The Duelling Club

"I think it's about time we had a little chat," Milo said, closing the office door behind him. "About what really happened in the Forbidden Forest in September."

Quirrell slid his office chair backwards slightly, covering the motion of his hand as he covertly drew his wand.

"W-what about it?" he asked, his voice kept carefully neutral.

"There were always a few facts about that night that never quite added up to me," Milo said, ignoring the Professor. "For example — how did I get poisoned? The Acromantula never had a chance. How did the Acromantula die? The log I dropped on it wasn't nearly enough to do the deed."

"It l-looked quite heavy t-to m-m-me," Quirrell stammered.

"It should have shrugged the log off and eaten me on the spot," Milo told him. "And it's body had no signs of prior injury, so it isn't like the log was enough to push it over the edge into negative hit points. No, something else killed that Acromantula. Something that kills its target without leaving a trace."

Quirrell tightened the grip on his wand beneath the desk.

"I-I don't —"

"Oh, I think you do," Milo said. "There's only one spell that could do that, and, Hells, you used it against Fluffy. You're a hero for it, after all. The Killing Curse."

"W-what —"

"But the Curse is hardly stealthy, it has a signature bright green flash. The spider was right in front of me and it was pitch dark — there's no possible way I could have missed it."

"Y-you m-must have," Quirrell said. "Or r-rather, the Acromantula d-died s-some other —"

"No," Milo cut him off. "Don't you see? I saw the spider killed. A wizard did it right before my very eyes. He just walked right up, killed the Acromantula, and left. He cut off one of the spider's fangs — Acromantula venom is potent even after death, after all — and stabbed me in the stomach with it. I saw everything."

"Then w-why d-d-didn't you s-say so earlier?"

Milo reached into his robes, and Quirrell, surprised, nearly killed him on the spot. It was only the knowledge that Milo had no need of a wand to use magic that stayed his hands.

Of all things, it was a Remembrall that Milo withdrew from his pocket.

A Remembrall which shone like the sun.

"I was Memory Charmed."

"Th-that's hardly proof," Quirrell pointed out. "P-perhaps you s-simply f-f-forgot to b-brush your t-t-teeth l-last night?"

"I, like any self-respecting Arcanist, use Prestidigitation, which is quite beside the point. I can prove to you that it was no inconsequential memory that I've forgotten," Milo said calmly. "Describe the Remembrall for me, Professor."

"I d-d-don't understand," Quirrell said.

"It's quite simple. Just... a quick description of this ball will suffice."

Quirrell shrugged. What's this boy's game?

"It's a t-tennis b-ball s-s-sized c-clear g-g-glass ball f-full of smoke," Quirell said. "I-it t-turns red when the h-h-holder f-forgets something and c-clear when it is r-r-remembered."

"That's an awful lot of adjectives, Professor," Milo said with a slight grin. "At least four."

"S-so what?"

"And it first turned up months ago in a seemingly inconsequential manner — something unimportant about Harry joining the Quidditch team — and again on Hallowe'en, when it broke. Fortunately, one of Neville's supporting characters sent him a replacement. That makes this the third time it's turned up, Professor."

"This m-matters how?"

"Rule of Three. This here, judging by the amount of attention it's gathered, is a very significant plot device. Why, it'd simply be a waste of time if it didn't turn out to be important."

"That's your proof?"

"I've seen men hanged for less in Myra — City of Light, City of Magic!"

"Even a-assuming this is t-t-true," Quirrell said, watching the boy closely, "w-who would d-do such a thing?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question, Professor."

Quirrell tensed, ready to strike.

"It was, of course," Milo said, leaning forwards slightly, "none other than Professor Snape."

"S-Snape?" Quirrell asked. "H-how d-do you know?"

"Honestly, who else would it be?" Milo asked. "You can't shake a staff in this castle without finding an evil plot Snape's behind. I'm starting to think he's only still a teacher because of how dull things would be without him."

"W-why wouldn't he j-just l-let the A-Acromantula k-kill you?" Quirrell asked.

"That's the bit I can't figure out," Milo admitted. "But I'm sure he'll be good enough to explain it in his villain monologue at the end."

"W-why are you t-telling me this?"

"Oh, simple. Snape can pull memories from my head, so I figure I should disseminate important information to trustworthy NPCs — as a sort of backup. Also, and I hate to say this, I'm starting to think I'll need all the help I can get. This situation is becoming... complicated, for a number of reasons. Gods, what I wouldn't give for a straightforward sidequest or monster hunt. In any event, I don't suppose you know of any way to cure Memory Charms?"

"S-sorry," Quirrell apologised. "I-I'm afraid they're g-generally q-quite permanent."

"Hells," Milo cursed. "And Protection From Evil won't do a thing against them, either, based on Hermione's description, which means I'll need to think of something clever. Well, I suppose it can't be used on me as long as I've got my..." Milo trailed off for a second. "That's it!" he exclaimed, and headed back for the door.

"W-wait!" Quirrell called, but Milo, frustratingly, seemed suddenly oblivious to his existence.

o—o—o—o

"It was like an Attack of Opportunity," Milo explained to his party (and Hannah). "His plan wasn't to Imperius me to further his elaborate scheme; he Imperius'd me because I was there."

"Why?" Harry asked. Milo was standing in front of them in the Gryffindor Common Room, a revised version of The Plot hovering in the air, shimmering slightly.

"To prevent me from finding out what he was up to with his eleven Disillusioned friends," Milo answered. "He didn't know or care about the Mirror. He just wanted me gone before I figured out what he was up to. It worked, too."

"So why not simply Stun you?" Hermione asked.

"Or even better, just finish you off for good?" Ron added.

"Or, even better, Memory Charm you — like you said he did after the Acromantula."

"I can't say for sure," Milo said, "but I think it's because he was hoping nobody would notice. A perfect crime, so to speak. Snape doesn't seem to be skilled enough at Memory Charms to replace the target's memories with false ones — at least, I hope he isn't, or we're all screwed — so I'd wake up wondering where the last several minutes went. Something which Mordy here would be all too happy to fill me in on. As for why he didn't kill me... well, he doesn't seem to want me dead anymore, for some reason — except when he does. He's very inconsistent, in fact."

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked.

"Well," Milo explained, "one day he wants me expelled and the next he's possessing you to kill me."

"Sorry about that," Hannah said quietly.

"It wasn't your fault," Milo said. "Just keep your amulet on, and you'll be fine." Milo had decided on impulse to give Hannah the Amulet of Protection From Evil that he'd reserved for himself, meaning he'd have to wait another two days for his. He still wasn't quite sure why he'd done it.

"I'm starting to wonder if something more complicated isn't going on," Milo said.

"Even more complicated than that?" Ron groaned, pointing at The Plot.

"Snape's erratic attempts just aren't lining up anymore. If he really wanted me resting in Boccob's uncaring embrace, why did Hannah open up with Stunners?"

"I thought you said she used Unforgivables," Hermione said.

"She switched when I ducked for cover," Milo explained. "Unless there's some rule or class feature I'm unaware of, Hannah's strategy made no sense."

"Hey," Hannah said.

"Sorry, I mean, Snape's strategy made no sense."

"Well," Hermione mused, "maybe he doesn't want you dead at all?"

"Then why did Hannah use Killing Curses at all?" Milo asked. "It's completely nonsensical."

"Then one of your assumptions is wrong," Hermione said bluntly. "Personally, I don't think it's Snape at all."

"But we know it's him," Milo protested. "He was out meeting Lucius in the forest and everything. Use your eyes, Hermione! He's so obviously villainous."

"And yet," Hermione said coolly, "Dumbledore — the brightest mind of his generation and the most powerful wizard alive — lets him teach here regardless. What do we know about Snape?"

"That he's a smarmy git?" Ron suggested helpfully.

"And that he's allergic to shampoo?" Harry added.

"No," Hermione said firmly. "We know that he met Lucius in the forest and Lucius ordered him to have you expelled, Milo. Expelled. Not murdered."

"Well, maybe he's upped the ante since then —"

"See, I don't think he has. Assuming he was behind the attack on Harry in the Quidditch match, and the test to show you can't make potions, that's two completely non-lethal attempts to expel you."

"Then why would he release a Troll on Hallowe'en, stab me with an Acromantula fang, possess Hannah to kill me, and have the Drow in the kitchen poison my treacle tart?" Milo asked.

"Why indeed?" Hermione smiled. "What if he didn't do any of those things?"

"What," Milo scoffed, "are you suggesting the treacle tart poisoned itself on its own accord?"

"No," Hermione continued, "I'm suggesting there's another agent at play here. Could you adjust the display for a moment? Place Snape and Mister Malfoy off to the side with the various attempts to expel you, and Draco to a different side with his fumbled Quidditch plots."

"If it makes you happy," Milo said, adjusting his illusion. "But that leaves a big hole here, though, with the various assassination attempts."

"Indeed it does," agreed Hermione.

"So... who fills the gap?" Ron asked.

"That's the question we should be asking."

"You aren't seriously suggesting that there's three entirely separate camps of villains working against us?" Milo asked. "That'd just be a huge mess. They'd spend half their time tripping over themselves."

"Why shouldn't there be?" Hermione asked. "Sometimes, real life is just a huge mess."

"Otiluke's Razor suggests otherwise," Milo countered.

Hermione paused.

"Don't you mean Occam's Razor?" she asked tentatively. "'The simplest solution is usually the best one?'"

"Psht! What nonsense is that?" Milo said dismissively. "No, it's, 'the most dramatically appropriate solution is usually the best one.' In this case, it's clearly that You-Know-Who is pulling all the strings behind the scenes." Milo rearranged The Plot to demonstrate, "Except that there's some unknown factor thrown in there as well — probably a betrayal by someone close to us, I'm thinking Neville — which will only be revealed by the villain's final rant. And, as the time-tested Tenser's Theorem states, 'any attempt to discover a shocking twist before the end of an adventure will be doomed to failure, so focus on the job in front of you.' Ergo: defeating 'Puffs in Quidditch."

"I ... don't follow," Hermione admitted.

"Remember when Harry stomped the Slytherins?" Milo asked. "It was a big deal. The Daily Prophet had a field day about... well, about something to do with broomsticks, anyways."

"That both the Nimbus and the prototype Firebolts seemed to suffer from a similar flaw and went haywire," Ron said. "And that the Boy-Who-Lived is quote, unquote 'in addition to being top student in his year, also the best Seeker Hogwarts has seen in many a year —'"

"But I'm not the —" Harry protested.

"Hold up, I haven't even got to the part where it talks about how supremely handsome you are," Ron snickered. "Malfoy wasn't mentioned at all, by the way."

"You see?" Milo said. "There's obviously some kind of subplot or sidequest involving Quidditch. I can only assume that we'll get bonus XP or Magic Items if we win the Cup. So: we'll win."

"But that match against Slytherin was hardly fair," Harry said. "There were plots within bloody plots. I've only been in one real game, what if Hufflepuff wins?"

"Well," Milo said conspiratorially, "I think I can help you a bit, there..."

o—o—o—o

"Mount your brooms, please," Milo heard Madam Hooch say from his seat up in the stands. The Hufflepuffs had arrived with banners bearing a variety of fairly unoriginal slogans (and occasional trash-talk, but Milo suspected that was from the Slytherins, who, strangely, had come out to the witch and wizard to root on the Hufflepuffs) to which Milo had responded with a Silent Image of a fifty-foot tall Crimson-and-Gold Gryffindor lion devouring a Hufflepuff badger. When he added Ghost Sound (which accurately mimicked, in both pitch and volume, the roar of an enraged Dire Tiger, amplified by the voices of the actual students of House Gryffindor — and more than a few Ravenclaws), McGonagall awarded him five points for amazing spellwork and then banned all form of banner, magical or otherwise, from the rest of the match.

When Hooch gave a loud blast of her whistle, the signal to start the game, the players blasted off into the air — but Harry was much, much faster than the rest. This was due to a combination of two factors: Harry's vastly superior Nimbus broomstick, and the fact that he was currently under the effects of Levitate, making him effectively weightless.

"Locate Object — Golden Snitch," Milo muttered under his breath. "Message: Harry, it's thirty-three degrees to my right and eighteen degrees upwards." Milo had carefully chosen the seat closest to dead-centre in the auditorium that he could manage, which put him (unfortunately) almost directly next to Snape.

As Milo continued to mutter instructions under his breath, he noticed something surprising. Quirrell, sitting nearby, had one eyebrow cocked quizzically. Probably thinks I'm praying or something, Milo thought. He can't know what I'm up to, though, can he? Idly, Milo wondered if there was a rule against him pointing the Snitch out to Harry. In any case, what could they do? Milo thought, it's not like you can award a penalty against the audience.

The Hufflepuffs, to be fair, did fairly well for themselves — they managed to seize possession of the Quaffle early on, and the three Chasers, passing the ball between themselves rapidly, were quickly boring down on Wood, defending the goals — not that it helped them much, in the end. Roughly forty seconds (forty-two to be precise, or exactly seven rounds) after the start of the match, Lee Jordan's magically amplified voice rang out over the pitch.

"POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! POTTER HAS THE SNITCH! HA HA, TAKE THAT YOU DUMB, DIRTY, HUFFLEPUFF B—"

"JORDAN!" McGonagall shouted sharply.

"Broomstick flyers, Professor. I was going to say broomstick flyers — honest."

The score was 150-0. The Hufflepuffs were too stunned to process their defeat, much less respond, while close to one-third of the audience erupted into thunderous applause.

"Blimey," said Fred, who sat nearby.

"We're going to need to raid Honeydukes again," said George.

It was, as Lee pointed out happily, the second shortest Quidditch match in Hogwarts History (the shortest, in 1412, ended before the whistle was finished blowing; the Snitch had flown directly down a Hufflepuff Chaser's throat. The Hufflepuff died, tragically, but there was much rejoicing nonetheless — it had been Hufflepuff's first win in over three centuries.)

o—o—o—o

"N-now that y-you know the b-b-basics of D-Disarming," Quirrell stammered to the Duelling Club that Sunday (which had shrunk somewhat since their first, chess-oriented meeting), "p-p-please p-p-pick a p-partner and p-practice."

They'd spent all morning learning Expelliarmus — or, rather, everyone else spent all morning learning Expelliarmus; Milo had been alone in the corner working out some of the kinks in his Fireball spell research. Quirrell's call to grab partners caught Milo somewhat by surprise, and he wound up partnered off to a first-year Ravenclaw NPC.

"I w-will c-count to three," Quirrell said, "and y-you will both t-try to d-disarm your p-partner. Only d-disarm, M-Mister C-Crabbe, I s-saw that l-look."

Milo looked up and down the lines of students. To the upper years, of course, Expelliarmus was old hat — but, in Quirrell's words, they could always be 'b-b-better.'

"Aren't you going to draw?" the Ravenclaw asked him nervously.

"What do I look like, a sketch artist?" Milo snorted derisively.

"No, your wand," the boy hissed. Milo blinked. Oh, right, he thought, and pulled his shiny, barely-used wand from his pocket. He could still smell the varnish that Ollivander (Milo shuddered, repressing the horrible memories) used.

"One," Quirrell counted. The Ravenclaw's wand hand shook. Milo wondered vaguely if a local wizard could accidentally trigger a Silent Spell just by making the right wand motions.

"T-two." Milo whistled casually, staring at the Great Hall's amazing ceiling.

"T-Three," Quirrell finished. A great cry of "Expelliarmus!" rose up from the upper-years, and wands flew in every direction. The first- and second-years, however, were not generally quite so lucky. Most of their spells fizzled out feebly, hardly having any impact whatsoever on their target's wands. Hermione managed to get Ron to drop his wand, but Ron later confessed (out of earshot of Hermione, of course) that he dropped it because his hand was sweaty.

Without a doubt, the worst student off in the hall was Milo's poor Ravenclaw target, who found himself pinned to the ground by a Hippogriff that had not existed a moment before. Several nearby first-years turned and ran in horror, their screams echoing throughout the hall.

"Fetch, Rary!" Milo called to his summoned monster. The Hippogriff grabbed the Ravenclaw's wand from his feebly protesting hand and trotted over to Milo, dropping it at his feet. "Good girl! Now, go back to the Upper Planes from whence you came!" Milo waved his hand, and the Hippogriff vanished as suddenly as it had arrived.

Students nearby — those who hadn't run off — backed away from Milo slowly. The Ravenclaw lay sobbing on the ground.

"It was horrible!" he moaned to himself. "With the talons and the beak and the eyes! Merlin, the eyes! The cold, uncaring eyes!"

"I think I won," Milo said over the screams and tears. "You're disarmed." The fact that nonlethal combat and stage fights only award less than half XP regardless, Milo had almost paid off a week of item crafting with a single spell.

Eyes looked towards Quirrell expectantly, the Hogwarts students presumably waiting for him to either tell Milo off or deduct House Points for traumatizing children. The Defence Professor, however, did nothing more than watch Milo with unreadable eyes.

If I get 75XP for every first year I defeat in a duel, Milo mused, I wonder how much I could earn practicing against a second year — or, for that matter, a seventh year.

As a couple of students carted off the gibbering Ravenclaw, Milo found himself face-to-face with Harry Potter.

"Look," Milo said to his bespectacled partymember. "We're an unbalanced party right now, and I'm higher level than you. That's just fact, it's not a bad thing, necessarily. Everyone started at level one at some point. You'll get up to my level one day, but until then, don't feel bad when you lose. It's really not your fault, I'm a wildly inappropriate CR for you."

"One," Quirrell counted.

"Don't worry," Harry said quietly, "I won't."

"Two."

"Glad to hear —"

"Won't lose, that is."

Milo simply chuckled softly.

"Th-three."

"Expelliarmus!" Milo stared in horror at his suddenly-empty gloved hand. His useless wand had been tossed halfway across the Great Hall, in plain view of dozens of witnesses. By a level one. In a fair fight.

"How did you do that?" Milo exclaimed. "Half your year can't even cast the spell, much less on their first try after winning Initiative!"

"I dunno," Harry admitted. "The spell just, sort of, came naturally to me."

"Rematch?" Milo asked.

"Sure," Harry agreed. Without needing to be asked, Mordy dropped out of his pocket and scurried across the floor to retrieve Milo's wand. "Whoever's wand hits the floor first loses."

"Expelliarmus!" Harry cast again as soon as Quirrell finished counting.

Milo's wand flew out of his hand, but abruptly stopped in midair a few feet behind him and floated back into his hand.

"How did you —"

"Cast Mage Hand when you weren't looking. Also, Grease." The wand in Harry's hand suddenly slipped through the fingers of his right hand, but, with reflexes only a Seeker could match, he caught it adroitly with his left.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Hells!" Milo cursed as the wand flew from his fingers again. He'd had to break concentration on Mage Hand in order to cast Grease, which he'd been certain would end the duel.

"Rematch?" Harry suggested cheerily.

"Count on it," Milo answered, and waited for Quirrell to start counting again. I'll have to stop underestimating him, Milo decided. He must have Improved Initiative and a high Dexterity score — makes sense, considering his Quidditch skills.

"Three," Quirrell finished.

"Nerveskitter! Grease!" Milo called, while Harry shouted "Expelliarmus!" simultaneously. Both their wands dropped to the floor with a clatter.

Milo picked up his wand and twirled it about his fingers idly. A few nearby students gave him an askance glance — if any of them started spinning a wand like it were a pencil, something was likely to catch fire.

"That... was impressive," Milo admitted grudgingly. If I'm level five and Harry's level one (is Harry still level one?) then he just got enough XP from me to level up about a dozen times. Could Harry level up? Do these local yokels even have levels, in the conventional sense? And if so, do they gain XP? The idea seemed farfetched to him, but it wasn't impossible — Redcaps, for example, increased in level by dipping their caps into the blood of dead sentient creatures. At least, his Redcaps did.

"Thank you," Harry said, sounding genuinely pleased. "Not like it'll do any good in a real battle, of course."

"Are you kidding?" Milo asked. "A no-save auto-disarm spell? Against enemies incapable of using magic without a wand in their hand? What you've got there, buddy, is a game changer. Sure, the other side seems awfully fond of Killing Curses — but really, when it comes down to it, they're tactically almost identical. A wandless wizard and a dead wizard are different only in time elapsed."

"I suppose," Harry said, his brow furrowed. "Shall we call it a draw, then?"

Milo managed to disarm another three NPCs in first- and second-years before running out of disarm-capable magic, at which point he became target practice.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Milo muttered, picking up his wand for the dozenth time in a row after some snotty punk of a Ravenclaw disarmed him (odd how the more he lost, the snottier and punkier his opponents seemed to become).

"A-and I think that's all for t-t-today," Quirrell said, dismissing the club. Almost everybody turned to leave, but a large number of students (including, to Milo's satisfaction, a certain young Malfoy heir) had to root around to find their wands first. As people filed towards the exits, the turbaned professor walked over to where Milo was grumbling. "I h-have to ask," Quirrell said softly, "why are y-you in this c-club? It's n-not like you c-can learn anything I h-have to t-t-teach."

"Are you kidding?" Milo asked. "I got two hundred and twenty-five Experience Points today. Not a patch on what I got from that Redcap over the holidays, but it's a respectable amount nonetheless."

"Indeed?" Quirrell said, and suddenly smiled. "W-well, I'm g-glad to hear it."

The strange thing was, he really did seem happy on Milo's behalf. Great, Milo thought irritably. For once I succeed a Sense Motive check, and that's what I learn? Why do I even bother?

"Thanks," Milo muttered.

"S-something you s-said last w-w-week stuck in my m-mind," Quirrell said. "About s-sidequests and s-subplots."

"Oh?"

"I th-think I h-h-have one s-such opportunity," Quirrell said quietly. "B-but it m-m-must stay b-between us. C-can you agree t-t-to that?"

"Of course," Milo said. He knew a plot hook when he saw it; he'd say just about anything to get the conversation to the 'quest offer' point.

"S-something is s-still preying on unicorns," Quirrell said conspiratorially.

"Is the Troll back?" Milo said. "I heard it ran off pretty quick last time."

"N-no," Quirrell said. "At least, n-not to my knowledge. No, I b-believe s-something else is hunting the p-p-poor, d-defenceless, innocent unicorns."

"Really?" Milo asked, intrigued. "So, the Troll was innocent the whole time? This complicates things even further," he mused.

"N-now, it's e-extremely d-d-dangerous," Quirrell said, "a-and I'd q-quite understand if you —"

"I'm in," Milo interrupted. Adventurers, as a rule, didn't go around not doing extremely dangerous things. "What's the job?"

If Quirrell was thrown by Milo's sudden agreement to help, he didn't show it. "There is a c-c-cave deep within the F-Forbidden F-F-Forest," Quirrell explained. "So d-deep it's n-nearly on the f-far border."

"Caves are good," Milo said fervently. Gods, what he'd do for a decent dungeon crawl.

"N-not this c-cave, I f-fear. It's unlikely, b-but I f-f-fear it's p-previous ... occupants ... have r-returned."

"And they're killing the unicorns for blood?"

"They d-do seem the t-type," Quirrell admitted, "b-being V-V-V-Vampires."

Milo gave a low whistle. He knew he hadn't been carrying around five pounds of garlic powder all these years in vain. "Why do you need my help?" Milo asked.

Quirrell glanced from side to side nervously. "T-to t-tell the truth," he said, "I'm t-t-terrified. It's m-my d-d-duty as D-Defence Professor to investigate, but... V-V-V-V-V—"

"—Vampires—"

"Yes, thank you, V-V-V... bloodsuckers t-terrify me. I w-wouldn't be asking for help if I d-didn't know you h-had so m-much experience w-with th-them."

"When do we leave?" Milo asked.

"Friday," Quirrell said. "J-just after d-dark."

Milo was so fixated on his conversation with Quirrell that he completely failed to notice that Draco Malfoy, despite having long since found his wand, had yet to leave the room...