3 Chapter 03

"Best not let Poppy see that," Dumbledore suggested. "She would not, I believe, take kindly to seeing a rat in her hospital wing. Now, could you please tell me, of what school—if, indeed, any—are you a student?"

"Conjuration," Milo said proudly, "though I've always had something of a knack for Divinations as well."

"The School of Conjuration?" Albus frowned. "Unless I'm mistaken, they were shut down, oh, sometime in 1869, after the Spoons Incident." Nearby, McGonagall shuddered. "Would you take it amiss if I asked to see your wand?"

"My wand? I don't have one. Never saw the point, really, and even if I wanted one I couldn't afford it."

"No wand?" McGonagall gasped. But Dumbledore frowned.

"Now, I'm not one to pay close attention to the ins-and-outs and developments of sporting equipment, but how is it that you managed to come by what I believe to be a most expensive racing broom if you can't afford even a simple wand?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, that thing? I took it off a cultist," Milo said blandly. "Seems pretty useless to me. If there's any magic in it, I have no idea how to make it work, and its shape is hardly optimal for sweeping."

McGonagall's mind recoiled from the notion of using a Nimbus Two Thousand to clean a house. Thinking the very thought was unthinkably unthinkable.

"I think the more questions he answers, the less sense this makes," Dumbledore said. "Start with the cultists, then how you came to be in Hogsmeade so late at night, then we'll discuss your school and the broomstick."

Milo shrugged.

"My party and I were storming the tower of the Most Maliciously Malevolent Magus, Thamior the Thaumaturge. After fighting our way past all the usual defenses—you know, skeletons, goblins," McGonagall choked slightly on hearing that, "that sort of thing, pretty routine, when we confronted the dark Wizard. Our Rogue crept into a flanking position while I distracted him with taunts, interrupting his monologue. The Cleric and I were about to unleash magical fury when suddenly, I was somewhere else entirely. The next thing I know, I hit a table in a room surrounded by cultists," Milo said. "They had dark robes and masks and everything; you should have seen them. So, one of them started casting some spell, it went like, 'Avada Keda—'" Milo was interrupted as McGonagall desperately clamped a hand over Milo's mouth.

"There's no need to worry, Minerva. He doesn't have a wand," Dumbledore said gently.

"Right. Er. Continue your story, then, Mister Amastacia-Liadon," said the old witch, slightly embarrassed. "But you must never say those words again. They are the incantation for the worst of the Unforgivable Curses."

"Please call me Milo; elf names tend to be on the long side," Milo said.

"Elf names?" McGonagall asked incredulously. "Albus, add that to the list of questions."

"Right, so I blinded the cultists with a Glitterdust, jumped out the window, provided false targets with illusions, summoned a pony, and rode off as fast as I could, but one of them chased me on that broomstick. One casting of Grease on the stick and the cultist fell — but he teleported to safety somehow. Not before he killed my mount, though. So I started walking, and I think I'd just found some village or another when I passed out. Pretty lucky, really, all things considered."

"Albus," McGonagall said quietly. "These… cultists… he speaks of. They sound an awful lot like—"

"I'd noticed, Minerva. It appears they were not quite so disbanded as we had once believed." Dumbledore said ominously. Milo grinned. That sounded like a plot hook if he'd ever heard one.

"Now, young wizard, if you could tell me what school you attend so I can see you home safely?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, that kind of school? Nah, never bothered," Milo said. "You gain experience way faster hunting dark Wizards and goblins and things, let me tell you."

"No school?!" McGonagall gasped again, this time even more offended than when she'd heard of his lack of wand. "That's criminal! Your parents should be arrested!" The professor paused, looking concerned. "You—you do have parents, don't you, Mister Ama—er, Milo?" she asked gently.

"Parents? Most likely. They're…" he paused. Something was wrong. He reached out for his memories of his parents, but came back with nothing. He started to panic. "I don't understand. My parents, they're… they're… what's happening?"

"Are you… quite alright, young man?" McGonagall asked, her voice full of concern.

"I… this has never happened before," Milo confessed. His backstory generally wrote itself on an as-needed basis. "Obviously I had parents, but I… I just, I can't remember them."

"Oh, I am so, so sorry." McGonagall said seriously. It broke her heart how many orphans came through Hogwarts, especially in the time after the war.

"Minerva, if you would please come with me for a moment, I think we need to discuss this with the other heads of houses," Dumbledore said. "We'll be back shortly, Milo, in the mean time I'll let Poppy take care of you."

o—o—o—o

"I think it's obvious that we're dealing with a very confused individual," Sprout said sadly after McGonagall had explained the situation. "He seems to have been orphaned at a young age and fended for himself since then, and is quite delusional."

"Sadly, I must agree," Dumbledore said. "I think we can assume that very little of his story is true, although he did describe the Death Eaters and the Killing Curse with an alarming level of accuracy. I think it likely, unfortunately, that his parents were killed by them at a young age."