Chapter 39: Chapter 39
"Why would anyone want to poison you, Nev?" Harry asked.
"They weren't trying to poison him," Milo said simply. "They were trying to poison me. What's more, I know who did it."
"What? Who?" Harry asked.
"Huh, that's unusual. The scene's supposed to change after I make a dramatic announcement like that."
Harry blinked.
"Oh. We should head to Transfiguration, or we'll be late and lose more points."
"Right."
o—o—o—o
As it turned out, they were late anyways.
"Two points from Gryffindor," McGonagall said sternly. The rest of the class sat down and attempted, with varying levels of success, to turn pumpkins into teapots. Milo, however, was given the same matchstick he'd had at the start of the year.
"I can't let you start on teapots until you've managed to transfigure more than just the colour of the stick, young man. I'm sorry," she explained, then sighed. "If you can manage to change its weight, sound—that is, the sound it makes when dropped—or shape at all," she added, "then I'll let you move on."
Milo frantically pulled out his spellbook and re-read the description of Prestidigitation. There was nothing in there about anything beyond colour. He bit his lip. There was a sewing needle in his Belt of Hidden Pouches, but Milo assumed that other students had tried to pull that one in the past and McGonagall probably had a way to tell the difference. He hadn't prepared Ghost Sound, which could create illusory sounds, but even if he had he probably couldn't get the timing right to make a ping! sound at the exact moment the pin hit the table. If he'd prepared Mage Hand, a weak telekinesis spell, he could maybe push down very gently on the pin to simulate the metal's higher density, but his only 0th-level spells were Dancing Lights, Prestidigitation, and Acid Splash.
Milo ran his fingers through his hair nervously. There was absolutely no way he could turn this stick into a pin using his arcane magic. He had one last, desperate ploy...
He slowly withdrew his wand from its pocket and, following the directions that Milo had only ever half-listened to, focused on the image of a pin in his mind. He imagined every curve, the metallic glint, the slightly heavier mass, and the steely sound a pin makes when dropped. With all of that in his mind he, very carefully, tapped the wand on the matchstick and held his breath. He closed his eyes.
Come on, secret wizard powers, activate!
He didn't feel anything happen, and very slowly opened one eye to peer at, hopefully, a shiny new pin.
Nothing had happened.
"Nuts," Milo muttered. It was probably for the best, though as he might have been stuck multiclassing into two primary casting classes—or in layman's terms, permanently magically handicapped. Milo could use the oil he kept in his Belt of Hidden Pouches to create a fire and sneak out in the ensuing chaos... no, these wizards could create water. Milo sighed. He raised his hand.
"Yes?" asked McGonagall.
"Professor," Milo said quietly, then stopped. He looked around at the other Gryffindors in the room. Harry was looking at him with an unreadable expression, Ron was trying to find his wand on the ground under his desk, and Hermione was studiously examining her newly-transfigured teakettle. He'd never been quite sure what they thought about him. Milo was certain none of them completely believed his story about being from another world altogether, so they probably thought he was mad. Milo was okay with that. All the really brilliant Wizards looked at least a little mad to outsiders. At times, they were impressed—seriously impressed—with what he could do with magic. He was the only student below fourth year who could efficiently deal with Peeves, and his defeat of the Acromantula in September was very nearly legendary. His nightly Scholar's Touch-enhanced studying had made him the top student in History of Magic, much to Hermione's chagrin. But... other times, times when he didn't have the right spell prepared, times when he asked "what's Quidditch?", times when he'd run out of spells per day, times when Arcane magic just couldn't do something – times like this, they just looked at him with pity.
"Yes?" the Professor asked.
But there was more at stake here than his own pride, although there was that, too. What would Mordenkainen—the legendary wizard, not the rat—say about this? What about Elminster, Treantmonk, and Otiluke? Sorry, legendary wizards, it turns out I found another universe and their magic is superior to ours. Best put away your spellbooks, start naming your currency after sailing ships, and drop by Ollivanders for wands if you want to keep up.
But what could he do? Polymorph Any Object was eighth level. Eighth! Most Wizards never made it past 3rd-level spells. By the time Milo could turn this match into a pin, if he ever even got that high level, he'd be able to alter reality to his liking. He'd be going toe-to-toe with Wyrms.
Even Wizards can't do everything, he reminded himself, so there's no shame in admitting defeat. It takes a Cleric to heal... well, actually, a Wizard could just summon a monster that can heal people for him. It takes a Rogue to pick a lock... actually, that's not true, a Wizard could just cast Knock. Okay, a Rogue to sneak around... no, Wizards can cast Invisibility.
Ah, screw it. So maybe Wizards can do everything. But not all at once, not all in one day, not with only one Wizard, and not all at level three.
"I – I can't do it," Milo admitted bitterly. "I can't turn one thing into another like this. It just can't be done."
McGonagall remained silent for a moment, her eyes boring holes into his head.
"I see," she said simply. "Well then. Drop by my office after your Defence class and we'll decide what to do."
"I have, uh, prior arrangements," Milo confessed. The other students avoided making eye contact with him.
"Then cancel them," McGonagall said simply. "Your education must come first."
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