Harry Potter and the Michaelmas Term

The afternoon had finished with a double Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. Harry sat at the back of the room as usual, with another of the books from Moody's collection. The old man had been talking about shield charms, and had been throwing hexes around the class to see how well people coped with them. One of the advantages of being at the back was that it was very difficult for Moody to throw one at him without hitting someone else instead.

When the bell rang, Harry gathered up his things and began stuffing them into his bag. Moody was talking to Ron as he went by the desk, and he made his way past them and out into the corridor. But as he came through the door, he felt someone plucking at the sleeve of his robe. He turned and was slightly surprised to see it was Dean.

Dean did not look at all happy; indeed, he was biting his lip and there was a look of anxiety in his eyes. Something was up.

"Harry, can I have a word?"

"Sure," said Harry automatically.

"Not here. Somewhere quiet."

"Of course," surprised now.

Harry followed Dean down the corridor and into an empty classroom, wondering what this all might be about. Dean put his bag down on a desk and rummaged in it, pulling out an envelope.

"Here," he said, handing it to Harry.

Harry opened it and pulled out a piece of paper. It was cheap lined Muggle writing paper, folded in half, and he straightened it out and began to read. Dean watched him anxiously.

Dean,

Something's hapenned to yore parents. You musnt tell anyone at that sckool of yores, but they've gone.

You nede to come home, Dean, and sort things out. I cant do it myself.

Can yu come and see me as quickly as yu can?

Luv, Olive.

Harry frowned as he read the letter. This couldn't have been written by the girl who beat Hermione at Scrabble in the summer holidays, who had put down 'gazebo' on a triple letter score - not with spelling like that. The writing was awkward too, going up and down along the lines. He turned it over but the back was blank.

"How did this get to you?" he asked Dean.

"Owl post. This morning."

Harry frowned again. How could Olive send things by owl? He looked at Dean again.

"Do you get many letters from her?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. It's always been a problem cos we don't get Muggle post here, and she can't send stuff by owl."

"So who sent it?"

"That's what I'd like to know."

"And is this her writing?"

"Well, sort of - but normally she's really neat."

"This isn't."

"I know."

"And she can spell better than this, surely."

"It's funny. After meeting you and Hermione and the others, she had the idea she'd make something of herself. She didn't have any confidence, see, and the schools round us - well, they're crap. She beats Hermione at Scrabble, and thinks, well, if I can do that, why don't I go to college and get some exams. A levels, that sort of thing. She can write really well, and express herself - not like that. Better than I can. And she can spell properly too."

"So what do you make of it?"

Dean's face clouded over. "I don't know what to make of it."

Harry turned the piece of paper over and over in his hands, but was none the wiser. "What are you going to do?"

"Well ... I was thinking of going to her place to find out."

"In London, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"When?"

"Now."

Harry was taken aback. "Now?"

"Yeah. I can Apparate there. Ollivander paid for my course last summer. Said it would make things easier for me."

"Not from Hogwarts, you can't."

"Yeah, I know that. So I take a walk in the grounds, and find myself by the gates and step outside ..."

Harry thought about this. It would work. But there was another problem. If something had happened to Dean's parents and to Olive, then it was a sure bet that Voldemort was behind it somewhere. And if that was the case, then there was no way he could let Dean go off looking for them by himself. Besides, if he did, Dean would just end up as another hostage. He had to go with Dean - but he couldn't make it too obvious. Dean was worried enough already. There was no need to bring Voldemort into things lust yet - although Harry reckoned that Dean must have worked that out for himself already.

Harry thought about this for a minute, still looking at the letter. Then: "Do you want me to come with you?" he asked as casually as he could.

Dean was awkward. He shuffled his feet, looked down at the floor. Eventually: "You don't have to."

Harry thought he'd have to spell things out a little more. "Oh, I do."

"What do you mean?"

"Something's happened to Olive and your parents. Why? Because you're a friend of mine."

"You don't think ...?" The look of anxiety in Dean's face deepened.

"I don't know. But who would want to harm you or your parents?"

Dean bit his lip, thinking. "We could always tell McGonagall ..."

"Maybe."

"You know the Minister, don't you?"

"Yeah."

"Would that be any use?"

"Depends," said Harry quietly. "If we make it official, we'll be cut out of it. And I think time's important here, too."

"Yeah." Dean stared at Harry. "Will you come, then?"

"Sure. Should we bring someone else?"

Dean pondered this. "The only other person I'd take would be Ron - but, I dunno ..."

"Easier with just two of us."

"That's what I thought."

"Okay then. How this for a plan? We go back to Gryffindor, change, amble out into the grounds, and meet at the gate. Say - twenty minutes?"

"Sounds good to me."

Harry handed the letter back, then they hurried out of the classroom and up to the tower. They did a quick change in the dormitory into something that wouldn't look too out of place to Muggles, then ran back down the stairs again. Ron was standing in the middle of the common room, talking to Ginny, and turned when he saw Harry.

"Practice in half an hour?"

Damn, damn, damn. Harry skidded to a standstill. Quidditch practice. What was he going to say to Ron? He could say he'd be there, and just not turn up. The alternative would involve some long explanations. He took the easy way out.

"Yeah, see you there. Got to do something first, though - I'll have to run."

"Don't be late," he heard Ron shouting after him.

He knew he was going to have to disappoint Ron and the others, and hated himself for it. But to stop and try and explain - they'd all want to come if he did that.

He hurried down the stone staircases in the Entrance Hall. Snape was standing there in the middle of the hall for some reason, looking around. Harry immediately slowed down when he saw him, and tried to go past in a sort of innocent amble. Snape turned and glared at him, but obviously couldn't think of anything to stop Harry for, even though he obviously wanted to. But just as Harry was walking along trying to look as unconcerned as he could, Peeves zoomed in to the Entrance Hall, and caught sight of him. The poltergeist's face lit with glee, and Harry's heart sank. Peeves was just about to burst into some ditty when he saw Snape, and Snape saw him.

"Peeves!"

"Professor?" said Peeves with mock innocence.

"Go and create mischief elsewhere," Snape snarled. "Go. Now!"

Harry could see Peeves thinking this over whilst he tried a couple of back flips, but even Peeves thought twice about taking on Snape. With another zoom, he was gone. Snape glared after him, and Harry used the opportunity to make it through the doors while Snape's attention was elsewhere.

As soon as he was outside, Harry broke out into a run again. It was a bright sunny day, and quite a lot of people were ambling around. Several obviously wanted to stop and talk to him, but he just gave them a swift 'Hi!' and wave of the hand as he ran past.

He dived into the bushes and made his way to the gates, where he stopped, panting. Dean stepped out from the undergrowth nearby.

"What did Ron want?" he asked.

"Quidditch practice tonight."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I'd be there."

"Oh."

"Yeah." A moment's pause. "Come on. We'd better get a move on."

They stepped nonchalantly out of the gates and into some nearby trees.

"Remember how to get to my bedroom?" Dean asked. Harry nodded. "I'll go first."

"Got your wand?"

"Yeah." And Dean disappeared.

Harry followed. They were in Dean's room at home: he glanced around. The bedroom was as he remembered it. "Is everything as it should be?"

Dean did a quick scan round, then: "Yeah. I think so." He gripped his wand more tightly and went to the door, opened it cautiously, looked out. "No one around." He pushed the door open wider and stepped into the living room. Harry followed him.

The small flat had the unmistakeable air of being empty and deserted. It was neat and tidy enough, but no one was there.

"What next?" asked Harry, looking around.

"There's no one here." Harry could hear a slight tremor in Dean's voice. "They could have just gone out but ..."

"So where now?"

"Olive's, I suppose."

"Where's that?"

"Not far. Next block. Come on."

They went to the door and stepped out into the corridor. There were flats either side, and a lift. Dean pressed the button for the lift. No lights came on.

"Bloody thing's not working again. Come on, we'll have to use the stairs."

They clattered down four flights of steps and out into the open. There was an expanse of concrete and tarmac in front of the block, with cars in various states of disrepair, as well as broken bottles, cigarette packets and other rubbish blowing about in the wind.

"Told you it wasn't up to much round here," muttered Dean.

As Harry was taking in the scene, a lad came round the corner and saw the two of them standing there. He was obviously a local, because he stopped, looked at the two of them standing there, and said: "Hi, Dean," in a surprised tone of voice.

"Oh, hi, Kevin. Look, you haven't seen my mum and dad, have you?"

The boy thought about that. "Let's see - well, not for a day or two, anyway. Lost them, have you?"

"Something like that."

"Sorry, mate, can't help."

"Thanks anyway."

The boy shrugged and walked through the door to the block.

Dean looked at Harry wordlessly.

"Come on," said Harry, "let's find Olive."

"Yeah."

Harry saw what Dean meant when he said it was a rough area. Gangs of youths lurked at various corners, and eyed them curiously as they hurried by. He was glad he was with Dean - he'd be too obvious a target if he were here alone. No one accosted them though as they made their way into another of the tower blocks.

"They should knock these places down," muttered Dean, as he pressed the button for the lift.

Fortunately this one worked, and they headed up to the third floor. The lift opened and they stepped out to see more doors around them.

"This one," said Dean, knocking. No answer. He knocked again, louder, and then the door swung open.

"Dean!" the woman said in surprise.

"Hi, Mrs Jackson. Olive in?"

"No, dear - I thought she might be with you."

"Oh?"

The woman looked up and down the corridor. "Better come in," she said, and pulled the chain off the door.

Inside it was very much like Dean's flat: cramped, but tidy. Mrs Jackson waved them towards some chairs. Dean sat perched on the edge of one, very tense.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Well, yesterday this lad knocked on the door. About your age. A white boy. Ever so well spoken and polite."

"What did he look like?"

Mrs Jackson considered. "Well - taller than you, and a bit on the skinny side. Dressed a bit funny. Don't know quite how, but it didn't seem right."

"Did he say who he was?"

"Oh, yes. Said he was from your school. Theo, his name was. Funny name."

Dean and Harry looked at each other. They know exactly who she meant. Theo Nott.

"What did he want?"

"He wanted to talk to Olive. Said he'd got a message from you. They went into her room, and they were there about a quarter of an hour. Then they come out, and Olive was very worried looking. Says she's got to go out. And the boy gives me an envelope - said to give it to you if you come round. I've got it somewhere." She got up and started rummaging, then came back clutching something. "Here." She held it out to Dean. "Odd sort of envelope," she commented.

Dean opened it and extracted the parchment from inside. He read it through, and Harry could see his forehead furrow. Dean looked up and held it out to Harry.

Dean, I'm taking Olive away for a visit. I think you may want to come and see whether she's all right. If you do, the instructions are on the other side. Theo.

Harry turned it over. On the reverse were instructions about how to Apparate to where Olive was being held. They were very carefully worded so that it would be impossible to work out where the final destination was. Harry knew the implications of that.

Mrs Jackson was watching them anxiously. "She will be all right, won't she?"

"I'm sure she will be," said Harry automatically.

"I mean, she's been gone more than twenty four hours now. And Theo said he was taking her to meet Dean."

"These are the instructions as to how to get there - to where we're meeting."

"It all seems very funny," she said doubtfully. "I mean, that boy coming here like that."

"It's Theo's sense of humour," Harry re-assured her. "He likes a joke."

"No, it's not that," said Dean quietly.

"What do you mean?" asked Mrs Jackson.

"She's been taken."

"Taken?"

"Yeah. As a hostage."

Mrs Jackson sat bolt upright. "What have you been up to?"

"Me? Nothing," said Dean.

"Then why's she been taken?"

"Because of me," said Harry wearily.

Mrs Jackson looked even more perplexed as she stared at him. "You? What's it got to do with you?"

"Someone wants to get hold of me. So Olive's been taken in the hope that I'll go after her."

"What sort of people? Drug people?"

"Not drug people."

"What then?"

"You might call it a family feud," said Harry.

"So Olive's caught up in your feud?"

"I think so."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going after her."

"How do you know where she is?"

"This tells us," holding up the parchment.

"I want to see that," she demanded.

Harry passed the parchment over. She read Theo's note, then the instructions on the reverse. She was even more bewildered now.

"What does this mean?"

"It's instructions - to Dean and me - about how to get there."

"It makes no sense at all."

"Makes sense to us though."

She turned the paper over and over. "So you're going after Olive now?"

Harry looked across to Dean, who nodded. "Yes," he said quietly.

Mrs Jackson shook her head. "I don't like all this."

"Nor do we. I can only say that I'm sorry that Olive's been involved like this."

"What sort of feud does a boy like you get involved in?"

Harry sighed. "It goes back a long way, Mrs Jackson."

She suddenly produced a hanky and pressed it to her face. "Just bring Olive back, okay?"

"We will," he promised her. Just how, he had no idea.

Dean stood up. "Could I have the paper?" he asked. Mrs Jackson passed it over silently. "Come on, Harry."

"I'm very sorry, Mrs Jackson. We're going to bring her back. Okay?"

Mrs Jackson nodded silently, obviously in tears now. Harry looked at Dean, unsure about what to do next. But Dean jerked his head towards the door, and he followed him out.

"Have you a plan?" Dean asked as they stood outside. Harry shook his head. "You think ... You Know Who has got her?"

"Probably." Dean was silent. "Just as a hostage," Harry hastened to add.

"Yeah, but we go there. What then? He lets us go in return for you?"

"Dunno. But it might be something like that."

Dean was horrified. "We can't ..."

Harry looked at him. "What's the alternative? Go to the Ministry?"

Dean shook his head. "If they get involved, anything might happen."

"So we do nothing?"

Dean shook his head again. "No."

"What then?"

"Oh, God, I don't know." He was silent for a minute or so. Harry stood there letting him think it through. "Let's go back to my place," Dean said eventually.

"Okay."

Walking between the blocks of flats Harry could see the gangs of youths again, watching them suspiciously as they walked past.

"You're okay with me," Dean whispered.

Obviously Harry's anxiety was showing. "You're sure?"

"Yeah."

Harry wasn't sure which scared him the more: the stares he was getting from the gangs, or the thought of coming face to face with Voldemort again.

Back in the flat Dean turned to him.

"Are we going then?"

"Do you really want to go through with this?"

"Yeah."

Dean looked grim but determined. Harry began to realise that it might be quite useful to have him on his side.

"You don't have to come - I can go on my own. It's me he really wants."

But Dean shook his head. "Uh, uh. If we go, we go together."

"What's the point?"

"The point is, someone's got Olive and my parents. And the second thing is that I'm not letting you go on your own."

"You want to get killed too?"

"Doesn't matter. We go together, or we don't go."

"Okay then," said Harry, admitting defeat.

"So - what are we going to come up against?"

"You want the worst?" knowing that whatever he told Dean, there was no way it would match up to reality.

"Yeah."

"Okay. Voldemort's there." Dean flinched slightly. "He's there, and you're no use to him. He does to you what he did to Cedric Diggory."

"You mean - just like that?"

"Yeah. 'Kill the spare.' That's what he said when Cedric and I ended up in the graveyard together. 'Kill the spare.' Do you still want to come?"

Dean closed his eyes, but still: "Yeah."

"Okay. Remember this - whatever happens, don't try anything on. Anything you can do, he can do ten times better. Hang on in there, and let's try and get Olive and your parents away safely."

"Then what?"

"Who knows?"

Dean walked to the window and looked out across London. The light was beginning to fade now, and a few streetlights were glowing. He turned back to face Harry, a silhouette against the light. "Anything else you can tell me?"

Harry thought for a moment. "Yeah, one thing. Never, ever try to deceive him. He can always tell when you're lying to him. It's called legilimency."

Dean nodded. "Okay. No tricks then."

"No. He'll know."

"Fair enough. So how do we get there?"

"You've got the parchment."

Dean dug it out from a pocket and started reading. "Why has he done it like this?"

"So you can't work out the destination in advance."

Dean's face cleared. "Ah, I see." He read the parchment again.

"Can you manage that?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I think so."

"Let me have another look."

Dean passed the parchment over and Harry checked the details. When he was sure he knew them, he passed it back. Harry could see the expression on Dean's face: fear, yet determination. He could feel the tightening of his own stomach as he faced the prospect of what was to come. Another encounter. Hadn't he had enough?

He looked across to Dean, who looked as frightened as he felt. "Together?" Dean nodded. "On the count of three?" Dean nodded again. Harry remembered the last time he'd said something like that to someone. And what had happened.

"Okay then. One ... two ... THREE."