

"You were there?" he asked in a tone of incredulity.

Nott nodded. "Yeah. Cheering the Cannons on. Not that it did much good."

"You support the Cannons?" in a tone of greater incredulity.

"Oh, yeah. Always have done." Ron looked amazed then baffled. How could the son of a Death Eater be a Cannons supporter? "Anyway," Nott went on, "I'll see you next week."

It was half a question, and Harry replied "Yeah," without really thinking - but it was too late to take it back now. Nott gave a half smile and turned away to leave.

Soon the room was empty apart from a half dozen Gryffindors. Harry turned to look at the others, still worried.

"Did I do the right thing, letting him in?"

Ron pulled a face.

"Well," said Hermione practically, "he can't do any harm. And as for spying or anything like that - we're an open school club. Any of the other Slytherins could be reporting back. And even if they did - so what? Who's going to learn much from all of this?"

"That's what I thought," said Harry, relieved that someone else felt the same way about it.

"I don't like him being here," said Ron bluntly. "Even if he does support the Cannons."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look. "We might not like it - but face it, it's not our own private club anymore. It's open to everyone, and really, that's how it should be."

"But not to Slytherins!"

"We can only hope," said Hermione acidly, "that he does learn something. That we're not all a load of prats who hate all Slytherins on sight."

Ron flushed slightly. "He's more than just a Slytherin. He's friends with Malfoy and his dad's a Death Eater."

"Maybe," said Hermione, "But everyone's got to be given a chance."

No one said anything after that. They cleared away in silence.