The Troll and the Dementor

"All students, return immediately to your Common Rooms," said a beleaguered Professor Trelawney—an attack by a Troll was enough to knock even the Divinations Professor out of her usual half-asleep daze—to a group of Gryffindors lounging in the Great Hall.

"Excuse me, Professor," said Percy, the Gryffindor Prefect. "what's going on?"

"There's a Troll loose on the second floor!" she said anxiously. "And to think of all the poor students who saw the Grim today..."

"Right! Just leave it to me, Professor," said Percy, standing to his full height (as if that would do much against the twelve-foot-tall monstrosity on the loose). "Gryffindors, come with me! Are we missing anyone?"

The Gryffindors, mostly first years, looked around at each other.

"Hannah's outside, by the Lake," said Lavender Brown.

"And Milo's with Snape," said Ron.

"Professor Snape, Ronald," corrected Percy. "And he'll be fine if he's with a professor. I'll find Hannah after I've walked you all to the tower, come along—quickly, now!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione shared a quick look as the other Gryffindors started filing out of the massive room.

"Snape must have released the Troll!" Harry exclaimed to the others. "We've got to go find Milo."

"Professor Snape can't have released the Troll, the key was in the Headmaster's office," said Hermione.

"So, what, Dumbledore set the Troll loose? Obviously someone must have pulled a fast one on him," said Ron. "And now Milo's alone with old batface, and it's a perfect time to just throw him out a window and say the Troll did it. Let's go, Hermione," Ron pleaded.

"But—"

"I'm done talking," Harry said. "Our friend could be in danger right now. Hannah's outside, she's probably the safest of all of us. I'm going, with or without you two," and with that, Harry stood up from his table and walked away from the group.

"Harry Potter!" said Percy. "Where are you going? The Common Room is that way!"

"Going with Trelawney," lied Harry. "To help find the Hufflepuffs—you know how they are."

"Good man!" said Percy. "Best take Ronald with you—he could use someone like you as a role model. Well—good luck," he said, and left leading the others.

"Someone like you as a role model," sneered Ron. "Wonder what he'd say about that if you knew you lied right to his face? Grumblegrumblegrumble..." Ron trailed off.

Hermione sighed.

"All right, I'm coming with you. Someone has to keep you two from getting into trouble," she said airily. Secretly, her heart was racing with excitement and anticipation.

"Great job you've done so far," said Ron.

"Enough talking," snapped Harry. "Wands out, and let's go, already. Hermione—ask the paintings if they've seen Milo or Snape anywhere. They'll talk to you, you're top of all our classes."

"Not History of Magic," said Hermione, her face flushing slightly.

"Ron, keep an eye out for teachers and prefects," said Harry. "Oh, and rampaging Trolls."

o—o—o—o

Why, Milo wondered (briefly), am I looking up at the floor?

—Thud—

Milo hit the ground—hard.

"I have to stop doing that," he groaned. He'd gotten lucky and made his Reflex Save for half damage when the Troll dropped a wall on his face, but was somewhat less fortunate on his follow-up Grapple check to avoid being thrown across the room. A normal human would have broken numerous bones or died, but adventurers are somewhat more resilient than that. In total, he'd taken 8 points of damage—and for those of you keeping track back home, that put him at precisely 0 hp. That left him Disabled, meaning he can either shuffle about slowly or try to attack (or cast a spell), but doing the latter will knock him unconscious and dying.

Milo crawled slowly around a corner, and tried to stay as silent as possible. Next time, he thought, make sure there's a Potion of Cure Light Wounds in your Belt of Hidden Pouches.

Snape was nowhere to be seen.

I need a distraction.

"Sorry, Mordy," he whispered to his familiar. He had a bad feeling that, in a few levels, when Mordy could speak back, he'd be getting an earful for this.

Mordenkainen, rodent extraordinaire, leapt out of his home in Milo's belt and scurried around the corner to the Troll. Milo couldn't see what happened, but heard a mighty roar worthy of an Elder Wyrm, and then a loud crash.

While the alleged Troll was occupied, Milo got to work. Reaching into his Belt, he grabbed his flasks of oil and unstoppered their lids. Oil from his universe goes a long way, and was enough to cover a five-foot square. The hallway was closer to ten feet wide, and so Milo used four flasks to cover the whole hallway ten feet deep. He then spread caltrops (nasty, spiky contraptions) across the hallway as well.

Lastly, he (very carefully) took out a small, extremely valuable feather. The feather, much stiffer and heavier than a mundane feather, was one of Milo's most treasured possessions. It only worked once, and, while he had three of them, he wasn't getting any more until he could return home. Gingerly, he placed it on the ground in the oil, surrounded by caltrops.

"Hey, ugly!" Milo shouted around the corner. "Leave my friend alone!" On cue, Mordy scurried away from the Troll, up Milo's leg, and into his magic belt.

The Troll gave a mighty roar and charged Milo's position.

Milo grinned an evil sort of grin.

As the Troll placed its first heavy footstep on the oil-slick polished stone floor, it lost its balance. It slid forwards a few feet, an almost comical expression of surprise on its ugly features. It then fell backwards onto the hard floor—and the scattered caltrops. They weren't even close to powerful enough to deal any real damage, but all Milo needed was to keep the troll in position for a round. The Troll let loose a bellow of pain that shook the castle as Milo muttered the command word to his Feather Token.

For those unfamiliar, the Tree Feather Token is the most useful magic item ever devised. On command, it instantly creates an entirely real, nonmagical oak tree five feet wide and sixty feet tall.

There was a swift, sudden breeze and a loud pop as a tree appeared in front of Milo. It didn't grow, it didn't start small and swell up, it was just there.

The ceilings in Hogwarts were as varied as the halls, paintings, and geography on a day-to-day basis, but here they were only eight feet tall (the Troll had to stoop). The tree, which appeared directly underneath the Troll, blasted it through the ceiling. And the one after that. And the one after that.

In total, the Troll was pushed bodily through seven floors, including three hallways, two unused classrooms, Professor Binn's quarters, and the Hufflepuff common room, which was now home to the forty-foot-wide canopy of a great oak tree.

"Quaal," Milo said weakly to the mythical inventor of the Feather Tokens, "I'm leaving everything to you in my will."

Crash.

"Uh," said Milo.

Crash.

"That really can't be good."

Crash.

"I'll just hobble away at half speed, shall I?" Milo limped down the hallway, which ended in a dead-end, and a large window.

Crash.

"Milo!" Milo heard someone say. "We're here, to, ah, rescue you..."

Crash.

"Blimey, was this great, dirty old tree always here?"

Crash.

"Ron!" said a sharp, female voice, "Careful, watch where you step. Someone's booby trapped the ha—"

CRASH. The ceiling caved in, and the Troll (heavily battered and bruised, but still in the game, so to speak) landed, gracelessly, directly behind Milo. Fortunately, it was looking away from him. Milo stood there breathlessly, trying to make as little noise as possible. Maybe it will just... go away? That could happen, ri—

Milo's watch chimed, loudly, and then started to speak.

"Milo's got a da-ate, Milo's got a da-ate!" it sang cheerfully. "Don't be late, don't be late, 'cause Milo's got a da-ate!"

"Oh, uh, hi there. See, the thing with the tree, that was nothing personal, right?" Milo said weakly. "So, why don't we just put this behind us—"

The Troll grabbed Milo with one arm, and, with a casual underhanded swing, neatly defenestrated him.

Harry, who had boldly ran across the slick, spiky hallway, frantically tried to help; but the young Wizard was out of sight before Harry was halfway through "Wingardium."

Then the Troll turned to face the three under-trained, under-prepared, under-aged wizards (well, two wizards and a witch).

The glass shredded Milo's already scorched and torn robes, but fortunately his Mage Armour protected his skin from the worst of it.

Milo made a high, graceful arc over the Hogwarts Lake before he managed to stop blubbering long enough to cast Feather Fall.

Our Hero, covered in dust and soot, his black robes in tatters, his hat missing, his shoelaces untied, slowly floated to the ground, landing, as it would happen, in the arms of a giant pink bunny.

"Amazing Dementor costume!" Hannah (in fancy dress) exclaimed. "Nice entrance, too!"

Milo grinned briefly, then collapsed as his hit points dropped into the negatives.

o—o—o—o

Concealed by his Disillusionment charm, Snape waited.

The Cerberus slept, the low rumble of its triple snore shaking the floor slightly.

Still, Snape waited.

Outside, the Troll was very likely killing one of his students.

Still, Snape waited.

His quarry was as invisible as he, but Snape had an advantage: the bane of all invisible wizards, everywhere. One that would stop the Dark Lord himself, were he invisible.

The door was closed. Quirrell would make his move—soon. Releasing the Troll was an obvious distraction to allow him to get in here unnoticed.

Still, Snape waited.

The good-natured Muggle Studies Professor had come back from Romania... different. Something had happened to him there, and it hadn't been vampires. The good-natured Muggle Studies Professor was gone, now. The Headmaster knew something, but whatever it was, he kept it to himself.

Still, Snape waited.

The castle shook, and a deafeningly loud CRASH shook the room. One of the Cerberus's heads, jostled out of its slumber, perked up curiously.

Still, Snape waited.

The doorknob turned slowly.

Still, Snape waited.

Roots, of all things, slipped through the cracks in the masonry, breaking apart the mortar. The walls buckled slightly.

Still, Snape waited.

The door opened, and closed.

Still, Snape waited.

o—o—o—o

"Uh, Hermione," said Ron anxiously. "If you were planning on doing anything smart, now would be the time?"

Hermione simply stood staring up at the Troll, her face pale.

"Ron!" Harry shouted, barely dodging a large stone block. "What spells do we know?" The block, thrown by the Troll, exploded on the wall behind him.

"Uh. There's the one that makes our wands glow," he said. "and we can Transfigure teakettles. Sh-should we Transfigure teakettles?"

"What about Wingardium Leviosa?" Harry suggested.

"I dunno," Ron said skeptically. "That Troll looks a little heavier than a textbook to me."

"Not the Troll, the blocks!" Harry realized. Desperately, they began Levitating anything in sight—stone blocks, the weird spiky metal things, paintings—over the Troll's head and dropping them. It was, it appeared, only marginally effective. The Troll's thick skull was made of sterner stuff than even the thousand-year-old masonry. If I get out of this, Harry resolved, I'm going to learn how wizards fight. And I'm going to be the best there is. Nothing is going to threaten my home ever again.

"...to all those who ask," Harry heard Hermione whisper.

"What was that?" Harry asked, his brow drenched in sweat from the effort of Levitating the stone blocks that once made up the walls of his beloved castle. His castle. This Troll would regret the second it scuffed the first candlestick in his castle.

"Portraits of Hogwarts!" Hermione roared. "Run! Run to your neighbours, shout, scream, anything. Find the Headmaster, or McGonagall, or Flitwick, Filch, anyone." A nearby painting of a knight drew its sword and saluted, and with a cry of "Yes, My Lady!" rode away on its stallion. The others just stared at her, stunned.

"Well, I never," said a portrait of a fat lady (but not the Fat Lady) in an evening gown. "The nerve of students these days, why, in my day, they employed the whip."

"Couldn't have said it better myself, Agnes," said a bespectacled man.

"RUN!" she screamed at the paintings again. She didn't need to tell them a third time.

"Right!" said Harry. "Now we just need to slow it down."

"Yeah," said Ron dismally, "assuming we can rely on Agnes to talk to Dumbledore about anything other than the state of today's youth."

"Hermione, do you know any spell to create fire? Or sparks?" Harry asked. Hermione shot a questioning look at him, before realizing what his plan was.

"Incendio," she cast, pointing her wand at Milo's oilslick. The lantern oil erupted in flame, which quickly spread to the great oak tree. There wasn't enough flammable material to create anything so impressive as a wall of fire, but it did create a lot of smoke. Fortunately for the paint-based residents of Hogwarts, all of the living portraits had fled the area at Hermione's instructions earlier; unfortunately, their homes were caught in the inferno. The Troll was blinded by smoke, and started coughing hoarsely as it flailed its fists around.

"What about wind? Harry asked. "We need as much dust in there as possible."

"Well, there's the Gust Jinx," admitted Hermione skeptically, "but it's advanced. third-year."

"Hermione, can you cast it or not?" Harry pushed.

"Well... I've read about it," she said hesitantly. "I've never, you know, actually tried it."

"No pressure or anything," urged Ron, "but if you mess up, we'll probably all die."

Hermione's forehead wrinkled in concentration. She very carefully (and slowly) placed her feet in the fencing-like casting position used when performing complicated magic, and pictured the page in The Standard Book of Spells, Volume 3 that described the wand motions.

"Swish, flick, counter-swirl, three-quarters-twirl-clockwise, diamond-inside-a-circle, VENTUS!"

It started gradually, building up strength somewhere behind Hermione. She felt her robes stir gently, and her hair started to rustle. At first, she thought she must have botched the spell (a thought which mortified her to her core), and then it happened.

There was a rush of air that nearly knocked her from her feet, whipping her curly hair around her head. Dust from the ruined hallway was picked up from the walls, floors, the children's clothes, and from under the heavy masonry. Hermione thought Harry's plan was to fan the flames with more air, until...

o—o—o—o

The third-floor window that Milo had flown out of exploded. A blossom of red fire erupted from the remains of the frame, leaving spots in Hannah's eyes.

"That," she said, "can't be good." She drew her wand anxiously, but wasn't sure, exactly, what she should be doing with it. She was, technically, a witch... but needing magic for a potentially life-or-death situation wasn't something she thought would ever happen. In fact, needing magic for anything outside of class had simply never occurred to her. Imagine suddenly finding yourself having to calculate how long it would take a sedan accelerating at 6 m/s2 to a maximum of 80 km/h to catch up to a truck moving at 60 km/h with a forty-five-minute head start... to save the Prime Minister.

That, in a nutshell, is what Hannah felt like.

First things first, she thought, deal with the unconscious boy. What Hannah didn't know was that Milo, not simply unconscious, was, in fact, dying. Every six seconds he'd drop one hit point until hitting negative ten, when he'd buy the proverbial Outer Plane farm.

That leaves her, for those of you keeping score, fifty-four seconds to stabilize him.

Fifty-three...

Fifty-two...

"Uh, I should, uh, probably get you to the hostpital—uh, hopsital, uh. Ah. Hospital wing," she said. In another life, Hannah was a Hufflepuff. And Hufflepuffs, not that there's anything wrong with them, wonderful, wonderful people, are not typically noted (with the notable exception of the dreamy third-year Cedric Diggory) for keeping their heads in a crisis.

"Locomotor Mortis!" she cast, and Milo's legs locked together.

Forty-two...

"No, wait! Wrong spell, I'm sorry!" she stressed. It was that last bit, the Mortis part. "Locomotor Milo!" she cast, and Milo floated into the air.

Thirty-six...

"Uh, maybe I should counter that Leg-Locker Curse, now that I think about it," she said. "Finite Incantatem," she cast. Milo fell back to the ground.

Thirty...

"Oh, of course, that cancelled Locomotor as well. Locomotor Milo!" she cast again.

Twenty-four...

"Well, to the Hospital Wing it is, then!" she said, and set off. Milo drifted along behind her.

Twenty-three...

Twenty-two...

o—o—o—o

"Which one of you used the Blasting Charm?" Hermione asked, stunned, as she picked herself up from the rubble.

"What?" asked Ron.

"I said, which one of you used the Blasting Charm," she repeated loudly.

"What?" asked Ron, who had been deafened by the blast.

"Nobody here knows the Blasting Charm, Hermione," said Harry weakly. He'd been thrown halfway across the room in the explosion.

"What?"

"Then, what spell was that?"

"What?"

"No spell," said Harry.

"What?" said Hermione and Ron simultaneously.

"Well, this one time Dudley fell asleep watching cartoons and I got to watch Discovery," Harry said, "hiding in my cupboard, of course, in case my Aunt or Uncle saw, and it turns out if you throw enough dust at a fire, it, well, it—"

"—explodes?" finished Hermione.

"What?"

"Yeah, basically. That's why I asked you to conjure up a windstorm."

"What?"

"That's clever. I strongly disapprove, you broke about a thousand school rules, and maybe my ribs; also, I know for a fact 'no explosions in the hallways—NO EXCEPTIONS' is a rule, I saw it posted outside Filch's office, but it was clever, but sometimes even when a plan is clever, even when it's really clever, you should really warn me when you're going to blow something up."

"I'll do that next time," said Harry.

"What?"

"Oh, shut up, Ron!" snapped Hermione.

"What?"

"I know you can't hear me, but what you really expect to gain by saying 'what?' over and over I don't even—"

Hermione was cut off when a huge, ugly, scorched hand reached out from the smoke and picked her up by the shoulder. She reflexively reached for her wand, but realized she'd dropped it in the explosion.

The Troll held her up close to its face, gazing at her with a curious expression. Then it opened its gaping maw. A fell odour of rotting meat and extreme halitosis blasted her senses.

"Uh, please don't eat me, Mr. Troll..." she begged.

Instead of eating her or charging down the injured Ron and Harry, the Troll decided to take a third option.

o—o—o—o

Snape waited. Quirrell, Snape knew (though he could not see him), was likely deciding what to do about Hagrid's dog. Whatever action he took would be proof enough for Snape to bring Dumbledore, or even the Ministry, down on him.

Any moment now, the Defence Professor would kill the dog.

Unexpectedly, nothing happened.

What is he doing? Snape wondered. Then the Troll made an entrance.

Literally.

Stone bricks flew across the room when Quirrell's beast tore its way through the wall as if it were made of paper, carrying the Granger girl in one hand as if she were a rag doll.

The Cerberus awoke and leapt. Snape, though he would never admit it, was reminded of the time he'd seen Godzilla Versus Mothra as a boy.

Stunned, Snape fumbled for his wand while the Cerberus collided with the Troll, knocking it to the ground. Granger was tossed across the room, and slid limply along the ground. She didn't move.

The Troll wrestled the larger beast off of it and grabbed an enormous flagstone that used to make up part of the third floor's ceiling. With a mighty heave, it brought the heavy chunk of stone down on one of the hound's heads. There was a sickening crunch, and the other two heads led out bellows of rage; blood and spit speckling the Troll. The Cerberus raked the Troll with sharp claws, gouging thick slashes in its tough hide. One of is heads went for the Troll's neck, but the Troll managed to wrestle its jaws open with its hands; the other head went for Granger.

Snape began to cast a spell, but someone beat him to it.

"Avada Kedavra," Snape heard someone say, and there was a blinding green flash. The Cerberus lay dead, and Quirrell stood in the centre of the room.

"A-a-are you a-alright, Miss G-G-Granger?" Quirrell asked, his voice full of concern. When Hermione didn't respond, Quirrell frantically tore a strip of cloth from his robe and tied it around her bleeding head.

"Episkey," he cast, and several of her smaller cuts and injuries healed rapidly. "I'm s-s-sorry," he said, "that's the b-b-best I c-can do until h-help arrives."

Quirrell, Snape noticed, never seemed to stammer when casting a spell. Well, at least now his plan is clear. Really, it was obvious in hindsight, Snape sighed. He should have seen it coming. Quirrell released the Troll not only as a distraction, but as an excuse to enter the forbidden corridor and kill Fluffy. He used a Forbidden Curse, but even those were technically legal against non-humans. It did further cement Snape's view that Quirrell had gone Dark, however. On top of everything, Quirrell would now be a hero in everyone's eyes. What this had to do with Milo, however, Snape still couldn't figure out.

Wait, he thought, why was the Troll holding Miss Granger?

He paused. Granger must have been in the hallways, and where there's Granger...

...there's Harry Potter.

Climbing over debris and deceased dog, Snape rushed through the Troll's wall entrance. The Troll itself lay gasping for breath under the hound's body.

Outside, in the hallway, was an... interesting sight. The window had been blown open, taking much of the surrounding frame with it. The ceiling had not one, but two troll-sized holes in it; one of them was at least mostly filled... by a great oak tree, which was, incidentally, on fire. Just down the hallway was another flattened wall, where the Troll had first entered. The sheer level of damage was unlike anything Snape had ever seen before—not even Fred and George... not even James and Sirius had ever... no-one, so far as Snape knew, had ever done so much raw, physical damage to the Hogwarts school in a thousand years, much less under a minute.

Surely, the Dark Lord's hand must be at work, here...

Snape shook himself out of his reverie, and began searching for Potter. The boy must live, everything—and everyone—else was expendable. Dimly, he was aware of movement behind him.

There was a brief, blinding flash as Dumbledore arrived, carried by his fiery bird.

"You can come out, now," said the Headmaster. The eccentric Headmaster, it seemed, had not taken Hallowe'en lightly, and was wearing an uncharacteristically sombre gray robe and hat. Of all things, a sword was buckled to his side. At first, Snape thought Dumbledore had directed the remark at him, but the Headmaster looked right at him and winked.

The Troll, burnt and bloody, staggered out of the forbidden third-floor corridor.

"You have damaged my school," the Headmaster said gravely. "You have injured my students." The Troll cocked its head to the side, as if it actually understood what he was saying. "And for these things that you have done," the Headmaster continued, "you will leave. Now."

There was no threat, just a simple statement of fact. The Troll stared at the Headmaster blankly.

"Fly, you fool," Dumbledore said quietly. The Troll turned and leapt out the window. Snape, dismissing his Disillusionment Charm, walked over to the edge. The Troll was running towards the Forbidden Forest as fast as it could go.

"Professor," Snape heard a weak voice from behind them. Dumbledore turned to see Harry and Ron lying, partially buried by (surprisingly dust-free) stone bricks.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Weasley! We have to get you to the hospital wing at once!" the Headmaster said in alarm.

"No, worry about us later," Harry said stoically. "Milo... was thrown out the window. He—I'm sure he—"

"Say no more, I'll take care of it," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "Snape, make sure these two—and Miss Granger, she should be around here somewhere—get to the hospital wing." With that, and a flash, he and his Phoenix vanished as quickly as they'd appeared.

o—o—o—o

"W-w-w-wingard... Wing... Wingardium Leviosa!" Hannah shouted, lifting Milo into the sky. She was sure—okay, pretty sure—okay, she hoped she'd found the window to the hospital wing.

Ten...

Milo slowly floated up to the fourth-storey window. Hannah hoped that someone inside would see him and help.

Nine...

She considered sending up sparks with her wand, or even using magic to break the window, but she wasn't sure she could do that and hold Milo at the same time.

Eight...

On the other hand, if necessary, she could always just shove him through the window.

Seven...

What would that accomplish? If there's nobody in there, there won't be anyone to help him.

Six...

Milo dropped to -9 hit points, not that Hannah knew that.

Five...

I'm sure someone will notice him eventually.

Four...

Though I'm not sure for how long I can keep this levitate running.

Three...

There was a loud Crack and a blinding flash. Dumbledore appeared in front of her, with a fiery bird perched on his shoulder.

Two...

Hannah's concentration broke, and abruptly she felt the strain of her Levitation Charm vanish. Milo, no longer protected by his Feather Fall, started to fall to the ground. Fawkes, with a mighty cry, leapt from Dumbledore's shoulder and flew towards the falling boy.

One...

o—o—o—o

Milo awoke to an all-too-familiar ceiling. He heard raised voices from the other side of the curtain surrounding his hospital bunk. He felt... well, pretty great, actually. It was sort of hard to put his finger on.

"No, I don't know when he'll wake up!" said the frustrated voice of Madam Pomfrey.

"You are a mediwitch, aren't you?" said the stern voice of McGonagall.

"Yes, and I'm fully trained and qualified to heal humans. What he is, I don't even—"

"So you're telling me you don't have a clue whether he's going to live or die."

"I'm telling you that he's survived life threatening injuries in the past; I don't even know if he can die."

"Uh," Milo said cheerfully. "I'm awake! Hello?"

Abruptly, the curtain was drawn back from around his bed. McGonagall looked concerned, and Pomfrey looked terrified.

"Wh-what, already?" she asked, trembling. "You should have been... I mean, you shouldn't have..."

"What Madam Pomfrey is trying to say," said McGonagall, "is that we're very relieved to hear that you're all right."

"Yup, just dandy. Can anyone tell me what happened? The last thing I remember is nearly killing myself casting Feather Fall... of all the ways to die, I think that would have been the most humiliating. I can't believe it actually was the fall that killed me."

"Do you mean to tell me that you were performing dangerous magic—" McGonagall started, but Pomfrey cut her off.

"Well, I can only assume we have Fawkes to thank," said the mediwitch. "although as to why the Headmaster's been keeping a miracle cure like Phoenix Tears locked away in his office, I suppose I'll have to bring that up with him..." she said, trailing off into a series of angry grumbles. Milo thought he caught the words "puts me completely out of the job" and "could have saved that Longbottom boy a world of hurt"

"Uh," said Milo, "could anyone tell me what happened to the Troll?"

"Professor Dumbledore drove it away," said McGonagall. "I believe it's likely still running, actually. Although your friends performed more than their share of Gryffindor heroism, and, not that I'd like to encourage this sort of thing, together you've all earned more than enough points to offset your... unruly... behaviour."

"How come I'm not dead?" Milo asked, bluntly.

"Miss Abbot carried you back to the castle, and I rather think she was about to break the door down when the Headmaster found you—his Phoenix, Fawkes, has certain powerful healing abilities. She's quite distraught, in fact, and has hardly left your side."

"I don't suppose you could tell us why you're awake?" asked Pomfrey. "Everything I know tells me you should have either been completely restored when the Phoenix healed you, or, failing that, unconscious for days. It's only been three hours."

"Well, I've got a hit point. If I had to guess, that Phoenix cured me into the positives, and I was just sleeping since then. It was your shouting that woke me up. Still, I feel sort of... weird."

Madam Pomfrey frowned.

"Lumos," she whispered. "Right, follow my wand with your eyes..." she waved the wand slowly back in front of his face. When he, presumably, responded normally; she followed up with a number of diagnostic spells.

"Look, I feel fine," he said. "Better than fine, actually; sort of like... I could go toe-to-toe with a Ghoul or armwrestle a Bugbear. Like I could be or do... well, anything. Like I'm full of untapped potential..."

"Well, Phoenixes have been known to have a sort of euphoric effect—"

"No, it's not that. I think... I think I... my gods!" he said as he realized what had happened.

"What?" asked McGonagall, alarmed.

"I've levelled up!" It had never happened while he was unconscious before. "Leave me alone for a minute, I need to pick skills."

McGonagall gave him a peculiar look and turned to leave with Madam Pomfrey, but Milo ignored them both.

"Oh, by the way," said Madam Pomfrey as she left. "You're not to leave your bed for at least 24 hours."

"Sure, whatever," Milo said absently.

Skills is easy, Milo thought. I'll just add another rank in what I've already got. As for feats...

This part was really difficult for Milo. As a level five Wizard, he got a bonus metamagic or item creation feat. Under normal circumstances I'd go for Extend Spell, but...

I might have to face the fact that I'm going to be stuck here for a while, Milo thought bitterly. I have to be self-sufficient. I have to be a whole party, a whole economy, by myself. If I keep being tossed into encounters above my ECL like this, I'm going to wind up dead.

What are my assets?

I have time.

With Harry Potter, I have money.

Feeling somewhat sick, Milo did something he swore he would never, ever do. Mentally, he wrote down "Craft Wondrous Item" on the character sheet in his mind.

If I ever get to go home, he reassured himself, I'll just retrain it.

When it came to spells, Milo felt like he might cry. I only get two. How can I live with only two?! There are dozens of third level spells I absolutely have to have. Haste. Fireball. Shrink Item. Fly. Summon Monster III. Heroics. With tears in his eyes, Milo chose Fly and Summon Monster III. Next level, he promised himself. Next level, I learn something that goes boom.

"What was that?" Milo heard a familiar voice.

"Sorry, Nev. This place has me talking to myself," Milo said.

"It's not so bad," he heard Neville say from next cot over. "Though I'd like to try sleeping in our dorm once, if only for the novelty of it."

"You've never slept in Gryffindor Tower?" Milo heard Hermione say.

"Blimey," said Ron. "Now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever seen him in there."

"My suitcase isn't even unpacked," Neville said sadly.

Milo looked around. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all lying in hospital beds as well. Hermione's bushy brown hair was hidden by thick bandages around her head, with more wrapped around her chest. Harry and Ron were similarly bandaged, albeit to a lesser extent.

"Holy crap," Milo said, stunned. "What happened to you guys?"

As they filled him in on the events of their day (Milo was stunned at the revelation that dust could explode; the possible applications for that were endless. Okay, well, really there was only one application for it, and that was for making things go boom on the cheap.) That these three "wizards" very nearly took out that "Troll" made Milo's respect for them go up several notches.

"So all they were keeping in the chamber of die-a-horrible-death was a gigantic three-headed dog?" Milo asked. "Huh. I always had it figured for the Philosopher's Stone. Guess that explains why Hogwarts had a gigantic ultra-secure cage, though."

As Milo was talking, the door to the hospital wing opened.

Hannah Abbot, in full rabbit regalia, entered, followed by a hovering trolley covered in food.

"Seeing as how you're missing the Hallowe'en feast," she said, "McGonagall made a special exemption and let me bring the feast to you. Also," she added, "you lot—Milo excluded, of course; very spooky as a Dementor—wouldn't be allowed in there without a costume, anyway."

The eyes on Harry's, Ron's, Hermione's, and Neville's eyes lit up simultaneously. Milo shrugged and reached for his Everlasting Rations.

"She also said to tell you that it came with a twenty Gryffindor House Points for each of you (except you, Neville, sorry), and five for me," she said happily. "Oh, also," she said, looking archly at Milo. "If you even think about eating those bland, tasteless Rations, I will personally throw you through another window."

Ron choked slightly.

"McGonagall said that?"

"No," said Hannah. "That was me."

Hannah walked past her grievously injured friends, passing out plates piled high with food. Milo felt that elaborate descriptions were in order, but, frankly, he didn't know what three-quarters of the stuff was even called. Hannah sat down on the bed next to Milo and passed him a plate.

Milo sniffed it suspiciously.

"Detect Poison," he muttered. Everything looked clean (except Neville, who still had enough poison in him to be flagged as 'poisonous'), but that paradoxically only made him more nervous. The poison might be really well hidden...

"Oh, just eat it," Hannah said. "What could happen? You're already in the hospital wing."

"Fine," Milo said reluctantly. He took a tiny bite of something sort of orange-ish. His hand was already reaching for Antitoxin before he finished chewing, but, surprisingly, he felt fine.

"Hey," he said, stunned. "This... this is pretty good."

"See? I told you so," Hannah said with a grin. Where Milo came from, taste was only ever described when it was dramatically required, but here... everything was so full of flavour, even—or, perhaps, especially—when it was completely inconsequential.

"Beans," he said suddenly.

"Sorry, what was that, mate?" Ron asked.

"The Gringotts Every-Flavoured Beans," Milo said. "I want some. Now."

"They're Bertie Botts Every-Flavoured Beans," Ron muttered. "And there's a box on the trolley, but, blimey, Harry made me swear to warn anyone before their first time—"

"I can handle it," Milo said, grabbing the box. He licked his lips hungrily and downed a handful at a time.

Milo passed out from sensory overload.

"This," said Harry as Milo came to, "was the best Hallowe'en ever. Normally, the Muggles only let me have the candies they took from Dudley because they think they have razor blades in them."

Milo was forced to agree, and not only because it was the only Hallowe'en he'd ever had. He'd fought monsters, survived by the skin of his teeth, levelled up, discovered the wonders of a whole new sense, and felt, for the first time in a long time, like he was part of a party again.

It was, rather, like coming home.