Harry Potter and the Michaelmas Term

The thought of what they might do when they left school was beginning to weigh on them all. The seventh years knew that it would be their last year at Hogwarts: soon they would have their final exams, and then have to go out to face the big wide world. Many envied Dean, with a future already mapped out. Neville had something arranged too: Professor Sprout had contacted the Herbology Department at the Ministry of Magic, and Neville had been taken on as a trainee, providing his results were satisfactory.

Ron and Hermione were still undecided as to whether they wanted to work at Gringotts or not. Harry too was undecided, but his worries were deeper seated - so much so that he intercepted Dumbledore after dinner one evening, and asked if he might have a word sometime.

"Sometime, Harry? Now is as good a time as any," said Dumbledore. "I've nothing that urgent that it can't wait."

Harry hesitated, then said: "Yes, please, sir."

"Come with me then."

Dumbledore swept along the corridors, humming quietly to himself. He came to the gargoyles guarding the entrance to his study, and Harry noticed that he didn't need to give a password: the door sprang open as Dumbledore approached. They stepped onto the revolving staircase and headed towards the circular room that was Dumbledore's study. The lights were dim, and Dumbledore muttered something, causing the room to brighten. Fawkes was on his perch, his head tucked under his wing, obviously sleeping. The tables still held their little silver instruments, which caused Harry a pang of guilt every time he saw them.

Dumbledore set up two chairs by the fireplace, waved his wand, and flames flickered in the grate.

"That's better," he said with satisfaction. "A hopeless way to heat a room, but so comforting. Now, then, Harry, you wanted to talk to me."

Sitting down in the other chair, Harry tried to marshal his thoughts. "It's a couple of things which, if you like, are linked."

"Yes?"

"In the holidays, I was working at the Ministry, as you know. And I've wanted to be an Auror for ages. But it's more difficult than that. I don't know if being an Auror is the right thing to do." The firelight flickered on his face. "You see, Professor, I still don't know how it's all going to end. He - Tom Riddle - keeps setting traps, and I wriggle free, but that's not the same as fighting him properly." Dumbledore nodded. "And - if some day I do have to fight him, I have to know as much as I can about Tom Riddle. And you're one of the people who knows most about him."

"One thing I find curious, Harry," said Dumbledore after a few minutes thought.

"Oh?"

"Why do you call him Tom Riddle?"

"It's his name, isn't it?"

"He calls himself Lord Voldemort now."

"Yeah, but that's not his real name. It's a fancy, made up name. I remember that memory in the Chamber, when he was just a boy. That's how I think of him. That repulsive thing he's become - well, it can call itself what it likes."

"An interesting perspective. And probably a good one. But - well, you want to know more about Tom Riddle. Let me tell you what I can."

There was a long silence before Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh, and began. "I have known Tom Riddle since he was eleven. Indeed, I gave him one of his first lessons at Hogwarts. And don't forget he came from a Muggle orphanage - a worthy place, no doubt, but not a place to find warmth or affection. He was a watchful child, in many senses of that word.

"But a brilliant student! Even in those first few days, he needed showing something only once before mastering it himself and moving on. It was frightening in some ways, how he absorbed things. Not only practically, but he could write about the theory too. And watchful: always watchful. His eyes would fix on you in class, and you never knew what he was thinking, but he was taking it all in. Every word. You didn't have to ask him to repeat something. You said something, you demonstrated something, and then Tom could do it. Almost as well on his first attempt as me on my umpteenth."

Dumbledore paused, staring into the fire, far away now, his mind taken back all those years.

"He had a hard time in other ways, though. He was sorted into Slytherin, as you know. At the time, this seemed odd, perverse. Here he was, from a Muggle orphanage, sorted into a house of which was mainly of purebloods. Well, it's obvious now, but it wasn't then. And you imagine the reaction of some of the others.

"He faced down their hostility, however. And just that: he faced them, and they backed down first. Again, it was extraordinary. How could this eleven year old be so self possessed that he could look older boys in the eye and make them accept him?

"But that's not all. He had charm too, when he needed it. He charmed his teachers. They would come from a lesson with him singing his praises. But it was a calculating charm. I could see him gauging how exactly to go about it - what would work with one person, and what would work with another. He tried it with me, and I was more repelled than attracted. It wasn't a natural charm."

Harry had a fleeting recollection of talking to that memory of a seventeen year old Tom Riddle, saying: "I bet Dumbledore saw right through you!"

"So, Harry, in all those ways, he was very different from you. He began to change, too, as he entered the seventh year. There was anger below that charm, which grew deeper and deeper. You could see he resented being crossed, or being frustrated. There would be a flash in the eyes, and then he would go back to that smooth, polite manner. Nothing you could put your finger on, but it was there. And he ran Slytherin with a mixture of charm and menace. He never had problems with discipline. As Head Boy, he was in one sense superb. He was efficient. He got things done. And," Dumbledore glanced up at one of the dozing portraits, "I am afraid that headmaster Dippet was no longer in his prime. Later, I think he realised how much he was taken in by this façade. It was then Tom began cultivating some of the other boys and girls - those who would become his followers, his acolytes.

"But he left with an outstanding set of NEWTs. Oddly, though, he seemed to have no further ambition - he hadn't applied for any jobs, or the like. He seemed to disappear from sight. No one heard from him. No one where he'd got to. It was only later we realised the connection between him and the deaths at Little Hangleton.

"Then stories did begin to emerge - and often from the most unlikely of places. He seems to have travelled widely in Europe, and not to the most savoury of places, spending time delving deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts. And after killing his parents, I suspect that killing anyone who crossed his path became almost second nature. Yet at the same time, he began to gather groups of supporters, aided, in part, I think, by the network he had created whilst still at Hogwarts. The resentful. Those who sought revenge for one reason or another. Those who hated Muggles. Those who merely wanted power for its own sake. Those who enjoyed death and torture. Oh, he knew who to look for, all right. He knew people's weaknesses. And he was very adept at exploiting them."

There was a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the flames. Eventually Dumbledore turned to Harry.

"Now, can you tell me that you see yourself in that?"

"Well, not really."

"You tell me that there are resemblances between Tom Riddle and yourself. Superficially, in a few respects, there are. But the differences far outweigh the resemblances. Look at the people you associate with, and the people he associated with. He hated his father for abandoning him, so much so he killed him. You might hate the Dursleys for the way they have treated you, and you have no doubt sometimes wished that something nasty might happen to them in return, but can your imagine yourself going back to Privet Drive and performing the killing curse?"

"No, not really," said Harry in a small voice.

"That sums it up. And the other matter. How is this going to be resolved? I wish I knew that. Tom Riddle has become a very powerful wizard. Possibly one of the most powerful wizards alive. You too have the potential to become one too. But as you fear, and as I know, you are no match for him yet, at least in the conventional sense. And you have inhibitions that he has not. He will resort to tricks and traps which you would not." Dumbledore paused.

"Minister Arbuthnot is on your side, and as a result you have the full resources of the Ministry behind you. He does not fear you as a rival for his position, because you are too young for that. He is not a man of personal vanity, as Fudge was. Yet his support for you is not because he wishes to see evil vanquished, but more to see the wizarding world restored to a state of happy security, and in that sense his support is equivocal."

Harry stirred in his chair. "So you think I shouldn't go to the Ministry?"

"Let us think of the choices you have. You do not have to work - you have money and resources enough to manage without the worries of paying your bills. But I do not see you resorting to a life of idleness. You could use your time in study, but to make that effective you need a great deal of self discipline. Tom Riddle got that discipline from his burning hatred. You have no such spur.

"You could find yourself a post in any wizarding business you cared to name. They would employ you simply for your name. You would do excellent work at somewhere like Gringotts. But that would not remove the problem central to your life.

"You could go to the Ministry. If you do want to learn more, hone your skills, develop your powers, then there you would have the opportunity. Hogwarts has taught you as much as it can. When you leave here you need to move on."

Dumbledore had crystallised the thoughts that had lain at the back of Harry's mind for last few weeks. He nodded slowly to himself.

"Professor - can I ask you something else?"

"Certainly, Harry."

"When you duelled with him - in the Ministry - what was it like?"

Dumbledore gave a heavy sigh. "Some things, Harry, you cannot express in words. Dealing with Malfoy and his Death Eaters was straightforward: they had neither the skills nor the knowledge nor the understanding to overcome the charms I was able to place on them. Riddle was another matter. His knowledge of magic, and Dark magic, is both deep and broad. One of the temptations for me - and it will be the same for you - is to resort to Dark magic in return. Sometimes, very reluctantly, one has to.

"And in that lies another temptation. To use Dark magic more and more. After all, it gets results - of a kind. And then you have to ask yourself - do I have the strength of character to abstain? Is Harry Potter going to become a new Dark Lord? Well, to answer that, ask yourself another question. Who did Tom Riddle take up with?"

"The Death Eaters, you mean?"

"Just so. Who were they?"

"People like Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Exactly. Now, who have you chosen for your friends?"

"Ron and Hermione."

"And can you see them becoming the followers of a new Dark Lord?"

"Not really," said Harry, with a slight grin, trying to imagine Ron's reaction to the suggestion.

"Well, then, as I have told you before, it is our choices that make us what we are. There will be times in the future when perhaps you will make the wrong choice, and regret it later. We all do that. That is part of being human, of having free will. But the choices Tom Riddle made, and the choices you will make, will, I feel, be very different."

Harry sat, staring into the fire, his eyes unfocussed. "I see what you're saying," he began slowly. "Alright, I might become another Tom Riddle if I'm not careful. But first, how do I rid the world of him?"

"He has strengths and weaknesses as we all do. The trick is finding them. And your other problem will be to make sure that he does not trick or manipulate you in some way. That is one of his greatest strengths - the art of diverting you, or tempting you into doing something, only to find you have fallen into a trap."

"Don't I know it," said Harry bitterly, remembering that day when he had set off for the Ministry of Magic, only to find he had been deceived; remembering how Sirius had fallen to his death.

"So you must be prepared for deception and deceit, I am afraid." Dumbledore paused. "There is something else."

"What's that?" asked Harry.

"When you leave school, you will no longer have the benefit of what we can teach you. But, on the other hand, if you wish it, we could have some private lesson at Grimmauld Place. The two of us."

Dumbledore sounded slightly awkward as he said this.

"I would be delighted," said Harry with complete sincerity.

Dumbledore bowed his head. "I am getting rather old now, and there are times I feel it. I have learned a lot in my years, and perhaps it is time to pass it on. I can think of no one else I would rather pass my knowledge on to."

"Thank you, Professor."

The room was quiet as the two of them sat there, each slightly embarrassed at the personal note. Harry knew Dumbledore was perhaps the most powerful and knowledgeable wizard alive, excepting perhaps only Riddle. To be trusted in this way ... and Harry knew too that Dumbledore was trying to make amends for what had happened two years ago. He knew that whilst Dumbledore might have been in the wrong, he too was not blameless. Perhaps the old relationship might not be restored, but perhaps they could become closer than they had been over the last year or so.

Then Harry stirred again. "I have all these disadvantages. But what do I have on my side?"

"That you are human, Harry. That too has its strengths and weaknesses, but many of the strengths of being human are strengths that Tom Riddle cannot understand. He enforces loyalty, or sees it as mere self interest. You and your friends are loyal to each other for what you are, not what they can do for you. You will know love. Tom Riddle has never known love. I doubt he has loved anyone, even himself. What I see as strengths, he sees as weakness. And that may yet be his downfall."

Harry did his best to digest this. In many ways, it was like many off Dumbledore's pronouncements: true, profound, but lacking in detail; somehow nebulous.

"You may not yet understand all this, Harry, but one day you will, and I hope that day will be the day when we no longer have to worry about the threat posed by Tom Riddle. But more I cannot say."

Harry thought about this for some time. Eventually: "What you're saying is that I need to grow up some more."

Dumbledore smiled in the firelight. "Partly that, yes. But as time goes by, it's not only a matter of growing up, it is that of acquiring wisdom. Some never do, of course. But I hope you will."

"Fair enough," Harry replied. "Because at the moment, I don't feel any sort of match for Tom Riddle. I've escaped and evaded him up to now, but one day my luck is going to run out."

"And one day his luck will run out too." Dumbledore sighed. "I've been doing my best to protect you all these years not only because of the prophecy, but also because I knew you would be a target for Tom if he ever were to come back - as indeed he has. If you are to succeed in overcoming him, you need time to grow in stature and in wisdom."

"Keep my head down and gain what experience I can."

"Exactly, Harry, exactly. But we have had some limited success: he has been thrown very much on the defensive, and whilst he still has many of his powers, he lacks support. As for the rest ... only time will tell."

"I suppose so," said Harry heavily. "Anyway, you've given me a lot to think about. And I've had a busy enough day. I'll head back to Gryffindor Tower, if I may, Professor."

"Certainly, Harry," as Dumbledore rose to his feet. "It is a burden to weigh on anyone, let alone a youngster such as yourself. But remember: it is a bridge to be crossed when you get there. In the meantime: make the most of things."

"I will," smiled Harry. "Thank you for the help and advice."

"Any time, Harry, any time. And sleep well."

"Thank you."

Harry made his way slowly back to Gryffindor Tower. The common room was still fairly busy: in a couple of armchairs near the fire he could see Ron and Hermione. They were quietly writing away on parchments. He pulled up a chair next them.

"All right, mate?" Ron asked.

"Fine. What're you doing?"

"Intelligent Magical Creatures. Wynne's essay. He set the rest of the class a bog standard essay on goblins, but Hermione and I have got to write an essay on our own personal experiences with them." Harry remembered that he'd promised to give Wynne an evening talking about his dinner invitation at Raknuk's. "So what have you been up to?"

"Talking to Dumbledore."

"Oh?"

Harry could see Hermione's eyes leaving her essay, and looking across to him.

"Yeah, well. Seeing what he could tell me about Tom Riddle - that sort of thing."

"Useful?" asked Hermione.

"In a sort of way. You know Dumbledore - strong on generalities and weak on detail."

"But?"

Harry hesitated. "Well, I think one of the things I need to find out more about are the Dark Arts."

Ron's eyebrows rose sharply. Hermione, on the other hand nodded. "Makes sense."

"Why?" asked Ron. "What do you want to know about that sort of stuff for?"

"Because," said Hermione, "if he wants to get the better of Voldemort, then he's got to know what he knows - how his mind works, that sort of thing."

"So how are you going to do that? Don't tell me, Hermione - go to the library!"

"Well, Ron you might know of a few convenient Dark Wizards who'd happily talk about their secrets."

Ron snorted. "As if!"

"Well, how else then?"

"All the useful books are going to be in the Restricted Section, anyway."

"So?"

"Hermione, you're not ..." - Ron rolled his eyes - "... going to go Breaking Rules?"

"No," said Hermione. "I think there's a pretty good chance Dumbledore would give Harry a note to Madam Pince for the three of us."

Ron grunted. "He might do. Worth asking. What do you think, Harry?"

"Hermione's right. Moody can be helpful, but he's not going to give us great insights into how Tom Riddle thinks. And it's not just curses and things - it's how people like that think that we need to know."

"So we're looking for books called How to Kill People and Rule the World?"

"Don't be silly, Ron. Harry's right. You can't really defeat them unless you know how they tick."

"There are dangers," said Harry awkwardly.

"What do you mean?" asked Ron.

"Well, if you get in too deep ..."

"... I'll become a Death Eater?" The idea did make Harry smile. "Or you'll become a new Dark Lord?"

This was a little closer to the mark. Hermione was looking at him closely.

"Are you worried about that, Harry?"

"I ... oh, I don't know. But it can't be a good thing, getting into Dark Magic."

"You don't actually have to do any," said Hermione practically.

"Even so. The temptation's there - to use it, I mean, in a tight spot."

"I know you won't like finding out about it, but I think you need to."

Harry sighed. "Probably."

They were interrupted by one of the second years. Edward had been given the job of training up the Gryffindor First Year Quidditch team, and he wanted to ask Ron's advice, now Ron was Captain of the Gryffindor team. Harry tuned them out as he stared into the fire. Then he heard a mention of the new cup.

"Fantastic, isn't it?" he heard Ron saying.

"What is?" he asked, turning to look at them.

"There's going to be a trophy for the First Year Quidditch competition. It's called the Cedric Diggory Cup. We had a meeting of the Senior and Junior team captains, and they produced this cup, and told us it was a new one, just for the competition."

"A new cup? Who donated it?" Hermione asked.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. Not the Diggorys, apparently. McGonagall said it had been donated by 'a friend of the school'."

Harry hadn't seen the cup yet. He'd made some enquiries as to what a cup like that might cost, and then given McGonagall more than enough, and left it up to her.

"What does it look like?" he asked.

"Great big ornate silver thing. Looks a bit like ..." - Ron hesitated - "... the TriWizard Cup."

"Oh." Harry thought that was fair enough. After all, it was the cup that had caused Diggory's death. Kill the spare! Suddenly he shivered, as too many memories were re-awakened.

"Are you all right, Harry?" he heard a voice.

"What? Oh, yeah," he told Hermione.

"Anyway," Ron went on, oblivious to Harry's reaction, "they're going to have the championship at the start of the summer term. A match each weekend for the first four weeks."

"That's why I want to get a move on selecting the team," Edward said.

"Yeah, okay."

"David's over there with a list. Do you want to come and ..."

"Sure."

He got up leaving Harry and Hermione sitting there. Hermione looked at the departing Ron.

"He's really making a good job of running the Quidditch. And looking after the Junior team like that - must take up a lot of time."

"It's what he's always wanted to do. And he's doing it well. Rising to the challenge, so to speak."

There was a moment or two's silence before Hermione asked: "Do you know who gave that cup for the Juniors?"

"Me? No idea," he said as casually as he could.

Hermione gave him a sharp look, seeing through his evasion. "It wasn't you, was it?"

Harry shuffled uncomfortably under the direct question. Hermione was too bright for her own good at times. "Er, well ..."

"It was, wasn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but, look, Hermione ... keep it to yourself. I don't want people knowing. Don't go spreading it around, okay?"

She continued with that penetrating look. "No, I won't. But it was - well, very good of you."

"Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"I promise."

Harry knew that when Hermione gave her word, she kept it. "Yeah, well, I thought that if the First Year Quidditch team idea was going to be taken seriously, a cup would help. And who better to call it after ..."

Hermione's look softened. "I think it was a brilliant idea."

"Do you think so?" He stared into the flames, then sighed. "That's, I suppose, why we've got to do this Dark Arts stuff. To stop there being any more Cedric Diggories." Kill the spare!