Talking is a Free Action

Snape was decidedly more unpleasant towards Milo (and Gryffindor as a whole) in Potions on Monday, presumably because of Milo's near-escape from Snape's test over the weekend.

"You're holding your knife upside-down," Snape sneered at Milo as he sat chopping Knarl tail. "Fifteen points from Gryffindor."

Milo looked down at the knife. He was no expert on weapons (he left that to Fighters and other use-impaired character classes), but the knife's blade was sort of triangular and, by any account, perfectly symmetrical. Personally, he didn't much care, at least now Harry was suffering proportionally less abuse. As soon as Snape's back was turned, Milo siphoned off several potion ingredients into his Belt of Hidden Pouches. He figured he could cut his research and development costs somewhat using pilfered supplies.

It was with an intense feeling of relief that they left the dungeon.

"Oh," Milo remembered suddenly. "I should go see McGonagall, she asked me to see her on Friday but I got mauled by a 'Troll' instead."

"You... you put off seeing McGonagall just because of a Troll?" Ron asked, his face pale with horror.

"Run!" Hermione said, panicked.

Fortunately, their stern Head of House did not seem to mind as much as Ron and Hermione had feared she would that Milo had missed their appointment for frivolous reasons.

"So, erm, you wanted to talk to me about Transfigurations?" Milo asked her nervously.

"Well, I have to admit I was worried that Professor Snape might have been right about you," McGonagall said apologetically, "but, fortunately, you're just as much a wizard as he is—meaning, of course, that there's absolutely no reason that you can't succeed in Transfiguration."

Milo swallowed nervously.

"So, I believe the best thing for you would be to receive some extra help. With this in mind, I've requested that Professor Snape allow you to serve some of your further detentions with me twice a week so I can give you remedial lessons."

"Th-that doesn't sound so bad," Milo lied. Remedial Transfiguration? He would certainly forget to tell this to Hermione. "Thank you, Professor."

"Come to the Transfigurations classroom promptly at seven o'clock every Tuesday and Thursday," she said seriously, "and I'll eat my hat if we don't see some improvement." McGonagall glanced at the clock on her wall. "Well, you'd best be leaving if you don't want to be late for History of Magic."

As Milo walked to Binns' classroom, he decided fervently that the first spell he was going to research would be one that turned his matchstick into a pin. The only problem was that he couldn't think of any spells he'd ever heard of at his level that could even come close to doing that.

The reason for Dumbledore's odd request that Milo sleep in the hospital wing became immediately apparent upon his return to the Gryffindor Common Room Monday afternoon.

"All hail the conquering Troll slayers!" Fred cried as Milo, Hermione, Harry, and Ron climbed through the portal after their last class.

"No part of that sentence is accurate," Milo tried to say, but nobody heard him over the sudden tumultuous roar. It seemed the entire Gryffindor house had turned out to congratulate them for... not quite defeating a 'Troll'. Fred and George had procured food (read: cakes and sweets) and drinks (read: butterbeer) from somewhere.

"Harry and Ron insisted we wait for you two to get out of the hospital wing before celebrating," said George. "Insisted you two did the real work."

"Dumbledore tipped us off that you'd be out today," said Fred.

Well, Milo thought, that solves the Mystery of Dumbledore Asking Me to Wait a Day. If only the Mystery of Who Killed the Acromantula were so simple.

Someone had drawn a surprisingly good (if somewhat over-dramatic) scene of Hermione casting the Gust Jinx on the Troll on a banner hanging from the wall. They'd even bewitched it to move, complete with massive explosion as a grand finale. Hermione turned slightly pink; Milo didn't think she was used to being the centre of attention.

"'Course, the Hufflepuffs are all likely permanently scarred," Fred said.

"Yeah, having a Troll get blasted through your bedroom is likely to do that," said his twin.

"Putting a tree in their common room likely didn't help much, also."

"That said, even they're willing to admit it was pretty awesome."

"Sprout was furious—but only until she got a good look at the tree, mind."

While the twins were talking, Hermione and Milo were lifted up by a crowd of NPCs and passed around.

This is... unusual, Milo thought. He was more used to being presented with bags of gold or magic items as a reward for defeating a monster, but... well, having the Gryffindors throw a party for his party wasn't entirely unpleasant. He could definitely get used to this.

"They're teaching 'The Hermione' in magical self-defence courses around Britain," said Fred. "Some handsome devil leaked it to the Daily Prophet."

"Why, thank you," said George.

"But it was Harry's idea," Hermione protested, but nobody paid her any mind. The Boy-Who-Lived, it appeared, was more than happy to step out of the limelight for once.

"And to think," Lavender said to Parvati, "I always thought she was just an insufferable know-it-all!"

When the party finally wrapped up (well after a reasonable hour) and the Gryffindors trudged off to bed, Milo realized that he hadn't been so happy in ages.

o—o—o—o

The entirety of Gryffindor house, and to a lesser extent the Hogwarts student body as a whole, became increasingly excited as the first Quidditch match of the season loomed. Milo was surprised to find that, against all narrative convention, the tournament was to be opened with Gryffindor playing Slytherin on Friday.

"It's just wrong," Milo said to Harry after the black-haired boy returned, covered in mud, from last-minute practice on Tuesday. "You can't play Slytherin on your first match."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Harry said nervously. He'd seen their team captain a few days prior. Flint (Slytherin's team captain), Harry thought, could have been a distant cousin or nephew of the Hallowe'en Troll.

"You should be fighting them last," Milo pressed. "After a series of ever more difficult games that proportionally match your Quidditch skills. This just doesn't jive."

"Wouldn't that be something," Harry muttered tiredly. He flopped lazily onto one of the Common Room's overstuffed armchairs. Between Gryffindor's communal detentions, his homework (Snape seemed to be assigning the whole class extra work solely to keep Harry occupied before the match) and Wood's frantic Quidditch practice sessions, he'd hardly had any time to relax since his release from the hospital wing. Milo, as usual, had his nose buried in his spellbook, proving about as indefatigable as Hermione when it came to studying—although the similarities broke down shortly after that. While Hermione was practically obsessed with her homework, she was scandalized by how little Milo cared about his school-related studies when, on Wednesday, Milo turned in his assignment for Defence Against the Dark Arts (eighteen inches of parchment on Vampires), which was revealed to be a page full of weird numbers and data, seemingly filled in at random.

"So, about this match tomorrow—" Milo began.

"Don't mention it," said Harry. "Please."

"Oh, okay," Milo said, sounding somewhat hurt. "I was just going to say that I think I can keep you from getting grievously injured by Bludgers. No big deal, though."

Harry paused. There was a short, but noticeable, glint in his eye.

"Really, now?" he asked.

"Mage Armour," Milo muttered. "There. You're surrounded by an invisible force field."

"You're just putting me on, aren't you," said Harry suspiciously.

"No, it's true. Watch this," Milo said, and threw a nearby mug at Harry.

"Ow!" Harry said, as the ceramic cup hit him in the chest. "That really hurt!" (in the background, ignored by everyone, was a quiet "Hey! That was my mug!" from Neville).

"Uh," said Milo. "Look, nobody can predict rolling a 20, okay? Happens to the best of us. Let me try again." Milo picked up a Sickle (the silver coin, not the Simple Weapon).

"No!" Harry said, raising his arms to cover his head. "I'll just... I'll just trust you on this one, okay? I'm protected by an invisible force field that will help against speeding Bludgers but can't stop small ceramic cocoa mugs. I'm going to bed."

Harry started climbing the staircase to the tower that held their dorm room.

"Oh, wait," Milo said suddenly, "I'd been meaning to ask you something."

"Sure, what's up?" Harry asked sleepily.

"Well, you've got all these piles and piles of gold, right?"

"Look," said Harry seriously. "I didn't ask for them, right? I can't help being rich—"

"No, it's not that at all. The thing is, well, I need your help."

Harry frowned, all trace of exhaustion gone.

"Sure. What can I do?"

"Well," said Milo, feeling somewhat awkward about asking a friend for money, "you've probably noticed that I tend to use the same spells a lot."

"Uh, yeah, I guess."

"That's because where I come from, Wizards mostly learn spells from other Wizards. But there aren't any of those here," ("Hey!" said Neville) "so I have to develop all of my spells myself."

"But I'm rubbish with spells," Harry said. "You should ask Hermione for help."

"I don't, er, need your, um, expertise, exactly. You see, I get two free spells per level, but to get any others I need weeks of research and access to expensive materials."

"Oh," said Harry. "So you need money."

"...Yeah. But it's for a good cause—you know, fighting Evil and stuff."

"Sure, how much?"

"And I know of numerous ways in which I can turn 3rd-level spells into a way to make us phenomenal amounts of gold—"

"No, look, really, it's okay."

"—so I'll be able to pay you back when I get some free time, probably over the holidays."

"I don't mind, it's not like I'm using it for anything."

"Oh. You mean, you'll really share the loot?"

"'Course, we're friends. Although I sort of object to calling my parents' money loot—"

"Swag, then."

Harry sighed, but decided to ignore it.

"How much do you need?"

"You're not going to like it."

"Just tell me."

Milo told him. Harry didn't like it.

"A thousand galleons?" Harry spluttered.

"No, a thousand gold pieces. Galleons are quite a lot wider and thicker than your standard gp," Milo explained. "There's closer to six and a third gold pieces per galleon."

"So..." Harry said blankly.

"158 galleons, 12 sickles, and 12 knuts. Per week, that is."

Harry choked.

"Half that much again every day and I can make magic items, too."

"You know what? I don't even want to know," said Harry. Milo's hopes deflated. It looked like he'd be stuck here without any spells or magic items after all. "I'll write to Gringotts," Harry said, however. "I dunno exactly what the procedure is for transporting great heaps of gold halfway across Britain, but I'm sure the goblins will think of something."

Milo grinned.

"Thank you. I mean it. We're talking direct money-to-power translation, here. I'll pay you back in a few levels."

Milo climbed into his four-poster bed feeling like he was on top of the world.

o—o—o—o

"We have to kill Milo," Draco announced to Crabbe and Goyle Tuesday morning.

"Yeah boss, kill him!" said Crabbe.

"Sure boss, uh..." faltered Goyle.

"Try murder," Malfoy suggested wearily, "or dispatch."

"Sure boss, murder him!" said Goyle, who had never used the word dispatch before and was frightened to try.

o—o

"We have to kill Malfoy," Milo announced to his party Tuesday morning.

"Hear, hear!" Ron voiced his agreement. "S'what I've been saying for ages."

"Wait," said Harry slowly. "When you say kill..."

"What'd he do this time?" Hermione asked with a yawn.

o—o

"Thus summer, he broke into my father's summer home," said Malfoy imperiously, "and made off with the prototype Nimbus Two Thousand and One that Father had. It can't have been a random act of burglary because it was all done up like a regular Two Thousand—he'd have to have known it was there. I mean, how unlikely would it be that he just so happened to grab the one test Nimbus Two Thousand and One in all of England? There is only one possible conclusion," Malfoy paused dramatically.

o—o

"This Hallowe'en," Milo said theatrically, "he boasted about the Cuddly Cannons defeating the Wigtown Whatevers at that big game thing" (adventurers are notoriously bad about getting long names right) "admitting he was behind it. Now, I thought, 'what could a Quidditch match possibly have anything to do with anything?' when it hit me: the Nimbus Two Thousand. I grabbed one off a Death Eater once, and Harry got one in the mail, and thus it is on our list and therefore of relevance to the plot. The Cannons were all riding Nimbuses donated by Lucius Malfoy, who has connections to the Nimbus corporation. There is only one possible conclusion," Milo paused dramatically.

o—o

"Milo is working for Firebolt."

o—o

"Malfoy is working for the Dark Lord."

o—o

"What's Firebolt?" Crabbe asked, his forehead wrinkled in a gruesome imitation of human thought.

Malfoy sighed.

"A wreck of a broomstick manufacturer; everything they make is a total disaster. Remember? The guys who made the brooms the Wanderers were testing?"

Crabbe stared at Malfoy blankly.

"You're hopeless, Goyle," Malfoy muttered to Crabbe.

"Yeah, you're hopeless, Goyle," Goyle said to Crabbe.

"Yeah, I'm helpless, Crabbe," Crabbe said to Goyle.

"Anyways. The guys working for my father at Nimbus are the best in the world. The Two Thousand is only a few months old but it's already a hopeless antique compared to what they've got planned for the next one. Firebolt would kill to get their hands on it and learn its secrets. We can't let that happen."

o—o

"Seems a bit of a stretch, don't it?" Ron asked.

With a showy gesture, a massive chart appeared in the air behind Milo (in actuality, it was a Silent Image that Milo had cast several minutes prior and had been concentrating on it the whole time while his partymembers woke up. Yes, it would have been easier to just cast it then (or simply used a chart) but he felt this was more impressive).

There was a brief pause.

"Blimey," Ron said, though Milo had yet to figure out, exactly, what that word meant.

"What are we looking at?" Harry asked. Milo's hovering chart had a variety of names and events (such as Lucius Malfoy, Snape, the Stone, You-Know-Who, Poisoning and the Troll) written neatly, connected by lines and arrows of various colours.

"This," Milo explained, "is the plot. On the right are the villains in order of ascending level: Draco, who is Lucius' son and is working with his head of house, Snape; Snape, who is secretly the minion of Lucius Malfoy; Lucius who is an ex-Death Eater and loyal minion of You-Know-Who."

"Er," Hermione said cautiously. "What, exactly, do you mean by level?"

"Uh," Milo faltered. "Power. Importance. You know, the order in which we'll face them. Further left are the suspicious camps of unsorted villainy: the elves and their goblin servants, the Death Eaters, the Cuddly Cannons, and Fudge"

Ron and Harry were silent. Hermione simply sighed, shaking her head and muttering quietly to herself.

o—o

"So... what's Milo doing at Hogwarts, then?" Goyle asked. Malfoy shuddered inwardly at the amount of effort that sentence must have cost him.

"Isn't it obvious? Milo's here to secretly befriend Potter" (Malfoy said the last word with a contemptuous sneer) "who just so happened to get a Nimbus Two Thousand in the mail shortly after arriving here."

Crabbe and Goyle both blankly blinked back in unison.

"It's the prototype!" Malfoy shrieked at them. "Someone recently handed a perfectly ordinary-looking Two Thousand over to the DMLE in September and then days later Potter gets one in the mail and, with it, stunning new flying talents despite never having ridden a broomstick before. They've switched them! What else could explain Potter's little stunt with the Remembrall?"

"Maybe he's just really good at flying?" Crabbe suggested.

"Yeah boss, maybe he's just, despite his young age, so unbelievably talented at—"

"Shut up!" Malfoy commanded. "And then he just so happens to be allowed onto the Quidditch team despite being too young? It's all a conspiracy! McGonagall or someone somehow managed to get Milo's stolen broom from him and gave it to Potter so Gryffindor would have a chance at the cup. Then she went out and bought a Nimbus—I checked, they have it on record at Diagon Alley—and turned that in to the Ministry hoping nobody would notice."

o—o

"So, let's go through this chronologically. I was attacked in the Forbidden Forest by an Acromantula under highly suspicious circumstances, and the evidence suggests that someone iced the thing with a Killing Curse—highly advanced dark magic. The only people nearby were Quirrell, Hagrid, and Harry. As Hagrid can't do magic and we can obviously rule out Harry, that points to Quirrell—" (Milo traced a blue line from Quirrell to Acromantula on his chart).

"That can't be your only reason for ruling out Hagrid," Harry said, offended.

"—but that's no reason to believe it wasn't Snape, hiding somewhere in the forest," (Milo traced a line to Snape) "which kicks things up the ladder to Lucius, as, thanks to my furry friend, we now know is Snape's secret master, and eventually Lord Voldewhatsit.

"Next," Milo continued over Hermione's objections, "someone tried to poison my breakfast and missed. This poisoning was facilitated by the elves in the kitchen staff; nobody else could have got close to the food" (Milo pointed at their name on the chart, "under instructions from Draco, Snape, or Lucius during Draco's Quidditch distraction.)

"But I thought you said—" Ron said, but was cut off.

"While it is true that I did confront Draco about this and decided it wasn't him, my view changed when I found out that his father, Lucius, was having covert meetings with Snape in the Forbidden Forest. Lucius ordered Snape to have me expelled, presumably so Lucius can kill me while I'm no longer protected by the wards and Dumbledore. 'Maybe,' I realized, 'it's time we stopped ignoring Draco as a legitimate threat.' I'd bet—no, in fact, I'm certain of the fact that Draco's up to something devious, and likely highly dangerous, as we speak."

o—o

"So, I wrote Father and asked him to ensure that there was a Cannons victory on Hallowe'en—he, of course, did so without question or hesitation—to make Firebolt look bad and make Milo crack. And Merlin did it ever work!" Draco said exuberantly. "The nutter tried to end things for himself by the tried-and-true suicide by Troll method. Shame Snape was there to save him; really, I'd have thought better of him."

Draco paused to catch his breath.

"So," he said with a hint of finality, "we need to act, fast, before he can recover. Milo's had far too long with Potter to study the prototype for my liking. We need to stop that now. The Friday Quidditch match with Gryffindor is the perfect opportunity."

o—o

"And then," Milo continued, "someone released a Troll on Hallowe'en. While this would point pretty clearly to Quirrell, who seems to be a bit of an expert on Trolls, it just doesn't fit. Why would Quirrell release one right after teaching us all how to defend ourselves against Trolls? And besides," he added, "Snape's behaviour was more than suspicious. As soon as he heard about the Troll, he rushed, not to the second floor, where the Troll was supposed to be, but to the third floor, where we suspect they're hiding the Philosopher's Stone."

Even Hermione frowned at that.

"That is a little odd," she said at last. "You don't think... you don't think Professor Snape is trying to get the Stone?"

"A bit slow on the uptake, are we?" Milo asked. Hermione turned a bit pink. "Snape used the Troll as a distraction to get to the Stone and, likely, to kill me. He nearly succeeded on both counts."

Milo traced a line from the Troll to Snape to the Stone.

"Snape's backup plan, however, was already in the works. He'd devised a potion to oust me as a different type of wizard and have me expelled from Hogwarts which is when I met Fudge, your Minister for Magic. At first, I couldn't tell if he was pawn or chessmaster, but eventually it became clear. He really wanted me expelled, which means he's either got an agenda of his own, or he's working with Lucius. Now, he's not on Harry's list, meaning he was introduced too late to be a new, independent party. That means he was working on behalf of Lucius—but, fortunately, the whole Ministry's probably not in on it, or there would be all sorts of signs: wrongful imprisonment of sympathetic characters, horrific beings of death and fear in their employ, mysterious rooms in their basement full of gateways to evil dimensions, disagreements with Dumbledore, that kind of thing. Also, probably spikes on the Ministry roof—hey, Ron, your dad works there; has he ever mentioned spikes on the Ministry roof?"

"Nope," Ron said. "He says the desk corners are pretty pointy, mind."

"Hmmm. I don't think that's quite enough. So I'm putting them down for blatant corruption and incompetence rather than outright Evilness. Incidentally, this is probably why obviously Evil wizards like Snape and, frankly, the parents of the entire Slytherin house are so rarely raided by Aurors. Which brings me back to Snape: he is clearly trying to get the Stone for Lucius, who will present it to You-Know-Who in return for a position of power in the new world order. But his well-laid plans were foiled by you three and Quirrell. So," Milo paused to catch his breath, "we need to act, fast, before he can recover. The Friday Quidditch match with Slytherin is the perfect opportunity."

o—o

"I've got it all planned out," Malfoy said confidently. "I'll ask Father to anonymously donate a team's set of Nimbus Two Thousands to Slytherin, but they'll all have the names filed off and we'll leak to the Daily Prophet that the Slytherin team is testing a new Firebolt design."

"But," said Crabbe, "I thought you just said they'd be Nimbus Two—"

"Yes, yes, but they're in disguise. So it'll be a big thing, because everyone wants to see Firebolt's answer to the Two Thousand, so the Prophet and Which Broomstick and all of them will have people at the game to see how well it does. And here," Malfoy said modestly, "is where it gets really clever. Milo will have no choice but to try and rig the game so Gryffindor loses, or else his secret master, Firebolt, will look bad."

Goyle frowned.

"But, I thought he was friends with—"

"But, I thought we want Firebolt to look—"

"Oh, he cares about as much about Potter as I care about you two oafs!" Malfoy said angrily. "And once we can tell Milo's rigged the game and it's a shoo-in—or, should I say,—slither-in for Slytherin, then we'll have some of our players lose control of their brooms, crash, and blame it all on Firebolt. Slytherin wins the match, Potter never forgives his friend so Milo can't examine the prototype anymore, and Firebolt will be ruined."

Crabbe and Goyle were silent, staring in awe up at their boss.

o—o

"I've got it all planned out," Milo said confidently. "I'll break into Snape's office on Friday right before the game and steal some Veritaserum. While Harry is dazzling the school with his flying prowess, Hermione, Ron and I will sneak some into Draco's water. Then we kidnap him, tie him to a tree in the Forbidden Forest and beat him savagely until he tells us everything. We can bury his body where the Acromantulas will find him, then go back and watch the rest of the match."

Harry spat out the water he was drinking.

"We could be sent to prison for that," he exclaimed.

"Or worse," Hermione said, her face pale. "Expelled."

"Might be worth it, though," Ron said with a dreamy expression on his face.

"Fine, fine," Milo said. "Veritaserum is totally tasteless—rather like that Umbridge woman, actually. Malfoy will never know he's been drugged, and we can just ask him in the hall what his evil scheme is and he'll spill the beans without ever knowing why. We can deal with Malfoy later when it's more convenient."

"Let me get this straight," said Ron. "You are going to break into Snape's office."

"Yeah."

"Do we know any other Snapes?" Ron asked.

"Not to my knowledge."

"So... you're going to break into Professor Snape's office."

"Yeah."

Ron stared at him with a mix of fear and respect.

"You're mad, mate."

"There's no other choice," Milo insisted. "It's time we go on the offensive; we can't just keep waiting here for the next 'Troll' or giant spider or whatever. I mean, what's next, dragons?"

"Don't be ridiculous," said Hermione sharply. "Nobody would dare try and bring a dragon into Hogwarts, not while Dumbledore's here."

"Yeah, Dumbledore'd go nuts," Ron agreed.

"So," Milo pressed, "are we all in?"

"Yeah," said Ron. "Anything to get one over Malfoy."

"I don't see that there's much I can do," said Harry, "seeing as how I'll be playing Quidditch. But... yeah, I'm in."

Everyone turned to look at Hermione, who remained silent, looking troubled.

"We did have a deal," Ron said. "Remember? Milo found proof that Snape's evil, though I think his treatment of Harry should have made that clear enough."

"Oh, fine," she eventually snapped. "But only because you lot are hopeless without me."

o—o

Snape lay back in his worn leather office chair, thinking in silence. He couldn't imagine how the Headmaster managed to get anything done surrounded by those accursed ticking silver machines.

Quirinus Quirrell was trying to get the Stone. That much was obvious. The nervous Professor's sudden change in personality was highly suspicious, but the Headmaster refused to listen to Snape's warnings. Dumbledore, Snape decided, could be far too trusting for his own good. Snape would have to take matters into his own hands.

But... what of the boy? What's Milo's role in all of this? If Snape had thought Quirrell seemed attached to the boy earlier, Hallowe'en had confirmed that. Quirrell had tried to get Milo out of detention with Snape...

Snape frowned.

That wasn't all he'd been trying to do. Milo had been helping the Defence Professor with the Troll, so...

Snape blinked.

Milo was helping Quirrell steal the Stone. That must be why Malfoy wanted him thrown out of Hogwarts, realized Snape.

So. Lucius knows about the Stone.

Snape ran his hands through his greasy hair. He had a fine line to walk: he had to protect Potter without anyone realizing it, protect the Stone, help Lucius have Milo expelled to maintain his cover with the Death Eaters, and, now, also keep Lucius from getting his hands on the Stone—without Lucius realizing he was trying to do so. It was only a matter of time before Lucius commanded him to steal Flamel's Stone.

Snape's next move, obviously, was to discover everything he could about Quirrell. For whom was he working? What, exactly, was his relationship with Milo? What really happened to him over the summer?

Unfortunately, it wasn't as if Snape could just ask him these questions—and if Quirrell was ready to play the game at this level, he'd be too clever to let anything slip accidentally. Even dosing him with Veritaserum would be unlikely to succeed. Snape, for one, always carried the antidote in a small flask on his person and drank it whenever he began feeling particularly honest (a rare enough feeling to be immediately suspicious); there was no reason to believe Quirrell did not do so as well.

Fortunately, Snape had a plan. There were potions other than Veritaserum for learning what others wanted kept secret. It took a month to brew, but was useful enough that Snape always kept some on hand.

All I have to do now, he thought to himself, is get the boy alone.

Snape smiled. There was no trace of humour whatsoever in it.