Dumble-dénouement

"Tell me again why you carry a grappling hook at all times, mate?" Ron asked, giving Milo's silk rope a hefty tug. He had an ugly bruise on his temple, and likely an assortment of minor injuries, but was otherwise okay. "And a rope, for that matter."

"Came in handy, didn't it?" Milo pointed between pulls. "Every adventurer has at least fifty feet of rope. Some carry hundreds."

Getting back up the shaft that led to the Devil's Snare seemed, at first, an insurmountable problem—until Milo remembered he still had rope in his belt. Hermione levitated it up to the surface and latched the grappling hook onto the heavy cast iron ring the trapdoor used as a handle. Climbing up wasn't exceptionally difficult (a rope with a wall to brace against was a mere DC 5 with a 10 point reduction for having a wall to brace against. A paraplegic triple-amputee could make the check). No, the hard part was getting the still-unconscious Professor Quirrell to the top. In the end, they simply tied the rope around his waist and shoulders and decided to pull him up.

"Reckon we should have just left him there," Harry muttered. He still looked pale and shaky from Quirrell's torture spell, but hadn't mentioned it. The others decided to drop it, though Hermione gave him occasional concerned looks.

"He's a Hogwarts Professor!" Hermione sounded scandalized. "We can't just leave him!"

"We could have told McGonagall or Dumbledore, and they would have gone down and got him. Besides, he did try to kill us all."

Hermione made a hmph! sound, but dropped the issue. It took several more minutes, but they eventually got Quirrell's limp body up to the room where Fluffy once stood.

"You know," Ron mused as he grabbed the Professor by the shoulders and dragged him onto the floor, "We likely could have just levitated him, like Hermione did the rope."

"He's far too heavy," Hermione pointed out.

"For all three of us at once?" Ron asked. "It wouldn't have taken a moment."

Harry, Hermione, and Milo stared at him for a few seconds in total silence. Hermione opened her mouth like she was going to speak, then fell silent.

"Why me?" she asked nobody in particular.

"I, for one, can think of no witch more suited for the task," someone said from the doorway. Milo, keenly aware he had only five hit points remaining (he'd gained three upon levelling up), not to mention no spells more powerful than Acid Splash, warily turned to the door.

"Professor!" Harry said in relief. In the doorway was none other than Professor Dumbledore, still dressed in the same purple robes he'd worn to Lucius's Manor.

"Indeed, that is my chosen vocation. Quick, as always, Mister Potter. Now, could somebody please illuminate me as to what in Merlin's name is going on in my school?"

Everyone spoke at once.

"Voldemort—"

"Lucius—"

"Please don't tell my mum—"

"Oh, I know you said we weren't to enter the forbidden corridor, but—"

Dumbledore simply waited patiently while they all told the story, as they saw it, beginning at different times and, frequently, in backwards, frontwards, and, occasionally sidewards order.

"So, you mean to say that Quirinus—while under the sway of Voldemort—led young Milo out into the forest where a group of masked men led by Lucius Malfoy intercepted them, inadvertently foiling the plans of their incognito master, captured Milo, Disapparated back to their manor, only to have Milo escape and return to Hogwarts while the Defence Professor took Harry under the false pretenses of needing his help to rescue Milo—who needed no help, it appears, after all—to find the Philosopher's Stone, assuming that Harry would be able to breach whatever defences I had placed, only to be foiled by Milo, Ron, and Hermione?"

"Was... was that all one sentence, Professor?" Milo asked in awe—partly by the feat of linguistics, but mainly that the Headmaster had managed to listen to all four of them simultaneously. Probably comes from a supernaturally-extended lifetime of teaching teenagers. "Also, yes. That's pretty much how it happened."

"Very well," Dumbledore sighed, and gestured for them to follow him. "I think, perhaps, it would be best if we returned to my office to discuss this matter further."

"Where were you?" Harry asked en route. There was a faint accusatory note in his voice.

"The Ministry," Dumbledore said. "The reasons for which should become clear once we reach my office." The mild rebuke was enough to make Harry look at his feet and remain silent for the rest of the short, winding walk.

Upon entering the office, Dumbledore sat down on his customary chintz armchair, and, his fingers forming a steeple in front of him, spoke.

"I assume you have questions," he said. "I will, if at all possible, answer to within the best of my ability. But first, to answer Harry's: I was at the Ministry. After I was tipped off by a certain... trusted source that Milo was held within one of the Malfoy's estates, I wasted no time in informing friends within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and assisting in what is, I believe, generally called a raid. Incidentally, this was also my first clue as to Professor Quirrell's deception—he came to me with his story that Milo was held by vampires. I did not, however, realize the full extent of the situation until well later. By that point, I was bogged down with what I daresay was a tremendous quantity of paperwork. It appears that deploying Aurors without warning against one of the more well-respected members of the wizarding community of Magical Britain is not without cost."

"So they caught Malfoy, then?" Milo was surprised. He hadn't thought that their scuffle in the manor would be the last they'd see of him. There were too many unanswered questions for that.

"Alas, no," Dumbledore sighed. "Officially, a pair of deranged wizards attempting to revive the criminal organization known as the Death Eaters broke into Malfoy's residence in an attempt to punish him for his betrayal at the end of the war. Their actions were, it appears, independent and without support from others."

"But that's not true!" Harry insisted. "He was one of them! You have to believe us!"

"Oh, I do, dear boy. But that doesn't change the fact that it will take more substantial evidence for the Ministry to mobilize in full. In the meantime, be comforted in knowing that there are those within the Ministry who are working diligently—and, unfortunately, secretly—to uncover the truth of the matter."

Harry didn't look particularly happy, but let the matter rest.

"I have a question, Headmaster," Ron interjected. "How did You-Know-Who get to be on the back of another bloke's head?"

"Unicorn's blood," Dumbledore said sadly. "It can be used to prolong one's life almost indefinitely, but at the cost of being doomed to living an unnatural half-life."

"Unnatural is bloody right," Ron muttered. "Er, sorry Professor."

"Not to worry," the Professor said, "I was momentarily distracted by a delightful passing bluebird, and seem to have missed everything you said just then."

"Er. Right."

"So," Harry said slowly, "Is he gone, then? Voldemort?"

"I'm afraid not," Dumbledore said gravely. "I don't know if it will be a year or ten, but I can be certain that he will return."

"How could you know?" Milo asked. "There's no telling the crazy results when our forms of magic interact. Mind, he's obviously not gone—it's the only thing that makes sense, he has to be the final boss, and this was hardly final—but still. By you people's standards of logic, the Amulet may well have finished him off."

"While that may be a possibility," Dumbledore admitted, "Harbouring it would reduce our vigilance for his return. In general, I have found that, when it comes to dealing with Voldemort, it is best to hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and, when it comes to it, expect even worse."

"But—"

"Also, young Milo, I have access to certain sources that you do not."

"Fair enough," Milo admitted. "Now, what happens to the Defence Professor?"

"That depends," Dumbledore admitted. "I will have to talk to him when he awakes. The question to determine is to what amount he was a willing supporter of Voldemort, and what amount he was a slave. Based on your stories, it appears that he deliberately took action to expel Voldemort's spirit from his body, which implies it was some of the former. I can scarcely imagine living a life such as that."

"Oh?" Harry asked, curious.

"To my limited understanding of the process, Professor Quirrell's resident, so to speak, had the power to read the Professor's mind directly. Any plan that Professor Quirrell developed could be immediately detected by Voldemort, who could—and, knowing him, would—punish his servant severely."

"Are you suggesting that Quirrell had to develop and execute his plan without, at any step along the way, consciously thinking about it?" Milo asked incredulously.

"Is that even possible?" Hermione was stunned.

"I will need to speak to him to be certain, but it would appear to be so," Dumbledore responded. "It is entirely possible that he set up the entire chain of events that led to him getting his hands on Milo's amulet deliberately. Or, perhaps more likely, he seized on the opportunity provided by his master's distracted state, caused by the brave young Mister Potter here. Whatever the case, it still remains to be determined whether or not he was, well..."

"...Evil?" Harry suggested.

"In essence. If so, I shall turn him over to the Ministry without delay. But if not... I might consider offering him a teaching position. There is, however, one thing I can say for certain."

"And what's that?" Milo asked.

"Come next term, he will no longer be the Defence Professor."

"How do you know?" Hermione asked.

"Call it an old man's intuition," Dumbledore smiled.

"I have a question, Professor," Hermione said. "What will you do with the Philosopher's Stone now? And, for that matter—where is it?"

"Ah," Dumbledore said with a mischievous grin. "It was in the Mirror all along. However, I had bewitched it only to give it to someone who wanted the Stone—but not to use it."

"So he was right!" Milo exclaimed. "You had set the Mirror up as some kind of elaborate test of character!"

"And I failed?" Harry asked. "Wait..." he looked at the Headmaster for a second, then suddenly laughed. "He sabotaged himself!"

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked.

"He guessed it was a test of character, but he told me that he needed the Stone to save Milo," Harry explained. "So..."

"So you wanted to use it," Milo said, grinning. "You were desperate to."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said. "And as for the Stone... it is not fully my decision to make. I'll send word to Rodrick Flamel, and together we will decide what is best. However, I think that, for now, it would be best if you all went to see Poppy in the Hospital Wing." As they all turned to leave, he added, "Except for you, Mister Amastacia-Liadon."

Milo sat down as the others left, feeling somewhat concerned. "What's up?" he asked.

"I believe it has come time for us to discuss what to do about you."

"Oh?" Milo asked apprehensively.

"Well, the simple fact of the matter is that, forgive me, you don't fully fit in here," Dumbledore said, "your form of magic being all but completely incompatible with that which is taught in this school. I can think of any number of wizarding families that would be happy to have you stay with them until such a time as we can figure how to return you to your home."

"Are... are you kicking me out?" Milo was floored. Sure, the magic was different—and he was failing Transfiguration and Potions—but he'd never imagined that he'd be thrown out like this. "Because, quite frankly Professor, you're mistaken."

"Oh? On which issue?"

"Hogwarts is my home," Milo said firmly. "And I've never felt that way about anywhere else."

"Very well," Dumbledore said slowly. "I must confess, I had thought you wanted nothing more than to leave. But, seeing as that is not the case, you might want to look to your studies. Minerva is your Head of House, and she is well within her power to expel you for your grades, which, I am told, are somewhat less than doughty."

"But I'm doing my best!" Milo protested. "I can't actually do your magic! How am I supposed to pass?"

"You seem to have managed in at least four courses," Dumbledore pointed out.

"Two of which have no magic involved whatsoever," Milo countered, "and in Charms, I just got lucky. One of my spells is similar to the Hovering Charm, which is basically the only actual spell Flitwick taught us. The rest was theory. Thank the gods above and below that he didn't ask me to Hover anything sideways, or I'd have been up the Styx without a paddle." Levitate could only move things vertically.

"I understand, dear boy, I do—but I'm not, quite frankly, certain what I can do about it. You see, currently, I am the only member of the faculty aware of the nature of your powers—though Minerva knows some of it, and Poppy is developing suspicions that you are, in fact, an 'Eldritch Horror from Beyond Time Come to Sow Destruction.' I could inform them, but it would come at the risk of letting your secret get out to the wider world."

"I see the problem," Milo said reluctantly. "I might—might—be able to fake my way through Transfiguration." He'd need a week to plan at least, and likely a month of spell research. "The other courses are, so far, not much problem—though, I suspect, at higher levels DADA will become less theory and more application, in which case I will be in trouble. But, in Potions, there's nothing I can do." Even if he took the suboptimal Brew Potion feat, he could still only make his kind—that is to say, Arcane—Potions, which were very specific in their nature, effect, and brewing process.

"Then there is, happily, no problem," Dumbledore said broadly. "Graduation with a T in Potions is perfectly acceptable, though not, of course, strictly encouraged. In fact, I can pass word around that you were strongly traumatized from a young age by certain potions, and, as a result, have a severe psychological handicap to overcome. It might make things somewhat easier for you."

"You wouldn't even be lying," Milo added happily. "I'm severely traumatized by Potions every time I go into Snape's classroom."

"Very well, I believe this matter is settled," Dumbledore said with a glint in his eye. Milo was reminded once more that he was speaking to someone considerably wilier than himself, and wondered whether or not this had been the intended outcome of the conversation. "Now, I have just one more question for you," Dumbledore said slowly.

"Yes, Professor?"

"What was your mother's name?"

"Ley Amastacia." The question caught him completely by surprise, and Milo answered without thinking. He stared at Dumbledore for a moment before the knut dropped. "Pelor, Nerull and Kord!" he exclaimed. "My backstory!" The moment he said it, he knew that his mother's name was Ley, and could almost picture her face.

Dumbledore simply smiled. "I think, if you move alacritously, you may be able to catch your friends before they reach the hospital wing. If you do see them, could you tell them that all four of you earned fifty house points each? Oh—and, if you could ask Harry to come visit sometime this evening, it would be much appreciated."

"Th-thank you, Professor," Milo stammered. He was still too surprised by his sudden discovery to fully process what was going on. His backstory was working again—but it seemed somewhat different from before. Back then, the answers simply appeared as necessary, but now... it was as if Milo had been the one to will them into existence. This warranted further thought and experimentation—but for now, he would just enjoy what had happened. He had to level up, sooner or later he'd have to deal with the consequences of beating Malfoy and his mooks senseless, and figure out a plan to turn a matchstick into a pin, but that could (hopefully) be done another day.

As Milo turned the doorknob, Dumbledore spoke once more.

"Oh—and Milo? I'm proud of you."