White Christmas

"Hey, Harry!" said Milo excitedly, running up to his partymember in their dorm room. It was the day before the holiday, and everyone was eagerly awaiting two weeks at home—everyone, that is, except Harry and Milo, who were staying.

"What's up?" Harry asked.

"Check this out," he said, holding up an ordinary-looking Hogwarts school uniform.

"You finally done tinkering with that thing?" Harry asked. "You said it would be done weeks ago."

"Yeah, well," Milo said, "feature creep, you know. And then there's all the detentions. Anyways, take this," Milo said, passing Harry the Cold Iron dagger that he kept in his magic belt.

"Why do you have a knife?"

"Okay," Milo said, practically bursting with excitement. "Now, stab it!"

"This is a pretty serious-looking knife."

"Never mind that, stab! Stabbity stab!"

"You carry this around all the time? I think that's against school rules."

"Oh, come on! Those wands are lethal weapons and they give them to eleven-year-olds, what's a Masterwork shiv here and there? Now stab!" Milo was bouncing on his heels.

"Is this like the time you threw a mug at me?"

"Exactly like that! This robe is practically made of Mage Armour!"

"Really?" Harry asked skeptically.

"No, not really. That's not how it works. But it's a simple enough lie that your unenlightened brain can handle it, now stab the robes!"

"Fine!" Harry stabbed them. Much to his surprise, the knife simply glanced off the garment as if it were made of hardened steel. Harry frowned, and stared at the knife.

"Eh? Eh?" Milo said. "What do you think? Cool, no? Totally ordinary Hogwarts uniform until Blam! I get attacked, and guess what? It's godsdamn invincible!"

"This must not be a very good knife," Harry said, ignoring Milo completely and staring at the dagger in his hand.

"And that's not all!" Milo said. "It gives me +1 Caster Level to Conjuration spells!"

"I mean, it can't even cut through an ordinary school uniform."

"That means a whole six more seconds of Hippogriff!"

"It looks sharp. I wonder if it's some sort of trick dagger?"

"Or ten feet more range to Glitterdust!"

"Or maybe you had a metal plate hidden in that robe?"

"That's a whole 20% more Caster Levels!"

"No, then I'd have still cut the robe... must be the knife."

"Or 60% more with the Arcanist's Gloves!"

"Maybe I should try and cut something else with it. That would tell me for sure if it was the knife or the robe."

"And that's not all! I added in Fire Resistance 5 as a custom bonus feature."

"I'll go test it on the curtain of my bed, maybe."

"So now it, and by extension, I, am fire-proof!"

"Well, it works on the bed, that's for sure."

"Well, maybe not fire-proof. More like fire resistant."

"Maybe I should test it on Ron's bed, too, just to be sure."

"But it's more than enough to make me very nearly safe against conventional fire! With this, I can walk into a burning building for up to, on average, six minutes! Or if the dice are against me, only seventy-two seconds before burning to death. But that's still pretty good!"

"Works on Ron's bed just as well as mine. Maybe the knife is exceptionally good at cutting curtains, but suboptimal on cutting robes. There's only one way to be sure."

"You know, I think, somehow, that I'm not getting through to you here."

"Well, it certainly seems capable of cutting Ron's spare robes."

"I'll go show Hermione," Milo said dejectedly. "She knows how to appreciate proper magic when she sees it."

"Fine, fine," Harry said distractedly. "I'll go visit Hagrid," Harry said finally. "He's been a bit down ever since Quirrell killed his dog."

To say that Hagrid was 'a bit down' was rather like saying the Elemental Plane of Water was 'a bit damp.' He'd been aimlessly wandering the halls in tears since Hallowe'en, bemoaning the loss of his beloved omnicidal tricephalous monstrosity. Milo shrugged and walked down the stairs into the Common Room.

True to form, Hermione was curled up on an armchair reading a thick, dusty old tome.

"Hey," said Milo. "Can I see that?"

"Hmmm?" Hermione asked absently, not looking up.

"Scholar's Touch," Milo muttered, tapping the book quickly.

"Hey!" Hermione said, pulling it away from him.

"Interesting," Milo said. "But, no matter how knowledgeable she is on the history of Goblin uprisings in Central Europe, she uses the word 'irregardless' twenty-four times. Just toss it in the fire like the kindling it is, would you?"

"Did you just come here to show off, or was there something else?" Hermione snapped.

"Actually, there was something. I need you to—hang on," Milo said, pulling on his robes. "Okay. I need you to light me on fire. See, my robes are—"

"Incendio," Hermione said, waving her wand in a complicated little pattern. A bright little jet of fire shot out of the tip of Hermione's wand, but dissipated as soon as it touched Milo's robes.

"I'm going to pretend that you waited for me to say 'my robes make me fire resistant' before you tried to immolate me," Milo said.

"I figured it was something like that," Hermione said absently. "Although, I had hoped otherwise. Don't touch my books."

"I'll try to keep that in mind."

Milo saw Hannah sitting in the corner, looking at him for some reason. As soon as he noticed her, she abruptly looked away. Well, there's weirdoes all over.

"Hey," Milo said, walking over to her. "Whatcha up to?"

"Just, uh, reading the Tales of Beedle the Bard," she said.

"It's upside-down," Milo said.

"What, really?" Hannah asked in alarm, glancing down at it. "No, it's not!"

"Nah, but you checked. Anyways, look, there was something I'd been meaning to ask you for a while, now," Milo said. He wasn't quite sure how to go about this.

"Yes?" Hannah asked, her heart beating rapidly.

"Well, it's about something I've sort of been wondering about with regards to you," he said. "Something I just can't figure out."

"Mmhmm?" Hannah said, not trusting herself to speak.

"I was wondering—you remember that day in September, the first time we all had detention for Snape? We were cleaning statues, watched by the Baron?"

Hannah nodded quickly.

"Then you vanished, and I lead the search to find you," (Hannah felt like she was about to burst) "and eventually had to enlist the aid of the Defence Professor and most of Hogwarts' portraits," Milo continued. "But eventually, we found you." Hannah just nodded again. "You were in the lake."

"What?" Hannah asked.

"The lake. We found you in the Hogwarts lake. What on Earth were you doing there?"

"You came here to ask me about the lake." said Hannah flatly.

"Yup," said Milo cheerfully.

"Oh, look at the time, I really must be going now, things to do, people to see, lakes to fall into, gotta run, cheerio, bye." Hannah gathered up her stuff and strode out of the Common Room like a woman with a purpose.

"She went down one of Hogwarts' trick corridors," Hermione said idly, not looking up from her book. "It turned into a slide and she came out right into the lake. If not for the giant squid, I think we'd all be doing it on hot days. And that was a mean thing you just did."

"What, asking her how she got laked? I can't figure how you could put any malicious intent into that."

"Until you did right in front of me, neither could I," Hermione said, turning a page.

"Should I go find her and apologize?"

"No. Absolutely not. Believe me, in this case, it's better to feign ignorance."

"People are weird," Milo said under his breath, staring out the window. Being the middle of winter in Northern Scotland, what he saw was mostly white. He could only see a few yards because snowstorms give a -1 to Spot every 2.5 feet. Milo resisted (barely) the urge to say, 'I'm sure everything's all white.'

"You know," Milo said idly. "If I could take the covers off all the books in the library and stitched them together" (Hermione looked up at him in horror) "then I could read the whole lot with a single Scholar's Touch."

"I think Madam Pince would have the books rebound with your skin as a warning to the rest of us," Hermione said. "And I'd be right there holding you down while she did. Don't—"

"Touch your books, yeah, I remember."

"Why don't you go make some more magic doodads or something?" Hermione asked testily.

"Can't," Milo said. "You can only work on a Magic Item up to eight hours a day."

"Where on Earth did you find eight hours already today? We only got out of class an hour ago!"

"Well, what do you do in History of Magic?"

"I take notes, of course!"

"That's what Mordenkainen's for," Milo grinned.

"You trust your rat," Hermione said, aghast, "to listen in class for you?"

"'Course. He wasn't doing anything else at the time."

"How can your rat write?"

"Easy. He can speak to me in a sort of unique little language. The rules clearly state that 'A literate character (anyone but a Barbarian who has not spent skill points to become literate) can read and write any language she speaks. Each language has an alphabet, though sometimes several spoken languages share a single alphabet.' Mordenkainen is, obviously, not a Barbarian; he can therefore write in an undecipherable code that only I can read, which, incidentally, looks a lot like Elvish."

Hermione frowned.

"That's a pretty shaky read of the rules, and—wait, what rules?"

Milo snorted.

"When you people are taught to count," Milo said, "we're taught to abuse poorly thought-out rules."

"You were in lessons as a child to abuse rules?" Hermione was horrified.

"Nah, skipped 'em all to fight kobolds in the sewers. Myra (cityoflight!cityofmagic!) city law states that 'children under the age of twelve must attend school,' but it never said they had to 'attend school' more than once."

Hermione's mouth moved, but no words came out.

"It's funny, I got an A in my Munchkinry course without ever showing up past the first lesson. All the students that showed up failed."

"Out!" Hermione said, throwing a cushion at him. "Just let me read in peace!" She reached for another cushion.

Milo, despite having faced down an Acromantula, a Troll, dozens of Skeletons, and Kobolds and Goblins beyond measure, was disinclined to face a wrathful Hermione, and promptly utilized a strategic manoeuvre to leave the Common Room.

"I'm bored," Milo declared proudly as he exited the portal.

"That's nice," said the Fat Lady. "You should try hanging on a wall for several hundred years."

Boredom was a state so rare for an adventurer that decided to savour it for as long as he could. Being boredom, of course, this only lasted for about a microsecond before he was dying for something to do.

"Hey," Milo said suddenly. "You know about this world's quaint little culture, right?"

"I know anything and everything that can be discovered by hanging on a wall, watching students walk past, and pretending not to hide a secret passageway. So, yes."

"This Christmas thing," Milo said. "I'm led to understand that people give each other presents."

"Correct," said the Fat Lady.

"Now, when they say 'people'—"

"—that includes you, yes."

"Crap."

"Indeed."

"And if, say, someone were to hypothetically upset a friend of theirs in the days leading up to this gift-giving holiday, and were, for some reason, recommended against direct apology—"

"Is this friend female?"

"Yes."

"Then the gift had better be damn special."

"Crap."

"Indeed."

"I have, what, eight days?"

"Seven."

"I'd best get started, then."

"Correct."

o—o—o—o

The vast majority of Hogwarts' students went home over the holidays, and for those who remained, the two week break was a time to lie around in their respective Common Rooms, playing Exploding Snap and (for the less danger-inclined) wizarding chess.

Not so for Milo, who spent day and night working on Christmas presents, researching spells, and 'resting,' (really, planning and setting traps for the arrival of the dreaded Santa Claws) each in exactly 8 hour increments per day. When Christmas Eve rolled around, Ron and Harry were surprised to see Milo, weary and exhausted, trudge zombie-like into their dormitory.

"Blimey," said Ron, who was staying at the castle because his parents went to visit his brother Charlie in Romania, "we thought you'd gone home for the holidays."

"Where have you been?" Harry asked. "Nobody's seen you at mealtimes, in the Common Room, or even in bed."

"Christmas," Milo slurred.

"When was the last time you slept?" asked Harry, looking equal parts concerned and amused.

"Over a hundred thousand, eight hundred rounds ago," Milo said. People, from where he was from, were very good at telling time—but only in rounds, a unit of six seconds.

"What are you carrying, there?" Ron asked, pointing at a heavy bag Milo had slung over his shoulder.

"Christmas," Milo repeated, and slipped into unconsciousness in his four-poster bed.

"Nutter," Ron said. "But at least he's on our side."

The residents of Gryffindor Tower awoke to an unpleasant surprise on Christmas morning.

"Glitterdust! Obscuring Mist! Summon 1d4+1 Celestial Giant Fire Beetles!"

"Ah! Gerroff!"

"I've gone blind!"

"He was here! Father Christmas was here! While I slept! Oh, why did I sleep? Who let me sleep? We didn't post any sentries! Grease!" Milo was standing in the middle of the dorm, casting offensive spells at random. The room was full of dense fog, concealing everything except for blindingly bright sparkling gold particles of magic and the red, glowing eyes of four giant beetles that were skittering about, clicking loudly. "We'll all be killed!"

Fortunately, Milo ran out of spells in about a minute, and the protesting struggles of Ron and Harry managed to convince him that Santa "Claws" wasn't about to jump out from under a bed and kill him.

"And that," said Ron, "is why you need to sleep more than once every eight nights. Happy Christmas, by the way."

"I've got some presents!" Harry said in surprise, the small pile of wrapped gifts visible now that the dust had cleared and the noise had stopped.

"What were you expe—" Ron began, but Milo cut him off.

"—You don't normally get presents?" Milo asked.

"Nah," said Harry. "This is the first time!"

"So... so... they're not mandatory? I didn't have to get you anything?"

"Blimey," said Ron, "I don't think you've quite grasped the meaning of Christmas."

Harry groaned.

"If anyone suggests we go on an adventure to discover the true meaning of Christmas," he said, "I'm going to have to put my foot down."

"An adventure, eh?" Milo asked, his eyes alight.

"No. No. No adventures," insisted Ron firmly. "We open presents. We have Christmas Dinner. We play games. We have fun with friends and family. That's it."

"Oh," said Milo, looking downcast.

The first package opened was by Harry from his aunt and uncle. It contained something Milo had never seen before, something... unnatural.

"What is it?" Milo asked, looking fascinated.

"I dunno," said Ron. "Look at the shape!"

"It's a fifty-pence piece," Harry said, biting down laughter.

"Well, where's the rest of it?" Milo asked.

"That's all they sent."

"So, if this is a piece of the Fifty Pence," Milo said thoughtfully, "what happens when we combine all seven shards—there are seven, right? It's usually either seven or three—do we become masters of the Fifty Pence?"

Harry doubled over with laughter.

"No, mate, I heard my dad talking about this once," Ron said in hushed tones. "It's what Muggles use for money!"

"What, this?" Milo asked. "It's not made of gold, platinum, silver, or even copper! How do they know how much it's worth?"

"My dad couldn't figure it out, either," Ron said. "He theorizes that Muggles have a sense that wizards lack that tells them how much their money is worth, and my dad's a professional."

"I guess they'd have to have something to balance out their lack of magic," Milo mused.

Harry was in real danger of dying due to lack of air, he was laughing so hard.

"I don't trust it," Ron said. "If it's not made of precious metals, what's to stop people from just Transfiguring more of it?"

Milo gasped.

"They don't have any magic at all! They can't just Transmute or Transfigure money!" Milo was amazed.

"Whoa," said Ron. "That's mindblowing. They can use anything as money, then. I should write my dad about this."

In the end, Harry let Ron keep the coin to show Mr Weasley, and turned to his other presents.

"You got me new spectacles, Milo?" Harry asked when he opened Milo's gift. "They... look exactly my current ones."

"So nobody will know the difference," Milo said, tapping the side of his nose in a conspiratorial way.

"Er... thank you? I suppose a spare will come in handy," Harry said dubiously.

"Put them on," Milo insisted. Harry, obligingly, slipped off his current pair and put on Milo's new ones.

"Blimey!" Harry gasped.

"They look like ordinary specs," Milo said, "but they're really Eyes of the Eagle. They give +5 to Spot—that means you can see things fifty feet away with the same level of detail as you could see something right in front of your nose without them—and, because they're enchanted using my form of magic, none of your wizards can tell that they're anything out of the ordinary."

Harry stared at Milo for a moment, then his face broke into a wide grin.

"So I can wear them during Quidditch without breaking any rules!" he said. "Or at least, without getting caught. Thanks, Milo! These are awesome."

"You'll have to get a proper eye doctor to have the lenses done in your prescription, though," said Milo, who had asked Hermione earlier about how glasses worked. "Until then, the -2 penalty you incur will counter out some of the bonus."

"Shouldn't be too much of a problem," Harry said.

"Hope you like them," Milo said. "You did pay for them, after all."

Ron, who was staring at Harry's gift enviously, sifted through his (rather large; he has a big family) pile of presents to find Milo's. Unwrapping it revealed an ordinary looking quill.

"What's it do?" Ron asked eagerly.

"It writes words," Milo said.

"That's all?" Ron asked, sounding disappointed.

"Yeah... but it does it all by itself. I made this one custom, it's my own invention. See, what you do is, you just tap it to a piece of paper or parchment or whatever to activate it. It'll immediately start copying whatever you were looking at when it started, and won't stop till it's done or after 2,500 words, whichever comes first. I figure it'll come in dead handy when you're copying Hermione's notes," Milo explained. "It'll even turn the page and keep going on the next one when necessary."

"Blimey," Ron gasped, holding the quill like it was a long-lost family member. "That's bloody brilliant."

"Only works once a day, though, so keep it away from parchment so you don't trigger it by accident. I call it the Pen of Plagiarism +5."

"Plus five what?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Milo said unabashedly, "but where I come from, you can charge exponentially more for stuff if it's plus something."

Milo turned to his presents, which, as it turned out, were (as far as he was concerned) even better than minor magic items. Each of Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had decided independently to get him a huge package of Every Flavoured Beans.

"I think," Milo said around a huge mouthful of the bizarre sweets, "that I like this whole Christmas thing. A lot of work, though."

Harry (wearing an emerald sweater knitted by Mrs Weasley) opened his last package. A silvery-grey, gossamer cloth floated out of it and fell to the floor.

Ron gasped.

"Huh," Harry said. "Looks like a cloak."

"Put it on," Ron urged. "If it's what I think it is... well, there's only one way to find out."

"You," Harry said pointedly, "have been spending too much time with Hermione." Nevertheless, did, and promptly vanished.

Milo and Ron both gasped.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak!" Ron said, while Milo said "It's a Cloak of Invisibility!"

Harry pulled it off.

"Why do they call it that?" he asked.

"'Cause it makes you invisible," said Ron.

"Duh," added Milo.

"I didn't feel invisible," Harry said skeptically. "Here, you put it on," he passed it to Ron, who held it reverently. True to form, Ron vanished as soon as he put it on.

"Huh," said Harry. "Don't see that every day."

"I do, actually," Milo pointed out. He usually prepared Invisibility once a day. "Oh! I've been meaning to test something, actually. Harry, put it on again."

When Harry complied, Milo cast See Invisibility. Harry appeared in front of him as a translucent shape.

"Excellent," Milo said. "Score one for my magic, for once." Must be because of the vague wording of See Invisibility, Milo thought. It just says "reveals any objects or creatures that are invisible," not "creatures that are affected by Invisibility."

"Did it come with a card?" Ron asked curiously. "Those things are really expensive; I wonder who would spend that much on you?"

Harry rooted about on the ground for a moment, then produced a small note with a handwritten message.

Your father left this in my possession before

he died. It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well.

A Very Merry Christmas to you.

"That," Milo said, "is singularly unhelpful. Put it on the list."

Harry was looking at the note strangely.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Harry said. Milo shrugged, and began preparing spells for the day. Fortunately, his ... episode ... in the morning had come from yesterday's spells. Harry and Ron settled down to play a game of Exploding Snap.

"Hey," Milo said suddenly, having finished renewing his allotment of spells. "Anyone know if Hannah's staying for the holidays?"

"Uh," said Ron. "Yeah, I think I saw her at dinner the other day, with Lavender Brown."

"Cool. Bye," Milo said, leaving the dorm abruptly. On his way out, he passed Fred and George, wearing matching Weasley jumpers.

"—and then we'll say 'we know we're called Gred and Forge,'" Fred was saying in a low voice.

"Oh, hey Milo," George said as Milo passed.

"Hey," Milo said, barely giving them a glance. "Wait," he said, and turned. "Have either of you seen Hannah Abbot around?"

"Yeah," said Fred. "Last I saw, she was heading out of the Common Room."

"Oh," George added. "She was wearing a coat and scarf, so she was probably going outside."

"What, in that?" Milo asked, gesturing at the window. The snow was really picking up. "Didn't you try and stop her?"

"Yeah, but she ignored us. Don't worry, I'm sure she'll be—"

"—all white."

Milo groaned, and not just because of the terrible pun. He was going to have to go out and find her to deliver her mandatory apology present. Milo hustled out of the Common Room and down the stairs to the Great Hall, pulling on parts of his Cold Weather Outfit from his Belt of Hidden Pouches as he went. On the way, he decided that his next project would be to make his uniform Shiftweave as well, which allowed it to transform into other outfits instantly.

Milo opened the massive Great Hall doors to find snow piled up to his head.

"I am not walking in that," Milo said. "Fly," he cast, and suddenly felt himself become weightless. "Locate Object—Hannah's Robes," he cast, and felt a light tug to his right. Milo effortlessly floated up off the ground and through the heavy snow.

Shouldn't she have left tracks? Milo wondered, looking around. Of course, it was possible that the snow had filled them in already... but really, with snow that deep, she'd have to dig a tunnel to get around.

Something felt very wrong about this whole situation. The wind was picking up, and the cold began to bite effortlessly through Milo's robes (Milo decided an Endure Elements enchantment was in order as well). You'd have to be suicidal to willingly venture out here, Milo thought. And she went alone? Highly suspect.

As Milo flew, skimming a few feet above the ground, he felt his Locate Object spell abruptly end.

Okay... Milo thought, his teeth chattering. Either she entered an area warded against Divination, she's surrounded by lead, someone dispelled my spell, or she's out of range.

Let's assume the first one is out, because there isn't much interaction between my magic and the local strain. It's possible their wards against detection would work, but improbable. My spell can't have been dispelled, because I'd have noticed when I made the opposed Caster Level check... unless the local equivalent doesn't allow a check.

Milo groaned. He really had no idea what happened.

Only one thing for it.

"Circle Dance," Milo cast quietly, swapping out Summon Monster III. Circle Dance is an obscure spell that locates the direction from you to a creature (much like Locate Object or Locate Creature) except that it had no range limit. However, it takes a minute to cast, burns a 3rd-level spell slot, and only has an instantaneous effect—if the target moves, you won't have any idea. On the plus side, it gives a vague impression of the target's physical and emotional condition.

Milo spun in a circle with his eyes closed until he finished casting the spell, which left him feeling dizzy. He opened his eyes, pointing in the direction she was in, and knowing she was unharmed and, emotionally, perfectly content (which was concerning, but not the most concerning thing).

Milo groaned.

He was looking directly at the Forbidden Forest.

Really, he wondered, why did I ever think this little trip wouldn't end up with me in mortal danger?

With a sigh and a longing glance at the comfortable Gryffindor tower, now only a speck of light in the whiteout, Milo sped off towards the forest.

Milo had just gotten past the edge of the forest when Fly ran out of duration, and he fell heavily in the snow.

"Should have known," he said, his teeth chattering, "that, if foul weather is mentioned, I'd soon be out slogging in it. The c-c-castle is making me c-c-complacent."

With difficulty, Milo cast another Locate Object on Hannah's clothing (swapping out the previously prepared Invisibility). To his surprise, she was somewhere behind him.

At the start of a combat, all characters involved have to make an Initiative roll with a bonus based off of their Dexterity and a few other things. This determines the order in which combatants act—people who rolled higher on Initiative, due to luck or by virtue of possessing quick reflexes, act before those who rolled lower. This makes Nerveskitter (a 1st level spell which grants +5 to Initiative rolls) an extremely unusual spell, as it must be cast while rolling Initiative, or, in other words, after a character is aware that there is trouble but before his muscles have had time to respond to his commands. For someone such as you or I, this is patently impossible. A Wizard, however, is somehow capable of both speaking the verbal components and waving his hands about in a complicated gesture to cast the spell before he is physically capable of doing either.

"Nerveskitter," Milo cast, speaking every syllable simultaneously and in harmony, in blatant violation of the laws of common sense. He was surrounded by a brief blue glow, and rolled to the side just as a glowing red bolt of magic flew past the space he had previously occupied. The bolt hit a tree, pieces of bark flying away from the contact point.

"Mirror Image," he cast, and a pair of illusory Milo duplicates appeared next to him. The real Milo lay down flat in the snow, minimizing his visibility.

Another red bolt of light hit one solidly in the torso, causing the image to fall to the ground, motionless.

Milo quickly ran through his options. He had no idea what the location or identity of his attacker was, which precluded the used of Grease, Glitterdust, or, in fact, any offensive spell.

"Summon Hippogriff," Milo cast. Hippogriffs could track by scent, so didn't strictly require vision. Milo grinned, happy that he had learned Summon Monster III after his battle with the Troll.

The proud horse/eagle hybrid appeared in front of Milo with a shriek and ran forwards. It got about ten feet before Milo saw a green flash, and the summoned monster keeled over, dead.

Holy crap, Milo thought. They're using the Killing Curse.

And Milo was running low on spells.

Okay, he thought in a panic. Okay. It's not so bad. They clearly can't see you, either, right? Or you'd be dead already.

A few more curses flew over Milo's head and hit some evergreen trees, which promptly turned brown and withered, dropping needles.

And they can cast more than one per round. Or there's three of them, ganging up on me.

A desperate plan came to Milo's mind. None of his prepared spells would help him, as far as he could tell, so he had to use something he could cast without prior preparation—a Divination. Most casters believed Divination to be a soft school, but Milo knew better.

Divinations could kill.

"True Strike," he cast, granting his next attack a +20 to hit, which would be enough to hit an unusually petite fly at a distance from about here to Jupiter.

More curses flew over his head.

"Guided Shot," he cast, which allowed his next attack to ignore cover and concealment. Neither of these would help him target a Grease or Glitterdust, or even a Fireball if he knew how to cast it, as those were all area attacks. They would only help him with a direct attack, the kind of which required accuracy—also known as the type of spell Milo avoided like the plague.

So, instead of casting a spell at all, he drew his (so far, never used) Cold Iron dagger and threw it in a completely random direction. Milo's plan was to then cast Locate Object on the dagger, which did a paltry 1d4-1 damage (practically nonlethal against the targets Milo was used to), which would let him identify the location of his foe, so he could follow up with an arcane barrage.

It was only after the dagger left his fingers, and he had confirmed a critical hit for double damage, that he realized his mistake.

The dagger, guided by Milo's magic, had flown in exactly the same direction as his previous cast of Locate Object, which was still active, told him Hannah was standing.

Milo heard a sickening thud, and the curses abruptly stopped flying.