Chapter 100

Ron gave a low whistle.

"The only problem is, the dial is unmarked. Now, of course, the normal convention is for dials to turn them to the left for their lowest setting , but, as I'm sure you can tell, the designer of this particular device was quite clearly bonkers. So, just to be safe, I'm turning it all the way to the right." As he did so, the whirring of the drill-end increased to a frightening pace, and parts of the machine were pumping up and down now at a rate that was shaking the floor. "Ah," Dumbledore said. "See? Perfectly safe."

Harry swallowed nervously. Ron's face was white, and Milo licked his suddenly-dry lips.

"I-I'll go first," Harry said. He'd rather do almost anything other than go near that deathtrap of a machine, but he had to know if the Mirror was controlling him. Also, it set a good precedent for Ron and particularly Milo. Once he'd done it and (hopefully) survived, they couldn't very well back out.

"Then, if you would just place your palm here," Dumbledore said, pointing at a flat disc on one of the Debewitcher's spindly arms. Harry complied, taking care not to go anywhere near the more dangerous-looking appendages. There was a tense second or two as Harry waited for the results. The machine didn't, as far as Harry could tell, give any sort of feedback, but eventually Dumbledore broke the silence. "Well," he said, "it seems that you are, fortunately, no less — or more, for that matter — yourself than you usually are." Harry sighed with relief, collapsing into a nearby chair. "Now, Mister Weasley," Dumbledore said, turning to Ron. "If you would ...?"

Ron gulped audibly, but put his now-heavily-sweating palm on the disc. To his relief, nothing happened.

"See?" he said to Harry, pulling his hand away from the machine. "I'm fine, just like I said."

"And Mister Amastacia-Liadon," Dumbledore said, turning to Milo. "It's your turn."

"But I'm not possessed," he said stubbornly.

"I'm sure you're not," Dumbledore replied. "But, nevertheless, your two friends were brave enough to try it. Surely you — as, by your own admission, a hero — would be willing to do the same?"

"This is pointless," he muttered. "I'm sure we all have much more important things to be doing — especially you, headmaster, as Supreme Mugwump on top of being Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot — than entertaining a boy's delusions. I mean, you yourself said the Mirror can't —"

"You got his titles right," Harry said suddenly.

"Sorry, what?" Milo asked coolly.

"You get everything's name wrong," Harry said, backing away slowly.

"I don't —"

"You once called him the Supreme Muggle instead of Mugwump, and called the Chudley Cannons Cuddly. I've never heard you get two polysyllabic names right in the same sentence before."

"Well, maybe I thought it was funny then, but now things are impor—"

"You trapped Mordy in your Belt."

"He was being unruly," Milo said defensively. "He bit me. See?" Milo peeled off one of his weird blue gloves to show a small bite mark between his thumb and index finger.

"Maybe," Harry said skeptically. "He bit you because you're bewitched after all."

"I'm not —"

"Then put your hand in the machine and prove it," Harry said.

"Fine," Milo snapped, and stepped towards Dumbledore's desk. He reached slowly towards the machine with four sets of eyes boring into him slowly. Just as he was about to place his hand on the disc, he spun around. "Summon Hipp—"

"No," Dumbledore said quietly. There was no threat, no malice, and no particular volume to his words. He wasn't even holding his wand. Nevertheless, Milo blinked in amazement as his spell fizzled out in front of him.

"How did you —" he began, then noticed the large number of wands pointed at him. "Ah," he said. "I see."

o—o—o—o

"Enervate," Milo heard a voice say. In a panic, he rolled to the side and tried to stumble to his feet.

"Don't you dare," he said, feeling dizzy. The whole Material Plane seemed to be spinning in a somewhat concerning manner, and everything more than a few feet away was an indistinct blur. He didn't envy his chances of succeeding the requisite Concentration check to cast a spell given his current status.

"I was just —" the voice said again.

"Enervation, eh?" Milo asked, trying to hide just how dazed he was. "You can keep your 1d4 negative levels, if you please, and tell me what the Hells is going on. Or... or else," he finished lamely.

"I think we've got him back," someone else said.

"Blimey, you reckon?" a third voice said sarcastically.

"If 'onety-four' is a number," a female voice said sternly, "then I shall eat my hat. I believe the word you were searching for was fourteen."

"Everyone, stop trying to be witty," Milo said, his vision growing somewhat clearer, "and give me a straight answer."

"You were controlled by the Imperius curse for an unknown duration by an unknown party," a grandfatherly voice that Milo recognized instantly as Dumbledore's said. "But were discovered by your good friend Harry Potter who, in a notably rare act of sensibility for a Gryffindor, immediately did the sensible thing and told the good Deputy Headmistress. Thirty points for Gryffindor, Harry, by the way. In, what if I dare say was a characteristic fit of quick thinking, I then managed to convince you — and, more importantly, whomever was controlling you — that I could reveal the identity of your controller with this fifteen-hundred-year-old magical juicer. You were presumably ordered to attack us, and Minerva, regrettably, was forced to subdue you."

"Oh," said Milo, as the memory came back to him. The room was starting to stabilize, but Milo decided he'd be perfectly happy staying on blessedly solid the floor for a while nonetheless. "Then why did you try to cast Enervation on me?"

"Enervate, Milo, not Enervation," Dumbledore corrected.

"Demons and Tanar'ri," Milo shrugged. "Same thing."

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