Kapitel 14: Chapter 14
"Why's that?" asked a first-year NPC. The other Gryffindors had started following Milo around between their classes after word spread that he could scare off Peeves.
Professor McGonagall was so astonished that the entire class arrived on time (apparently, that had never happened before) that she awarded them five points for Gryffindor. After then warning them of the dangers of Transfiguration, she told them to try and transform a matchstick into a pin.
Milo broke out into a cold sweat, staring at the stick in front of him. Surely, wizards in this plane couldn't cast Polymorph Any Object at first level? That was an eighth level spell! Milo felt a bit foolish waving his wand around ineffectually, but he really wasn't sure what else he could do. Hermione, sitting next to him, had managed to turn her matchstick silver.
Milo's eyes narrowed.
"Prestidigitation," he murmured. It was a cantrip, a 0th-level spell, used for practice by novice casters—but it was also one of the most versatile. Milo preferred to think of it as Least Wish. One of its many effects was that it could recolour an object temporarily.
He then sat back smugly in his desk chair, satisfied with a job well done.
McGonagall passed by, giving encouragement and pointers to the struggling students she passed. Upon reaching Milo, however, she frowned and stared at the silver matchstick. To Milo, it was indistinguishable from Hermione's. McGonagall picked it up, examined it very carefully, and dropped it on the desk. It made a quiet, wooden tick.
"Mr. Amastacia-Liadon," she said sternly, "did you paint your matchstick?"
"N-No, Professor," he stammered. Drat, curse her cross-class ranks in Intimidate!
"Then bravo. One point for Gryffindor," she said grudgingly, before walking to Hermione. She frowned, and gave hers the same examination. She dropped it, and it gave a silvery metal ping! Upon colliding with the desk.
"Well done, Ms. Granger! It's been many years since I've seen someone change anything more than mere colour on their first try! Two points for Gryffindor!" Hermione turned slightly pink, and shot Milo a smug look when McGonagall passed by.
Next was Potions—with the Slytherins, no less. Whoever is involved in the scheduling of classes, Milo thought, should be awarded a medal. He couldn't think of a possible scenario that would lead to greater conflict than the obviously evil head of the obviously evil house teaching the heroes and villains together. Put a PC in a powderkeg like that, and there'd be an explosion, sure as sure.
Milo was the only Gryffindor smiling when they entered Snape's dungeon. Dungeon. It had been far too long since Milo had been in a proper dungeon, now all they needed was a troll or two to complete his day.
Milo didn't know what, specifically, was going to go down in the dungeon. But he knew someone was going to start a fight, and he knew who was going to finish it.
He chose his desk warily, deciding to go right in the dead-centre. The rest of the Gryffindors sat on the right-hand side of the classroom, leaving the left-hand side empty—a clear message for the Slytherins (whenever they deigned to arrive). From the border between the two groups, Milo could safely target the entire Slytherin first year with a well-placed spell on the first round of combat.
There is an infrequently-used rule (and Milo loved infrequently-used rules) called the ready action. A character can, on his turn, ready an action to do something specific when certain triggers, which he chooses in advace, occur—immediately. It allowed rapid action, as long as you were prepared enough.
As the Slytherins drifted in one-by-one (a few were covered in whitewash, mute evidence of Peeves' "humorous" "pranks"), Milo readied an action: Glitterdust in the centre of the Slytherin side of the room as soon as the first Slytherin acts offensively against a Gryffindor. That should cover it.
Snape walked into the room like a man with a purpose. He quickly called out attendance, pausing on Harry's name.
"Ah, yes," he said softly. "Our new—celebrity." Draco and his mooks sniggered. The other Gryffindors sitting along the borderline—Neville, Hannah, and Lavender—sat tensely, their hands near their wands. Snape began his introductory monologue, lingering, a bit too lovingly for Milo's taste, on the 'subtle science and exact art of potion-making.'
"Potter!" said Snape, suddenly. Harry sat bolt upright, a brief look of terror on his face. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Milo frowned. Nothing, he thought. Except, of course, a gods-awful smell.
"I don't know, sir." Harry said. Ah, well, even Wizards fail a Knowledge check once in a while.
"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything," Snape sneered. Well now, that's just rude.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air, as did Milo's.
"I don't know, sir," Potter said, his voice barely shaking at all.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
Well now, there's no reason for him to act like that to the poor Gryffindor kid, Milo thought. In fact, the head of House Slytherin was acting downright offensively… Oh, crud.
"GLITTERDUST!"
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