10 Chapter 10

"That… that doesn't sound like magic at all," Hermione said slowly. "At least, not like any magic I've read about. And believe me, I've read a lot."

"What, seriously?" Milo asked. "How do you do it, then?"

"Well, I learn the spell by reading how it's done. Then, after I practice enough to get the gestures and incantation just right, I just have to do it again and the spell gets cast."

"Huh," Milo said. "How many times can you do that? In a given day, I mean?"

"I've never noticed a limit," Hermione said. "I mean, it can be a little exhausting, depending on the spell. But there's no hard cap."

"What, seriously?" Milo asked again. "Well, that's hardly fair. How many spells can you learn?" They were starting to sound like Warlocks, who could cast an infinite number of spells per day but only learned a few different ones to choose from.

"Well, I can cast three, but nothing very impressive so far. But learning them isn't all that hard," she said.

"Not that hard, she says," Ron muttered. "Don't listen to her, mate; it's pretty hard."

Harry just shrugged.

"I mean, is there no limit?" Milo asked. "Or, if you worked hard enough and practiced enough, could you just… keep learning them?"

"Yes, that's right. With enough hard work and practice, there's no upper limits beyond the confines of normal human memory," Hermione said, as if reciting the line from memory. "I'll bet Dumbledore knows thousands of spells."

"That's so…so…so… broken!" Milo exclaimed. "That's so unfair! I can get eleven a day, and almost half of those are cantrips! And I've been doing this a lot longer than you!"

"What, you've already been using magic?" Ron asked. "That's illegal, that is."

"Psh, who's to stop me? Besides, I haven't set foot in this country till three days ago. I wasn't even on this plane before that."

"The word's train, mate," Harry said. "Planes fly up in the sky, though most wizards don't know much about them from what I've heard. It's an easy enough mistake to make, don't feel bad."

"No, a plane is a universe into its own, with its own rules and laws governing it," Milo said. He should know, had maximum ranks in Knowledge (the Planes), after all.

"Excuse me, to head off this discussion before it becomes any more unbearable," Hermione interrupted, "it's clear we're operating under different meanings of the same word. Harry is talking about an airplane, a Muggle form of transportation. Milo is talking about a plane of existence, a totally different concept with no known grounding in reality, forcing me to conclude that he is, in fact, quite insane."

"Gee, thanks," Milo muttered. He was about to come up with a snappy retort when the door slid open yet again.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you find your toad again today," Milo said irritably. While not strictly speaking true, any more and he'd be cutting into his emergency first-level spells. Milo never went anywhere without Feather Fall and Grease.

Unfortunately, it was not the good-natured Longbottom boy standing in the doorway. A pale (one) blond (two) boy entered imperiously (and three! We have a recurring character). After a brief moment of shock upon hearing Milo's words, he apparently decided to completely ignore the young Wizard's existence.

"Is it true?" the boy asked. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter is in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes," said Harry. Flanking the sneering boy were a pair of mooks.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," the boy said, although Milo wasn't sure why he bothered. Everything about them said mute NPC. "and my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

Ron sniggered slightly.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are—" Draco paused, staring at Milo. The blood drained from his face, making him look, if it were possible, even paler.

"You! I would have thought you'd be in hiding down the deepest, darkest hole you could find, after showing your face at my father's mansion. Well, Potter, I can see you've chosen your side already—a Weasley, a mudblood, and a dead man. I'd be careful, if I were you, or you might just wind up going the way of your parents." With that, Malfoy spun about on his heel and started to leave. Harry and Ron stood up, their faces livid. Hermione had tears in her eyes—apparently mudblood was some kind of insult. Maybe her ancestors were part dwarf, or something?

"Either of you want to get him, or shall I?" Milo asked.

Ron smirked slightly, but his fists were still held, his knuckles turning white. "Be my guest," he said through clenched teeth.

"Grease," Milo muttered. The ground underneath Malfoy and his mooks became all-but frictionless. The results were fairly predictable, especially given that they were on a moving train.

"You! You! When Father hears about this," Malfoy said, trying (and failing, quite hilariously, in fact) "he'll, he'll—gah!" the Hogwarts Express lurched around a corner, sending causing Crabbe to fall onto Malfoy again. Unfortunately, the spell only lasted for eighteen seconds. "You haven't seen the last of me!" Draco shouted, then stormed off, furiously.

"Mate, forget everything I said about you being crazy. You are alright in my books," Ron said.

"Same goes for me," said Harry. "Let's all hope for Gryffindor together. Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry asked the crying girl.

"F-fine. I'm fine," she said.

"What was that he called you, anyway?" Harry asked, confused.

"Mudblood," Ron said. "It's a dire insult. It means someone whose parents weren't wizards. We'll get him back for that one."

"I rather think we did already get him back," Milo said smugly.

"Nah, that was just interest. We'll come and collect in full one day."

"Hermione, I wouldn't worry about it," Harry said. "Nobody here cares whether or not your parents were Muggles."

"Easy for you to say!" she shot back. "You're all, all purebloods!"

"Hey, take it back!" Milo said. "There's not a drop of magical blood in my family."

They all paused for a beat or three.

"And—you're proud of that?" Ron asked.

"Nine Hells, yeah. It means I'm a Wizard. I had to scrounge and work and fight tooth and nail for my magic. What do you take me for, a Sorcerer?" he asked. Hermione looked somewhat mollified (though confused), and gave him a brief, thankful look.

"What was that all about, anyway?" Hermione asked, her voice steady but her eyes still rimmed with red.

"Oh, he's some git I met at Madam Malkins," Harry explained.

"He comes from a big, rich family," Ron added. "They were among You-Know-Who's first supporters, and also the first to turn their backs on him—or so they say—after he fell. Malfoy's dad claims he was being controlled by magic, but my dad thinks he's full of it."

"Hmm," Hermione said. "Maybe you shouldn't have humiliated him like that. We could come to regret this, if his family's as powerful as all that."

Milo just grinned. Three CR ones defeated, split three ways, was 300 XP each. He lay back as the train reached its destination, enjoying his +1 Intelligence, +2 hp, +6 skill ranks, +1 1st level spell slot, +1 2nd level spell slot, +1 Will save bonus, and +3 friends.

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