Nick of Time

Milo had heard it said that a Wizard, given time to prepare, could defeat any obstacle in existence. To be fair, most of these times had been from Milo's own mouth. Also, the saying assumed the Wizard had access to Magic Item dealers and a way to purchase spells. And, for that matter, three to four meatshields. That said, walking down the dirt path to the Forbidden Forest at 8:00PM on Friday evening, Milo felt ready for anything.

He had a holy symbol of Boccob around his neck with his Amulet of Protection From Evil, a holy symbol of Pelor wrapped around his left wrist like a bracelet and a holy symbol of Heironeous around his right — even Mordy, sitting on his shoulder, had a compact symbol of the local variety (just a pair of lines intersecting at a right angle; how boring could you get?) held prominently in his hand. The symbols were all of silver and polished till they shone like mirrors for optimum effect. He'd whittled twelve wooden stakes, six of which he kept in his Belt and six scattered about his person. That morning, he'd poured several pounds of fine garlic powder into the water supply before showering; the other Gryffindors had not been amused, but, Milo was pretty sure, neither would any vamps who tried to suck his blood.

Somewhat more significantly, Milo had finally finished the Headband of Intellect +4 that he'd been putting off for months (in actuality, it was a small, discreet silver hairclip that would be all but impossible to notice in his tangled hair — local wizards, from what Milo could tell, rarely, if ever, wore the headbands that were all the rage back in Myra (city oflight!cityofmagic!), but Milo still thought of it as a headband). In addition to making him marginally better at crossword puzzles, the Headband significantly increased the number of spells Milo could prepare every morning. Spells which Milo had finally gotten around to researching and he was dying to test out, ideally on some unsuspecting bloodsuckers.

And this time, if only for the novelty of it, Milo had decided to actually make sure that local vampires were anything like the vampire's back home. Quirrell had given him permission to read books from the restricted section on the subject, and, fortunately, they seemed more or less the same as what he was familiar with. Pale skin? Check. Inexplicably heavy accents? Check. Vulnerability to sunlight, running water, garlic, and mirrors? Check. Fangs? You betcha.

What had surprised Milo, however, was their apparent acceptance in wizard society. From what he could tell, they were persecuted, sure, but were still allowed to walk down the street in broad daylight (so to speak). Fred and George said that Honeydukes even sold blood-flavoured lollypops, although he wasn't sure how far he could believe anything they told him. Throughout the Azel empire, being publically known as a vampire was a death sentence. Werewolves seemed to be similarly treated, which, once again, it made Milo wonder why, exactly, everyone claimed there were werewolves living in the Forbidden Forest when there seemed nothing illegal with them simply renting a flat in Cardiff. Ah, well, Milo thought, best not draw too much attention to it. It was a well-known fact that the universe generally responded poorly to any attempt to draw attention to its numerous flaws.

As to these particular vampires, Milo assumed they were either criminals or ex-followers of Voldemort on the run. Either way, Milo thought grimly, they picked the wrong forest to haunt.

"Y-you're late," Quirrell said calmly as he approached the Defence Professor standing on the snowy path, silhouetted by light from the castle.

"A Wizard is never late," Milo intoned, as if quoting an ancient saying.

"Most t-timepieces would d-d-disagree with you," Quirrell said. "Irregardless," (Milo winced) "we m-must p-press on."

"Oh," Milo said suddenly. "Before I forget, you'd best take this." Milo fished out a small necklace from his belt and held it out for Quirrell.

"W-what is it?" Quirrell asked curiously.

"Amulet of Protection From Evil," Milo explained. "In case they try to Dominate —"

Quirrell dropped the Amulet as if it were a Stone of Weight.

"I th-think," Quirrell stammered, "that it w-w-would interfere w-w-with my... p-protective Charms. Y-y-you t-t-take it."

Milo blinked. Quirrell was lying. He'd actually made a Sense Motive check for once.

"Sure," Milo said, keeping his voice neutral. "Mordy can wear it." Why would he refuse protection? Milo wondered. He could only think of three reasons: either Quirrell wanted to be possessed by something, he was already Imperius'd and his controller ordered him to drop it, or he had a different magical amulet on already — wearing two at once prevented either from working reliably. Milo dismissed the first as patently ridiculous, and as for the third ... there was no reason, as far as Milo could tell, for Quirrell to lie about that. So. Quirrell was already controlled by the enigmatic ... whoever.

Unless I failed my Sense Motive check so badly I registered a false positive, Milo thought. No, wait ... that's impossible, isn't it? Because a Sense Motive check wouldn't even be called unless he was Bluffing. I think. Milo had never paid all that much attention to the NPC interaction rules — that's what Bards were for. Well, it was biting him now. Next time I'm home, I'm buying a rulebook and I'm going to Autohypnosis the entire thing, no matter how long it takes.

Regardless, Milo didn't see that he had much choice. If Quirrell was possessed, he'd very likely just kill Milo if he tried to flee. If Quirrell wasn't possessed, then there'd be no reason to flee, anyways.

"Okay, let's go," Milo said, his voice steady with confidence he no longer felt. Quirrell gave a barely perceptible nod and headed off to the forest. "What's the plan?" Milo asked, falling into step with the professor.

"W-we go in, w-we s-send them b-b-back to their f-f-foul m-master, w-we g-go home."

"Fair enough. Does the Killing Curse work on vampires?"

"It w-works on anything," Quirrell smiled. "Except f-for D-Dementors." Milo bit his lip to keep from blurting out that he had a pretty good idea of something else the Killing Curse wouldn't work against. I should probably keep that little gem close to my chest until I find out why Quirrell is lying to me. However, it did imply that the local vampires were somewhat different from what Milo could not help but consider 'normal' ones.

"This Plane is so weird," Milo said under his breath. "I wonder if I didn't accidentally fall into the Far Realm somehow." Milo harboured brief thoughts of having, maybe, gone beyond the Far Realm, but cut that line off quickly; madness lay in that direction. "Any idea of their numbers?"

"N-No."

"Well, you, sir, are just full of useful information today, aren't you?"

"These ... Experience P-Points"— Quirrell's mouth twisted with obvious distaste —"of w-which you sp-speak... w-will y-you earn them if I d-defeat the v-v-v... the c-creatures of d-darkness?" Quirrell said it as if he were simply making conversation.

"Yup," Milo said cheerfully, "just so long as I help in some way."

The Forbidden Forest, unusual among forests of the world, had a very clear and obvious boundary. On one side of an invisible line lay grassy areas where students were allowed and Hagrid lived; on the other, dense, dark, deep, dangerous woodland. Whether this was due to concerted effort on Hagrid's part, some powerful anti-growth Charm, or just one of nature's quirks, the result was a veritable wall of trees. Quirrell simply walked calmly down the path into the cavernous woods, but Milo paused at the border.

"Just because every trip you've made into this place has ended in disaster doesn't mean this one will," he said quietly to himself. "Besides, it's just trees." Wizards and forests, historically, do not get along well. Wizards generally prefer to live either in massive metropolises surrounded by other Wizards, or, alternatively, in precariously crooked towers on the edge of sheer cliffs or floating in the centre of a volcano. Forests, on the other hand, were strictly the domain of Druids (and the odd Cleric of Obad-Hai, god of nature, but Milo generally thought of those as wannabe Druids). Druids and Wizards got along like orange juice and toothpaste. "I am a master of the arcane powers that make the cosmic forces of the universe my plaything nineteen times per day," he said to himself, "and there ain't no fur-wearing treehugger that's going to stop me from going where I please."

If he said it firmly enough, he reasoned to himself, he might actually believe it.

Without further delay, he hustled into the woods after Quirrell.

"Lumos," Quirrell cast, and the tip of his wand began to glow like a torch. Milo winced as his eyes re-adjusted to the light and realised that, if he were ever separated from the Defence Professor or Quirrell dismissed the spell, Milo would be all but blind in the darkness. Milo could, if he wanted to, cast Dancing Lights to create lights of his own, but they only lasted for a minute and he could only do it once.

Instead, he fished out his liquid sunlight from his Belt of Hidden Pouches. The small glass sphere held a glowing golden liquid that was originally intended as a grenadelike weapon to mildly irritate light-sensitive creatures (or do negligible damage to vampires, for that matter), however, it proved universally more popular pressed into service as a torch that could never go out — and all for much less gold than an Everburning Torch.

Passing the glowing sphere up to his familiar to carry, Milo eyed the sides of the path with caution. The last time he'd been down this way, he'd been with Hagrid to collect the rope and canvas he'd used the time before the last time he'd been here. And that time...

Milo's shiver had nothing to do with the icy wind.

"When we get to the vampire nest," Milo said, "We should try to get them all in a group. I'll immobilize the lot, then you pick them off one by one." By far the most effective use of Arcane Magic in combat was at disabling large numbers of enemies simultaneously, generally for the Big Stupid Fighters to move in and finish the job. Milo had one Kelgore's Fire Bolt prepared just in case, but Quirrell would be infinitely more effective at single-target killing than Milo ever would be.

Assuming he's not possessed by Lucius or Voldemort or someone...

Well, if it came to that, Milo was prepared. He would bet his life — in fact, that's exactly what he was betting — that he'd found a way around the Killing Curse. To a certain extent. For a few seconds. With luck.

As long as he won Initiative, that is.

Not for the first — or the last — time he wished he were a Cleric and could just cast Death Ward.

"Be silent," Quirrell hissed. Milo hadn't realized that he was still repeating 'I am a master of the arcane powers that make the cosmic forces of the universe my plaything. I am a master of the arcane powers that make the cosmic forces of the universe my plaything...' over and over under his breath. Around him, dark bushes and creepers, almost black in the darkness, seemed to be reaching towards him hungrily.

"Sorry," Milo muttered.

"Foliage," Quirrell whispered. "Three O'Clock."

The instant of warning was all Milo needed to avoid being taken by surprise as the monstrous spider — Acromantula, he reminded himself — leapt from nearby undergrowth at him.

"Kelgore's Fire Bolt." The spider erupted into flame in midair and came crashing into the earth with a heavy thud, where it lay still. "I don't understand," Milo said. "Everything I've read said these bugs were smart — almost as smart as humans, actually. Supposedly, they can even talk."

"C-correct," Quirrell said.

"So... why do they keep rushing me like this?" Milo wondered. "They can shoot webs. They can think for themselves. Hells, they're even supposed to ..." Milo's voice trailed off somewhat as realized what he was about to say. They hunt in packs. "Glitterdust!"

Shining golden particles — no matter how many times he cast the spell, Milo was always struck by how pretty they were (not that he'd ever admit to thinking that; it'd be undignified in a Wizard) — exploded around them. Milo generally used the spell to blind his enemies, but, in this case, it's other function — to reveal targets — served just as well.

What Milo had taken to be a cluster of particularly evil-looking shrubbery revealed it's sinister nature as a writhing, dark sea of chitin.

"Aw, Hells," Milo said. "Run?"

"R-run," Quirrell agreed. The forest exploded all around them as they bolted down the path, the spiders' hard carapace making angry chittering sounds as they rubbed against each other.

"Why do the spiders hate me so much?" Milo asked as he practically flew down the path. "I mean, what did I do to them? Except kill their nephew."

He risked a glance over his shoulder and was surprised to see barely a speck of golden light. At first, he thought that maybe he'd managed to lose his pursuers — then the more pragmatic, less wildly optimistic part of his brain added, helpfully, that no, he hadn't lost them; the Glitterdusted Acromantulas were simply being blocked by the swarming masses of their non-glowing brethren.

Not only am I going to be eaten, Milo thought grimly, but I've already garnished myself up for it. He was practically sweating garlic. While Milo knew, academically, that Acromantulas were not the Monstrous Spiders of home, they seemed closely related; Monstrous Spiders, no matter how large, moved at the same speed as an unencumbered human. The Acromantulas, if they were gaining on him at all, were doing it slowly.

What they did have that he didn't was endurance. Why the Hells did I dump Constitution for Charisma? That has to be the stupidest thing done by a Wizard since the dawn of time.

Boccob, god of magic, has a higher Charisma than Constitution, part of his brain added in defence. Milo's breaths were becoming increasingly laboured, and his legs burned with effort. Quirrell, running very slightly ahead of him, seemed to be doing just fine.

You—are—not—Boccob, the other part of his brain added vehemently.

Everybody's a critic.

"I don't suppose," Milo said between beleaguered breaths, "that you can do some magic on them?"

"Against one? M-maybe. B-but on f-fifty?"

"Screw this," Milo muttered. "Time for plan B. Web!" Layers of sticky strands, stronger than steel, shot out of his hands and created a near-solid wall of silky webs between the trees on either side of the trail.

Web is one of those beautiful, beautiful spells in which, even if the victims make their saving throws, they're still pretty much screwed.

"How's that for delicious irony, eh? Eh? Think twice before you try to eat a Wizard, next time!" Milo shouted at the trapped spiders, who were angrily clawing at his webs. "Now you kill one or two," Milo added to Quirrell. Even as he spoke, he saw that no less than three spiders had nearly managed to free themselves from his webs; doubtless, several others further back were trying to find a way around.

"Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra," Quirrell cast the Unforgivable Curses (that is, Unforgivable when used on a human) as dispassionately as one would swat a fly. With a pair of eye-searing green flashes, two trapped spiders abruptly stopped struggling. "B-but I d-don't see... ah," Quirrell suddenly realized. The spiders' — those that still lived — struggling had taken on a very different form.

"'When you're being chased by an Owlbear in the woods,'" Milo quoted, "'you don't need to run faster than the Owlbear — just faster than the delicious, juicy Halfling.' Still, we'd best move along."

Despite the grisly carnage behind him, Milo grinned. Just like that, he'd covered one-third of the distance to level six. As he cautiously walked down the snowy path with Quirrell and ran the numbers on the Experience Points, his smile started to slip.

"Together we killed three spiders," Milo said quietly. "and I got 450 XP each. I got 600 from the one back in September, but I was lower level then..." he frowned. "...which is exactly how much I would have gotten if it were CR 6 and I had help from..." Abruptly, Milo stopped moving. If he had help from a CR 12 ally each time.

"W-what was that?" Quirrell asked. "W-we really ought to p-press on. The A-Acromantulas will g-get through eventually."

"It was you," Milo said quietly.

"E-excuse me?"

"It was you, the whole time — I've been an idiot! You killed the Acromantula."

"Just c-calm down and —" without warning, Quirrell shouted "Oblivia—"

"Nerveskitter! Grease!" Quirrell's wand slid from his hands and buried itself in the snow. "You didn't think I'd say something like that without a Readied Action to back it up, would you? Mage Hand." Quirrell's wand flew into Milo's grasp. Thank you, Harry, for making me learn that trick.

"This is all just a b-big m-misunder —"

"You lost any chance of convincing me of that when you tried to erase my memory just now. So, who do you really work for? Lucius? Fudge?" Quirrell's mouth twitched slightly.

"I w-w-work for D-Dumbledore and the M-M-Minist—"

"Yeah, and I'm Pun-Pun the Kobold. Mordy — get the manacles." Milo kept a set of heavy steel manacles with one of the best locks on the market to avoid the infamous Prisoner's Dilemma (that is, what do Good adventurers do with captured Orcs?). Mordy dragged the manacles onto the ground at Quirrell's feet, then scurried back to Milo's shoulder. "Cuff yourself, and don't try anything funny if you want to avoid becoming a greasy stain on the ground." Milo was lying through his teeth — the magic he had available with the most killing potential was Acid Splash.

"This is m-m-madness," Quirrell said, but complied. "Y-you don't understand—"

"What I understand is that you've clearly been lying to me for some time — and you took my memories. I want to know why. And, Professor — make me believe it."

o—o—o—o

"Anybody seen Milo anywhere?" Ron asked. "His version of Wizard's Chess is surprisingly addictive."

"Nope, sorry," Hermione said, lying back in one of the Common Room's overstuffed armchairs.

"He had that mysterious assignment with Quirrell, remember?" Harry said.

"Oh, right," Hermione remembered. "The one he refused to talk about."

"He's going to the Forbidden Forest with Quirrell," Hannah said calmly. "They're going to hunt vampires."

"There aren't any vampires in the Forbidden Forest," Ron snorted. "The werewolves wouldn't put up with them. They hate each other so much it's proverbial."

"How did you know that, Hannah?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ron.

"He's a terrible liar," Hannah explained. "And whenever I asked him about it, he'd glance towards the forest. Also, he stayed up late sharpening stakes in the Common Room and said 'I'm going to the Forbidden Forest with Quirrell to hunt vampires,' but I don't think he realized I was there. He often doesn't."

"Oh," Hermione said. "So that's why none of the tables have got any legs."

"He's doing what?" Harry asked. "We have to go after him!"

"Into the Forest, mate? You're mad. There's giant spiders in the Forest." Ron looked like he'd rather kiss Snape than do what Harry suggested.

"Don't you remember what happened the last time he went into the Forbidden Forest with Quirrell?" Harry pressed.

"Was it that they found buried Galleons? Can it please be that they found buried Galleons?"

"He almost died, Ron."

"Oh, come on. Milo almost dies four times before getting out of bed every morning. He'll be fine."

Hermione frowned, and set aside her homework.

"I think Harry might be right," she said. "But so is Ron. Look at it like this, though: he's almost died, what, three times? Four?"

"Or thereabouts," Harry said.

"And why hasn't he? Died, I mean."

"Hermione!" Hannah sounded scandalized.

"No, I don't mean I want him to, I'm just asking how he always survives."

"Because..." Harry mused. "Well, he gets rescued a lot."

"Grab your Cloak," Hermione said, her tone allowing no possibility of dissent. She then glanced out the window. As much as Milo drove her crazy sometimes, they were friends. "And a scarf, it looks chilly."

o—o—o—o

"Fool," Quirrell said. "You have no idea of the f-forces with w-w-which you are m-meddling."

"I tend to hear that a lot," Milo shrugged. On his shoulder, his familiar mimicked the expression. "How about you just tell me, though? If you don't, I'm going to have to assume you're an enemy."

"I-is that s-supposed to be a th-threat?" Quirrell sneered contemptuously.

"Fine, don't tell me. Presumably, you're after the Stone? Eternal life does sound like a pretty sweet deal — although, if I leave you here for the vampires to find you, you might just wind up with eternal unlife. Assuming there even are any vampires, that is, and you didn't lie about that, too."

"Oh, the v-vampires are r-real, b-boy," Quirrell said. "And a-alone? B-by yourself? Th-they'll never let you leave the F-Forest alive."

"Detect Thoughts. Whatever you do, don't think about your boss." To Milo's surprise, he picked up, not one, but two sapient minds in front of him. "What the Hells —"

Without warning, the forest exploded into varicoloured light.

"Expelliarmus!" Quirrell's wand flew from Milo's grasp. "Petrificus Totalus!" Milo's hands suddenly flew to his sides and stayed there. All of his muscles stopped responding to movement, except, oddly, his eyes — he could look around unimpeded.

Half a dozen Death Eaters, masks and all, stepped out from the trees in a loose circle around Milo and Quirrell.

"It appears my son does not disappoint — for once," said an oily voice from behind one of the masks. "When he said you'd be leaving the castle with only a single teacher of dubious competence to protect you, I thought it was too good to be true. Fortune, it would seem, favours the patient."

Milo struggled to speak, but his jaw remained clamped firmly shut. Quirrell was looking at the Death Eaters with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"R-release me, L-Lucius," Quirrell said. "And y-you will be r-r-rewarded b-beyond your —"

"Rewarded by you?" Lucius sneered. "What could I, the wealthiest wizard in magical England, have to gain by freeing you? Who even are you? I see no reason why I should not simply kill you on the spot."

"Y-you will f-face my w-wrath if you d-do this thing, Malfoy. F-for I am L-Lord—" Quirrell broke off, screaming in anguish. Lucius looked around at his Death Eaters.

"Did one of you...?" he left the question hanging. They all shook their heads, seeming equally perplexed at the cause of the Defence Professor's sudden pain.

"F-forgive me," Quirrell stammered. "P-perhaps it is b-better to say that I h-h-have the e-ear of one that e-even y-you, L-Lucius, w-would n-not long r-regret d-displeasing."

"Would not long regret..." Malfoy frowned.

"Because you'd be dead, boss," one of the masked wizards added helpfully.

"Yeah, you'd be departed, boss," said another.

"Yes, I got that, Crabbe. Goyle. Now be silent." Had the spell preventing him from moving allowed, Milo would have grinned. Like father, like son...

"I believe you're bluffing," Malfoy said finally. "Nobody with friends that powerful would settle at being a schoolteacher."

"N-no! L-Lucius, you f-fool, you d-don't under —"

"Stupefy," Malfoy cast, and Quirrell sagged against the tree. Lucius Malfoy bent over the unconscious teacher and softly whispered "Obliviate."

o—o—o—o

"Blimey," Ron said shakily. "What happened to all these spiders?" Through the folds of the Invisibility Cloak — Milo had been wrong, it had worked for multiple people at once — they could clearly see piles of dead Acromantulas surrounding a thick web.

"It looks like they... turned on each other," Hermione sounded sick. "Although several of them look, well, just fine."

"Except that they're stone cold dead," Harry added.

"I think we should keep going," Hannah said. "It's safe to assume that Milo had some hand in this. He can't go thirty minutes without needing someone to pull him out of the fire." Despite her words, she fingered a crude-looking flower at her lapel with a fond expression.

"Right," said Harry, feeling slightly embarrassed. "On we go."

"Er," said Ron, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there's a big dirty web in front of us."

"Milo once told me that magical webs burn quickly," Hannah said.

"Brilliant," Ron said. "But where are we going to get any fire?"

Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

"Where are we going to — Are you a wizard or aren't you?"

"Oh, right," Ron said, looking sheepish. "Incendio!"

o—o—o—o

"You, boy, have given me no end of trouble," Lucius sneered, his eyes narrowing through the holes in his mask. "That ritual was hardly supposed to summon an eleven-year-old abomination like you, but you'll have to suffice."

Milo suddenly saw the reason for the Still and Silent Spell metamagic feats. Without the ability to speak or move his hands, he was completely helpless.

"Crabbe! Goyle! Carry him. We must move beyond the wards."

They're taking me beyond the wards? Milo wondered. So, they mean to Disapparate. If they did that, Milo could very well wind up imprisoned in a cavern somewhere in the Earth's crust, for all he knew. It could take him centuries to earn enough XP to be able to Teleport out of that without monsters to fight. Assuming they don't just kill me, of course.

Rough hands grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and half-carried, half-dragged him through the dark forest.

Well, he thought, I am royally screwed. At least I know Quirrell's up to something, for all the good that does me.

o—o—o—o

"Quiet!"Hermione suddenly hissed.

"What?" Ron asked.

"Don't you hear that? Someone's talking up ahead."

"I think I can see light," Harry said, squinting through his sight-augmenting glasses.

As quietly as they could, the four of them crept along the narrow, winding path towards the tiny points of light up ahead.

"Looks like four or five wands lit up," Harry said as they approached.

"But Quirrell and Milo only have two between them," Ron said.

"And Milo's doesn't even count," Hermione added.

"He could have used his Dancing Lights spell," Hannah said, peering through the trees. "It would look sort of like that." She sounded somewhat skeptical, though.

"Could be," Harry said dubiously.

"I think we should assume it isn't them," Hermione said. "And that they aren't friendly."

"Good plan," Harry said. He tried to sound confident, but, really... what could they possibly do against a group of fully-trained wizards? He'd only learned how to disarm less than a week ago.

Moving was awkward with four bodies under the Cloak, but they slowly gained ground on the party ahead of them.

Ron's voice caught as they came close enough to see their masks.

"Death Eaters," he hissed. "Followers of You-Know-Who."

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione said softly. "We should go back and tell Dumbledore. We should have told Dumbledore right at the start."

"Yeah, well, he's a bit hard to reach," Ron said, "living in a password-protected secret office and all."

"Quiet, both of you," Harry snapped. "Those two, the ones built like gorillas — you see? They've got Milo. He... he's not moving."

"Is he — oh, Merlin. Can you tell if he's... is he breathing?" Hannah asked.

"No," Harry said without thinking. "I mean, I can't tell. Not... not the other thing."

"They're carrying him deeper into the Forest," Hermione mused. "They must mean to get outside the wards and Disapparate."

"Then we have to hurry!" Harry urged.

"And do what?" Hermione asked. "No, seriously. What do we do if we catch them? They'll kill the lot of us."

"We have to try," Hannah said. "He saved my life, once. He saved Neville's, too. He wouldn't even think twice."

"If we take them by surprise," Harry mused, "we can disarm the four not holding Milo simultaneously. As soon as the two big ones drop him and go for their wands, we do the same to them."

"Then what do we do?" Hermione asked.

"Whatever we want, really," Harry said. "We'll have wands and they won't."

Hermione chewed on her lip.

"Fine," she said finally. "But if we don't get them all — all of them — on the first volley, we run. They won't be casting to disarm, or even to stun."

"Deal," Harry said reluctantly. Filled with equal parts reassurance in having a plan and abject terror in the face of near-certain death, he led his three classmates towards a larger group of hardened killers.

"Okay," he said finally, ducking behind a tree about twenty paces from the Death Eaters. "We're in range. Everyone get ready, and remember practice. It's no different from the Duelling Club."

"In the club, Neville won't slay me if I mess up the spell," Ron muttered.

"We go on three, okay? One. Two. Th—"

There was a short series of loud popping noises, like small firecrackers, and the Death Eaters vanished.

"We're too late," Hannah said in a dead tone. "I can't... I mean, what... we... we're too late."