The Man With Two Faces

"T-try harder! L-l-look at the M-Mirror and th-think about the g-g-good and h-h-healing you c-c-could do with it! Your f-f-friend is c-counting on y-you!"

"I'm trying, Professor! I can see myself using the Stone to cure Milo, but nothing else is happening! Are you sure this is how it works?"

Milo landed with a roll on the far side of the fire, feeling his hit points drop by one. Just his luck that the fire—which turned out to be rather ordinary, after all—rolled a six for damage. Smooth darkwood in his left hand, right hand ready for casting, Milo quickly took stock of the room in the way that only an Adventurer could. Fine details were simultaneously ignored and calculated for gold piece value, plot-relevant details were filed away for future reference, and threats were evaluated immediately.

The sum value of all unattended items in the stark room was a paltry 37gp, 4sp, and 7cp—not counting a rather familiar mirror that he deliberately avoided looking straight at. Standing in front of the Mirror of Erised was a surprised looking Harry, who was staring at the newcomers in astonishment.

In a flash, Quirrell had his wand out and was standing directly behind the still-amazed Harry.

Not good, Milo thought. Quirrell could kill all three of them before Milo could get a single spell off, most likely. Best get him talking. Every villain worth his black robes and skull necklace likes to monologue.

"So, you've been trying to get at the Stone this whole time, have you?" Milo asked. "I asked around. You've been teaching Muggle Studies at Hogwarts for four years before you got the Defence job. Were you just waiting, gaining the trust of everyone around you?" The specific words were unimportant to his plan — all that mattered was that he got Quirrell talking.

"Y-you fool!" Good start. When they start calling people fools, it generally means they're working their way up to a magnificent rant. "You th-think you have any inkling of m-my plan?"

"Well..." It was all Milo could do not to smile. "Since you're going to kill us anyways... could you at least tell me what the deal was with the Acromantula in the Forbidden Forest back in the fall?" Milo had been dying to figure out what that was all about. Harry stood with his hands up, Quirrell's wand pointed at his temples.

"You were s-s-supposed to die!" Quirrell said. "You knew t-too much! You even t-t-told me—said it was obvious to anyone with a brain—that you, your f-f-friends, and D-D-Dumbledore had f-f-figured it out! So kind of you t-to b-bring them h-here, b-by the way. Everyone except that G-G-Granger g-girl, anyway." Milo blinked. Figured what out? He could barely remember that conversation having taken place, much less the subject matter. "S-so I l-l-let that h-halfbreed oaf f-find out I w-was k-k-killing the unicorns in the f-f-forest to g-get you out in the f-f-forest alone. It w-was p-p-perfect... the spider would k-kill you and m-make it l-l-look like an accident. V-very t-tragic, I'd s-say... what a p-promising student you were..."

Quirrell was killing the unicorns? And now he's trying to get the Stone... What was it Milo had said? That there were likely followers of Voldemort out there, each competing to bring their master back? So... Quirrell wasn't just trying to get the Stone for himself. He was a Death Eater as well.

"...But you didn't count on me to kill it?" Milo asked. Except he hadn't killed it. Investigation had shown that the injuries he'd dealt it weren't nearly severe enough to finish the monster off. Everything pointed to a Killing Curse.

"You think you k-k-killed it? Fool! It was m-me!" Quirrell hesitated for a second. "I'd s-sworn n-n-never to mention this again, b-but... s-seeing as how I'm g-g-going to k-kill you anyways..." Milo couldn't help himself; he leaned in a little closer. "I t-tripped." Quirrell paused, and Milo heard Ron fighting down a laugh. "I w-was watching, under the c-cloak of a Disillusionment s-spell, w-when I s-slipped. The g-g-ground was unnaturally s-slippery" Milo grinned, despite himself. He'd cast a Grease spell, but hadn't imagined that he'd managed to get the end boss with it. "And the A-Acromantula h-heard me. I h-had n-no choice b-but to abort the p-plan, k-kill the spider, and Obliviate y-you."

"But you had plenty of opportunities to try again," Milo pointed out. "Why didn't... Oh. I see. After I told you how my magic works, you realized that I could be used to revive Volde— "

"D-don't s-speak his n-name!" Quirrell shouted.

"You-Know-Who, then. So, you changed gears... the Duelling Club. The Vampires. They weren't to kill me, they were to get me XP." That was so backwards, it almost hurt Milo's head. "You wanted me to level up, to turn me into a Philosopher's Stone!"

"It w-was one p-plan of m-many," Quirrell shrugged, though Milo noticed his wand remained pointed directly at Harry's head. "It n-never h-hurts to m-make... backups."

"So..." Milo could practically hear the gears whirring inside his head. It was like a scaled-down Mechanus in there. "You're also the one who possessed Hannah and me, I take it?" He asked in a deceptively cool voice.

"I—"

"For a Death Eater, you seem awfully afraid of your own master. You flinch every time anyone says Voldemort."

"You think I am a D-Death Eater?" Quirrell said incredulously. "You h-haven't realized anything yet!"

"One follower of Voldy is much like another," Milo shrugged. "I don't know, and, frankly, don't care if you have some sort of internal naming scheme or hierarchy. You're all just XP waiting to be collected, when it comes down to it." While Milo was speaking, Quirrell reached up with his off-hand and began unwrapping his turban. Milo was unconcerned—it wasn't until the Professor's wand hand began moving that he had anything to worry about. At worst, he was trying to activate some sort of magic item, and from what Milo had seen, the local magic items were mainly to aid in household activities. At worst, all potatoes in a sixty-foot radius would magically peel themselves.

"I am s-so much m-more than a m-mere D-Death Eater," Quirrell sneered, the turban falling to the floor. Harry cried out in pain suddenly, his hand going to his forehead. It came away bloody. "I am the a-avatar of the D-Dark L-Lord h-himself!"

A horrible, hissing voice that seemed to come from Quirrell—though his mouth never moved—spoke suddenly.

"Kill the newcomers... we only need the boy..."

Quirrell's wand came up, but Milo was faster.

"Nerveskitter," Milo said in harmony with himself as time bended around him, speeding his reflexes up slightly. Though a minor difference, all things considered, it was enough. "So, you're Lord Voldemort, eh?" Milo's raised his right hand, palm outspread and ready to cast. "They say you once murdered an entire family of Muggles. The entire family—cousins, cousins-in-law, grandparents, nieces, nephews. Everyone bearing the same surname. They say you did it just because a twenty-year-old and his new wife had a witch—a mudblood—for a daughter. They say you're more demon than man, that you sold your soul for dark powers. Some say you never had a soul to begin with. They say that merely saying your name aloud is enough to call your attention." Milo stared at the man standing in front of him, the man he had once trusted. Maybe he really was part demon, but templates came at the cost of all-important caster levels. "But, you know? People say a lot of foolish things. Once, I heard a Bard reason that, since wearing heavy armour reduced his Hide bonus, going absolutely naked would render him invisible." To an outside observer, it would seem remarkable that Voldemort would wait for Milo to continue before completing his spell. However, said outside observer was likely unaware that talking is a Free Action, and Milo could have recited The Raven in its entirety before allowing anyone else to act. "Really, when it comes down to it, your vaunted 'Dark Magic' is about as useful as a Fallen Paladin without your wand," Milo said. "It would be a shame if it were to, unexpectedly, say... Shatter."

A noise like an elder wyrm roaring echoed through the room, and Quirrell's alder wand exploded into splinters. Harry, taking advantage of the confusion, dashed away from the Mirror to join Ron and Milo.

"W-w-well," Quirrell stammered. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. "It w-would appear that I h-have b-been beaten..."

Milo blinked, then realized what it was: he hadn't got any XP. Quirrell wasn't defeated.

Then he remembered what happened after the first time he'd seen the Mirror of Erised...

Twelve sapient creatures. Quirrell counts as two, leaving ten unaccounted for.

"Glitterdust!" Milo cast the spell, not at Quirrell, but directly to his right. Milo's primary usage of the spell was generally to blind everyone in the area, but this time, he wanted it for its other purpose: revealing invisible creatures. Sparkly arcane doom rained down, revealing five small, heavily armed creatures that Milo was all-too familiar with...

...Redcaps.

Invisible Redcaps.

Crap.

The golden particles outlined the invisible creatures, each carrying a heavy sword like the one in the Forbidden Forest had. Milo guessed—though he doubted he could push Quirrell into another rant to confirm it—that that one had been sent by the Professor—no, by Voldemort—as part of his 'Level-Grind the PC plan.'

"The outlined ones will only be visible for 42 seconds!" Milo shouted to Ron and Harry. "Stun as many as you can—I'll deal with the other five!"

"Right!" Ron said. "Stun them with what, exactly?"

"I don't know! Stupefy or something!"

"But that's fourth-year—"

"JUST FIGURE SOMETHING OUT!" Three of the five glowing Redcaps had been blinded by the golden light, but the other two were advancing rapidly towards them. Milo could only guess what the other five were up to, but, fortunately, this was the fight he was made for. Enough of that one-on-one insanity. Battlefield control was a Conjurer's specialty.

"Web!" Thick, sticky webs appeared in the area that Milo guessed the still-invisible Redcaps were standing. The beauty of the Web spell is that even if the targets manage to make their Reflex saves, it doesn't really help them all that much. They still get a host of penalties, and requires an extremely difficult Strength check to move at all—and even then, extremely slowly. That, and at Milo's level, it lasts for over an hour. It is generally considered the pinnacle of the Conjuration school—and on top of all of that it's only a Second Level spell.

Milo could hear screams of frustration from the trapped Redcaps—but that was no guarantee that he'd caught all five.

"Can you smell any others?" Milo asked his familiar. Rats have a keen sense of smell, which is one of the reasons that he had picked Mordy as his companion. Mordy sniffed the air for a second, then nodded.

"Eleven o'clock, 20 feet. One straggler."

"Grease." The thud and metal-on-stone clatter confirmed the hit. Grease would only delay the Redcap, not trap it entirely like Web had. Milo glanced around to see how his companions were faring.

"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted, and one of the Redcaps' sword went flying behind him.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Ron cast immediately afterwards, catching the sword in midair and lifting it up over another's head, dropping (hilt-first) from five feet up. The Redcap moved to dodge, but was too slow and went down like a Sorcerer hit by a Greatclub. With one Redcap disarmed, another unconscious, and the other three still blind, there didn't seem to be any immediate threats, but Milo doubted that would last.

"Mirror Image," he cast, and six doppelgangers appeared around him. The unarmed Redcap didn't seem to know when it was beaten, and lunged at Ron, his golden hands clenching around the redheaded boy's throat.

"Crap!" Milo was out of attack spells except for Acid Splash, and he didn't even want to know what kinds of penalties could be incurred by shooting into a Grapple. He started running through a list of Divinations he could cast spontaneously that might be helpful, but Harry was faster.

"Expelliarmus!" Ron went flying out of the Redcap's hands. Brilliant, Milo thought. Expelliarmus knocks away whatever the target his holding, not just wands. Harry was already starting to think like a Munchkin; Milo would never admit it, but he felt somewhat proud of his party member. Glitterdust didn't provide enough detail for Milo to be sure, but he imagined a look of dumbfounded astonishment on the ugly Fey's face.

It was then that Milo had an Idea.

"Hey ugly!" Milo shouted at the unarmed Redcap. "Worried about your lack of weapon? A real Redcap doesn't need one—after all, I killed your buddy unarmed back in the Forbidden Forest." Milo couldn't tell if the Fey understood a word he said, but it lunged at him nevertheless. The darkwood staff whirled, and smashed into the creature's temple with as much force as Milo could manage (so, not a lot, when it comes down to it). The creature recovered, and attempted futilely to punch Milo through the protection of his Robe of Arcane Might. The bony fist slid off of the magically-augmented uniform and Milo attacked again.

Milo's bet paid off. He'd gambled that the Redcap hadn't taken the Improved Unarmed Strike feat—Hells, nobody takes Improved Unarmed Strike—and, therefore, would give Milo a free attack every time he tried to do the same. Despite Milo's slender build and lousy BAB, with a pair of attacks for every punch from the Redcap—combined with his high AC and miss chance from Mirror Image—the Fey didn't stand a chance.

As the Redcap fell to Milo's sixth blow, Mordy spoke again.

"Alert! Enemy approaching at six o'clock!"

Gods damnit! Milo thought, whirling around. It must be the one that I Greased. He'd completely forgotten about it when he'd gone in to play Big Stupid Fighter with the other one.

One of Milo's doubles flickered and vanished as, presumably, the invisible Redcap slashed at it with his wickedly curved sword. Ron and Harry each cast a Disarming Charm, but, without knowing exactly where the Redcap stood, they went wide. This was becoming far too hairy for a Wizard as squishy as he. For a second, Milo considered using Fly to reach the safety of the ceiling, but realized that that would leave Harry and Ron—who lacked his (by this world's standards) preternatural healing abilities and resilience—vulnerable. Instead, Milo decided that he'd be better to leave the battle in the hands of a specialist.

"Summon Skele—" halfway through the spell, the Redcap swung again, this time guessing the correct target. Milo tried to dodge, but only succeeded in mitigating the attack somewhat. The sword penetrated the spell-enhanced robes and drew a thick red line along Milo's chest, inflicting a hefty ten damage. He screamed in pain, and, falling to his knees, his concentration shattered.

The spell failed.

Milo spat blood and looked around the room hazily. Harry and Ron were still futilely shooting Disarming Charms around the room, trying to catch the invisible Redcap. Quirrell was standing by the Mirror counting silently, of all things. Milo narrowed his eyes, and realized what was happening.

Thirty-Nine... Forty... Forty-One...

"Forty-Two," Milo breathed, terror rising. The magic sustaining the golden particles surrounding the five Redcaps vanished, and they vanished. Two were unconscious, but the other three...

Normally, Milo would simply spontaneously cast See Invisibility and Fly, then proceed to rain blows upon the Redcaps' heads from above. However, despite having only two hit points left, he was still the best-defended of his group. Further, from what Milo had noticed, the Disillusionment Charm didn't make the wearer technically invisible, merely extremely well-concealed. As such, See Invisibility would be useless.

It was then that Milo noticed a glimmer of movement near the black fire of the doorway. This was unusual, as the Redcaps were all invisible, and both Ron and Harry were nowhere nearby...

"Incendio," he heard a feminine whisper. A barely-noticeable jet of bluebell fire, the same hue as what had been used against the Devil's Snare, hit a distant corner of Milo's Web.

Of course. Hermione. She was creeping along the side of the room near the door, with the Web spell between her and most of the Redcaps—and Quirrell—blocking vision.

"Duck!" Milo shouted. Harry and Ron, too surprised to do anything but comply, hit the ground immediately. The webs began to burn quickly—magical webs, unlike mundane webs, are highly inflammable. As the violet-blue flames spread throughout the faux-spidersilk, Milo heard Hermione's voice again.

"VENTUS!" A colossal gust of searing-hot air slammed into Milo bodily, knocking him onto his back. This was shortly followed by a raging-hot bluebell inferno as strands of inexplicably-inflammable webs were sucked up by the whirlwind and, suddenly oxygenated, exploded into fire. "Ventus! Ventus! Ventus!" Hermione, through clever use of controlled bursts of air, managed to direct the flame to a certain extent, causing it to avoid Harry and Ron. Milo's magic robes protected him (and Mordy, with Improved Evasion, had little to worry about), but the Redcaps had no such luck. As the fires began to die out, Hermione threw both glass bottles of wine from the potions riddle into the middle of it, the alcohol spilling out as the containers shattered. Redcaps screamed in agony as their clothes and hair burned in the suddenly refuelled inferno.

"Merlin's beard," Ron breathed as the fires died down. Invisible burning figures were sprinting around the room, trying to put out themselves out. One by one they began to drop.

Milo did some rapid counting.

"She only got five!" he shouted. "There's three more still conscious!"

Ron whirled as he heard the sudden cracking of broken glass behind him caused by the heavy bronze-studded boots the Redcaps favoured crushing the remains of a bottle.

"Expelli—Argh!" Ron went down as the Fey clubbed him over the head with, fortunately, the hilt of his invisible sword.

"You fools thought y-you c-could d-defeat us?" Quirrell laughed. There was something in his voice—Milo cursed his low Sense Motive bonus yet again—that seemed a little... off. Like he wasn't quite sincere, maybe. "We are—"

Frankly, Milo didn't give a damn what Quirrell was going to say. "Fly," he muttered, ripping the Amulet of Protection from Evil from around his neck. Behind him, he saw Hermione spin in surprise and start casting something, but the wand was knocked from her hand by an unseen attacker. She started to back up, but was pushed to the ground, struggling.

"WAAAAAAAGH!" Milo roared and flew towards Quirrell, knocking the Professor from his feet into the Mirror of Erised, which was made of sterner stuff than it looked. The man-sized mirror fell to the ground with a crash, and Milo and Quirrell came tumbling down on top of it. As they struggled, Milo noticed with revulsion that there was another face on Quirrell's head, normally hidden by his turban. A face with snakelike eyes and slits for a nose...

Mind on the task, he reminded himself, trying to pin Quirrell to the ground. This next task would take all of his mental ability and concentration: Grappling. First an Attack of Opportunity—which Quirrell was denied, being caught Flat-Footed by Milo's sudden attack (though Milo was fairly sure that the local wizards hadn't ever heard of AoO's, anyways). Then... what was it? A touch attack? Milo clumsily grabbed the downed wizard, an easy task—Quirrell was unarmoured and not particularly agile, while Milo had his (again, by the low standards of his competition) superior melee talents, augmented by the +2 bonus for charging. Then (Milo wracked his brain to try to remember the ridiculously complicated rules) there was, what, an opposed Grapple check? He struggled to wrap the Amulet around Quirrell's neck as the fully-grown man resisted with vastly superior strength and size, albeit inferior skill.

"Ha!" Milo gasped. "I got a 16!" His fingers struggled to work the clasp on the steel chain (the clasp which was specifically designed to be difficult to do and undo) and almost felt it click into place when Quirrell threw him off. Milo landed in a heap, astonished, as Quirrell calmly climbed to his feet.

Quirrell was holding his wand. Milo blinked, trying to process the image in front of him.

Quirrell—no, Voldemort— was holding his wand. Thirteen inches, chestnut wood, dragon heartstring core...

"...Good for curses," Quirrell murmured to himself, testing the wand.

"Pelor above and Nerull below," Milo cursed. Trying to use the amulet to cut Voldemort's influence on Quirrell was Milo's last plan...

Well, his second-last plan.

"True Strike," he muttered reaching into his extra-dimensional belt for his knife. He'd avoided this—horrific memories of his last use of the dagger flooded into his mind—but now, he had no choice. Milo threw the masterwork, cold iron dagger in an overhand arc, aimed right for Quirrell's throat.

The image of Hannah's crumpled body entered his mind's eye, but he dismissed it. It had been Voldemort's fault that Hannah had been possessed, Voldemort's fault that Milo had almost killed her with this very dagger, and Voldemort's fault that Milo was in this position once again. Dice rolled in Milo's head as he channelled all of his rage and anguish into this final, desperate throw. Twenty. Milo marvelled; even the DM seemed to be with him for once. Quirrell, and therefore Voldemort, suffered from the same weakness that Hannah had: a remarkably frail physical body. He wouldn't stand a chance.

The dagger spun gracefully in the air once, twice, thrice, guided by the unseen force of the famed True Strike spell.

Quirrell's wand arm shot upwards without even looking.

"No," the horrible face on the back of Quirrell's head murmured, and the dagger stopped in midair halfway between Milo and his target. It hovered there for a moment, then crumpled and fell.

"No..." Milo whispered weakly, his voice barely carrying to his own ears. "That's not fair... I call shenanigans..." Still, he wasn't done yet. He still had two hit points, an active Fly spell, and a belt full of tricks. Quaal, don't fail me now. All Milo had to do was fly over to Quirrell, drop the feather, and watch as the purple-clad Professor was crushed between the ceiling and a rapidly growing oak tree. He grabbed the feather-shaped token in his gloved hand and launched himself into the air, aiming for the space over the Defence Professor's head.

"Petrificus Totalus," Quirrell muttered.

Milo fell like a stone, landing painfully next to Harry, who, like Hermione, had been pinned by invisible hands.

Quirrell turned to face them—that is, he looked directly away from Harry, Milo, and Hermione, treating them with a full view of the horror on the back of his head—and began casting with game-breaking speed, Milo's amulet still clutched in his left hand.

"Petrificus Totalus, Petrificus Totalus," Harry and Hermione suddenly stopped fighting against their invisible attackers. "Finite Incantatem," all ten Redcaps—five of them critically injured from burns, two unconscious, two grappling Hermione and one grappling Harry—suddenly became visible. They looked around in surprise, clearly not counting on this unexpected turn of events. Then they began to die.

"Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra..." One by one, Quirrell—Voldemort—methodically shot and killed the Fey, all the while his expression remaining neutral, almost bored. "Horrible creatures," the voice said in a strained, snakelike hiss. "Still, not quite as useless as some of the... servants... I have had to... deal with... recently..." Milo was unsure if the weird pauses in his dialogue were a dramatic affectation, or a result of his unnatural half-life. "Disappointingly, I have... guessed incorrectly... about the nature of this Mirror..." Voldemort waved his wand lazily, and the Mirror of Erised turned to dust, scattering about the room. "It being a puzzle created by that... sentimental fool... I assumed one such as him," Quirrell glanced at Harry, and for once the glimmer of emotion was visible in his snakelike eyes. In all, Milo was happier before knowing what the Dark Lord looked like when filled with barely controllable rage. "would be able to crack it... some sort of frame of mind, perhaps benevolence... or a desire to do good... Alas... but fortune... favours me again..." Voldemort paused to gasp for air. Milo wondered, briefly, how the internals, so to speak, of Quirrell and Voldemort's setup worked—where the esophagus went, and such—before deciding he didn't want to know. "It... seems that my... so-called downfall... has been delivered directly into my hands..." The tips of Voldemort's mouth bent upwards into a horrific semblance of a grin, and Milo decided that he preferred wrath to pleasure on that horrific face. "Blood of the enemy..." he murmured, though Milo wasn't sure what he meant by that. "Oh, and... Crucio." Harry screamed, straining against the bonds of his Full-Body-Bind curse. His scar started bleeding as his body was wracked with the worst pain magic could produce. Milo had once been the target of a Power Word: Pain spell, but this looked significantly worse.

"And now... young Milo... I no longer have need... of your... specialized abilities... Avada Keda—"

Click. As soon as Voldemort started casting with his right hand, Quirrell's left hand reached around his neck and snapped the Amulet of Protection from Evil into place. There was a brief moment of silence, and then Voldemort—or Quirrel—collapsed to the ground. The magical bonds trapping Milo and the others vanished.

"Did..." Harry said. "Did Voldemort just finish himself off?" Hermione, meanwhile, rushed over to check on Ron, who was blearily regaining consciousness.

"Bit anticlimactic, if you ask me," Milo said. "Still, could be some sort of trick..."

"Yeah," Harry said, climbing to his feet shakily. "Trick us into thinking that he's tricking us into thinking he's dead by offing himself. Brilliant, that is. Well, we saw through his cunning ploy. Go team."

"Mage Hand." Milo floated his wand away from Quirrell, then quickly drew his 11-foot pole (sometimes, you just need that extra foot) and prodded the body gently. There was no response. "Huh. Well, looks like we got him. Time to loot the corpses." His companions looked at him, a mix of shock and revulsion on his faces, as he patted down the Redcaps for loose change. Not finding any, he settled for pocketing their swords in his Belt of Hidden Pouches, and proceeded to the real prize: the boss.

"I think this went rather well," Milo said happily, walking over to Quirrell. "We stopped the Philosopher's Stone from being stolen, defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort once and for all—sort of? Maybe?—rescued the princess," (Milo nodded at Harry, ignoring his 'Hey!') "and we don't even need to shell out for a single True Resurrection. Not bad, all things considered. All that remains is to divvy up the loot—Holycraphe'sbreathing!"

Quirrell, it appeared, was merely unconscious—but of the face on the back of his head, there was no sign, merely a normal (but shaved) scalp. Milo reached for the amulet around Quirrell's neck, but decided against it. For all he knew, it was the only thing keeping Voldemort at bay. Still, he patted down Quirrell's pockets nevertheless. Not much, really, when it came down to it—just a few sickles, some garlic, a holy symbol... and a tattered old book.

"Hello!" Milo exclaimed, turning over the shabby, leather-bound diary. There was a faded date on the cover (Milo did some arithmetic and figured it was just over fifty years old). "What have we here? Book of evil plans? Tome of Clear Thought? Book of spells? Let's find out... Scholar's Touch." Milo paused for a second while the spell read the book in its entirety. "...Huh. It's empty. That's... unexpected. As far as treasure goes, this kind of sucks." Behind him, Ron blearily stood up.

"Maybe it really is just an old book?" Hermione suggested. "We can ask Quirrell when he wakes up. No, just wait, Ron—you really shouldn't be moving around yet."

"Can I see it?" Ron asked groggily.

"Sure," Milo said, and tossed it over to him.

Ron flipped through a few pages. "Anyone know who "T. M. Riddle is?" Seeing them all shaking their heads, Ron pocketed the book. "What?" he asked defensively. "Ginny will be starting school next year; she'll need a notebook." Ron was always very self-conscious of his family's wealth (or lack thereof) and parchment was kind of expensive (by non-PC standards, anyway), so Milo let the issue drop.

"We should probably grab the Professor and work our way backwards through the challenges," Harry suggested. "We should really tell Dumbledore about all this."

Hermione paled. "We are in so much trouble," she said. "We broke into the expressly-forbidden third-floor corridor!" she paused for a second. "And then nearly killed the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor!"

"We have an even bigger problem than that," Milo said. "How in the Nine Hells do we get out?" The black fire was still guarding the door.

They all looked at him. Milo sighed. "Fine." He proceeded to wade through the flames, grab the little black bottle, carry it out, have someone drink it and walk back, wait for it to replenish, then wade through fire again. Rinse and repeat for his three companions and Quirrell, who was still unconscious (they had to pour the bottle down his throat and hope for the best, though, to be honest, none of them much cared if he was trapped down there or not). Then again for the purple flames. The whole process took more than an hour, but, blessedly, was timeskipped.

Milo was far too distracted thinking up what to do with his new level.