Chapter Twelve: Hallowe'en Masks

"Why do they call you Longbottom, Longbottom?" Miles Bletchley sneered.

"Yeah, more like Fatbottom," Flint said mockingly.

Neville pressed his back up against the wall, willing himself to just sink into it and be gone. Gone from this situation, this hallway, this school. No, not gone from Hogwarts. He loved Hogwarts. It was just some of the people in it that were the problem.

The thick bottom border of the mirror frame stabbed into his shoulder blades uncomfortably, but there wasn't much he could do about it; half the Slytherin Quidditch team was standing between himself and freedom.

"Or, or Dumbottom," Montague said. "Because he's so dumb."

The worst part—well, not the worst part, but one of the many bad parts—was that their insults weren't even clever. Neville would feel much better about himself, on the whole, if he was made miserable by clever and biting insults, rather than this rather run-of-the-mill fare. But the truth was that it hurt all the same. He wished it didn't. He wished he were stronger, like his Gran always said. Tougher. Harder. Braver. Smarter. More like Harry Potter. Merlin, but she went on about Harry Potter.

But what would Harry Potter do? Duel three wizards, each more advanced than he, all at once? He could try it. He might even win; after all, he'd been getting better in Lockhart's Club. He knew he was. He'd even managed to disarm the vaunted Harry Potter four times out of ten. But it wasn't always that easy. It wasn't a question of skill, or of size, or even of numbers. The problem was in his head, but knowing that just made it worse. The spiral of thoughts locked him into immobility. Why are they picking on me? Because they know I won't fight back. Why don't I fight back? Because I'm scared. Why am I scared? Because I'm weak. Why am I weak? Because I'm scared. Rinse and repeat. Weak. Scared. Useless. Pathetic. An embarrassment to the family name. The insults Neville created for himself were far worse, and hit far more squarely, than any that these braindead Slytherins could ever have devised.

He didn't want to fight them; he just wanted them to be gone. To just go away.

"Go away?" Flint said incredulously. "You want me to 'go away?'" he made little air quotes with his fingers mockingly. Neville felt lightheaded. He couldn't believe he'd said that out loud. "Did you hear that, boys? What do you say—should we go away?" Bletchley and Montague just laughed raucously in response. Flint drew his wand and held it at Neville's throat. "And how are you going to make us?"

"I—I'll duel you," Neville whispered. Oh Merlin, I'm so dead...

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that," Flint said. "I couldn't hear you, Fatbottom."

"I said I'll duel you!" Neville practically screamed. "Stupefy! Petrificus Totalus! Immobulus!" Neville didn't even have a wand out; he just screamed random curses that popped into his head. He knew he was as good as dead anyway, so why not?

Neville was through all of the duelling curses and hexes that he knew and was into the minor jinxes when he realized he was still alive enough to shout. He opened his eyes. Flint was staring just above his head, completely immobile. Cautious in case this was some sort of trick, Neville slowly slid down to the ground. Meeting no resistance, he crawled between their legs to freedom. Becoming convinced that this was not some peculiar ruse, he looked closer at his tormentors. Flint, Montague, and Bletchley were all looking into the mirror that Neville had been pressed up against. What had they seen? He drew his wand—much good it had been earlier—and held it up to Flint's face, trying to get it to match the angle of his eyes as best he could. With some difficulty, he managed to make it stay, wedged between the Slytherin's ear and head.

"Lumos." A thin ray of light shone out of the tip of his wand and was reflected off of the mirror. Curious, Neville followed it down the hall, where it rebounded off of a polished statue, followed by a brass candlestick, around the corner to an iron windowframe, and, finally, coming to an end in the middle of a completely empty hallway in front of a statue of a lost-looking wizard titled 'Boris the Bewildered.'

"You're not the only one, mate," Neville muttered, then returned to reclaim his wand. Best tell Dumbledore or McGonagall, he thought. Just as he turned to leave, a new thought struck him.

But first... he grinned, drawing his wand.

o—o—o—o

"So, what are you going to dress up as for the feast this evening?" Hannah asked Milo as they walked past the lake, her breath visible in the chill October air. Around the lake, other students were enjoying the clear (by the standards of Scottish autumn) weather. Cedric and some other Hufflepuffs were tossing a Quaffle around, Lavender Brown and the Patil twins were chatting with a group of other NPCs about something unimportant, and some upper-year Ravenclaws were already cramming for their NEWTs, despite the exams being most of a year away. Ravenclaws could be like that sometimes.

"Haven't given it a moment's thought, to be honest," Milo admitted. "I've been too busy worrying about what might happen today."

"You mean like when the Troll escaped last year?" Hannah asked.

"Exactly like that. Hallowe'en's too significant for too many reasons for today to go smoothly."

Hannah shrugged. "I'd say we'll be ready for whatever happens, if anything does. Between the Duelling Club and your Hellipedes, I've never been more confident about my magic. I mean, watch this. Look at that fish for a second." She pointed at a pike swimming near the surface of the dark lake. "Stupefy!" There was a red flash, and the pike froze, floating to the surface. "See? I've been practicing. We all have."

"No kidding." Milo was impressed; he hadn't even seen her draw her wand. "Oh, this reminds me. Here, I've got something for you." Milo rooted about in his extradimensional belt, then pulled out a standard Hogwarts robe.

"I'm guessing it's not just an extra change of clothes?" Hannah said, looking at it curiously.

"It's magically enhanced," Milo explained. "Roughly as tough as steel. Should keep you safe from claws, fangs, and pointy sticks—oh, and Redcaps, in case we see one of those guys again—but it won't do anything against magic."

"That would explain why I saw Ron and Harry wailing at each other with Beaters' bats, and laughing, then," Hannah said, taking the robes. "I was wondering about that." She frowned. "I, er, appreciate the present, but these are a size small."

"Don't worry," Milo said. "They resize to the wearer. You could be bigger than Hagrid and they'd still fit."

Hannah grinned. "You should have said that first, then! With any luck, that will be the more useful part. I'll never have to go to Madam Malkin's again!"

"Just make sure you wear them—and the amulet—pretty much all of the time. The amulet especially."

"Of course; I haven't taken it off since you gave it to me. I remember last Christmas, too." Hannah frowned. "This is going beyond your usual paranoia. What's going on?"

"The fact is, I don't know," Milo admitted. "And that scares me. There are people looking for something, but I don't have a single clue about what they're looking for. Why do they want it? What is it? What will happen if they find it?"

"Could it be the Philosopher's Stone, again?" Hannah suggested.

"Possibly," Milo said. He was surprised he hadn't considered that. "I'm pretty sure Dumbledore moved it after last year, though. I'd always assumed it was this adventure's MacGuffin, but I suppose it could be the MacGuffin of the whole campaign."

"Elaine MacGuffin? The fourth-year Hufflepuff girl?"

"Nah, the magic-artifact-thingy that everybody wants. The origin of its name is lost in the depths of time. Frankly, I'd assumed it was Harry. You know, something-something-key-to-defeating-the-Dark-Lord or whatever. Although Dumbledore did say it had more to do with Harry's mother..." Milo frowned. He felt as if he might be on to something, but he'd need more time to work it out. "On top of all that, there's this whole Chamber of Secrets thing with Peeves. Annoying as he is, why an ancient monster would sneak out of hiding to take out an NPC who was clearly intended as comic relief is beyond me."

"And you probably want to find a way to get home, right?" Hannah asked.

"Well, yeah, eventually," Milo said vaguely. He hadn't actually thought about home in quite some time. "But I'm sure they can live without me for a while yet. I think I'm needed here more."

Hannah grinned. "You, sir, are correct. Whatever would we do if we didn't have you to overcomplicate things for us?"

"I'm sure you'd find something to do to fill up the time," Milo said. "Quidditch or infighting or whatnot."

Across the lake, a huffing, puffing Hufflepuff Milo didn't recognize ran up to the Quidditch players. Whatever he said, it surprised Cedric enough that—for the first time Milo had seen—he fumbled the Quaffle when it was passed to him. A few seconds later, they were running into the castle, followed shortly by Lavender, the Patils, and the others.

Hannah frowned. "Maybe we should check out what's going on?"

Even a few Ravenclaws pulled themselves away from their studies to follow the crowd.

"Yeah," Milo said. "Definitely."

They followed the growing throng of students, pushing against each other to be the first to reach their intended goal—whatever it was. Over the din, Milo managed to snatch the occasional glimpse of what sounded like relevant information.

"... entire hallway disappeared..."

"... almost the entire Slytherin team..."

"... with me..."

"... ears to cumquats..." Milo frowned. He must have failed a Listen check on that one. At some point in the push, he lost track of Hannah. As the movement was starting to slow and the bodies were packed even more tightly together, someone grabbed Milo's arm roughly.

"I said, come with me!" It was Ron. Surprised, Milo let his feet carry him away from the crowd and the noise, down a side corridor to the main staircase. Around the corner, Harry and Hermione were waiting impatiently.

"What's going on?" Milo asked.

"So you finally got him, then?" Harry asked irritably, ignoring his question.

"There were a lot of people," Ron said defensively. "It was hard to pick him out."

"What's happening?" Milo asked again.

"It's Dean and Seamus," Hermione said. "Ron heard them say they were going to... kill somebody. We thought we'd best grab you."

"Fair enough," Milo shrugged. "Lead on." Without another word, they hustled to the entrance to Gryffindor tower.

"Password?" the fat lady asked.

"Friendly Melons," Milo replied, and she swung open. Milo glanced back at his friends. "Wands out, people."

Inside, things looked fairly normal. The Weasley twins were playing wizard chess near the window, Neville was reading the Potions textbook on an armchair, and Dean and Seamus were chatting conspiratorially in the corner.

"Hey, dirtbags!" Milo shouted at the two. "Hope you enjoy a face full of Glitterd—"

"Incarcerous," Fred cast, and Milo's arms were suddenly tied behind his back with ropes, ruining the spell. More ropes tied his legs together at the ankles.

"What the hell, Fred?" Milo asked angrily. "Yo! Gryffindors! Dean and Seamus over there are like, seriously bad news!"

"Are we?" Dean asked, standing up. "Are we, really? And why is that, little boy?"

"Well, there's all the skulking about, the fact that Ron here overheard you plotting murder, and the 'little boy' you just threw out there didn't help your case any, either."

"He's got a point, Dean," Seamus said. "We do sound like—what was it? Ah, yes. 'Seriously bad news.'"

"Oh, he has no idea how bad, Seamus," Dean said.

"You're right, Dean. Why don't we show him?" Seamus walked up to Milo, and stared him in the eye. Then, without warning, his fist caught Milo in the jaw, knocking him to the ground awkwardly.

"Hey! Hermione, kick their asses!" Milo said, spitting blood on the red-and-gold carpet. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? "Harry? Ron?" But nobody moved.

"Oh, I've wanted to do that for months, little boy," Seamus muttered.

"Listen to him calling for help, Seamus," Dean said. "He thinks he's surrounded by friends."

Oh, crap.

Milo's mind raced, but it didn't take him long to guess what happened. Of course. Whatever it was that happened downstairs had been a big enough distraction to draw everyone from the Common Room down to take a look. There had certainly been enough people that Milo would believe every single Hogwarts student was down there. So, everyone currently in the room with him was some sort of plant. Now, the question remained: were they his actual friends, controlled by the Imperius Curse, or were they someone else using a Polyjuice potion?

Milo felt his lips twitch up into a smile, despite everything. "Well," he said. "Crap. Looks like you've got me."

"Indeed," not-Seamus said. "Now, tell me, where have you hidden the book?"

Great. Another one of these conversations.

"Somewhere safe," Milo said vaguely. He had no idea what book they were talking about. "I'm willing to make a deal, but first, you must answer one question."

"Acceptable. Ask your question; but be warned: if we even think you are casting a spell, you will be dead before you hit the floor."

"I understand. Now, my friends—the people you're disguised as—are they safe?"

"For now."

"Good." So they were disguise as, rather than possessing, his friends. He could use Divinations to track them down later. In fact, with the exception of Dean and Seamus, it was more than likely that they were all in the castle, completely oblivious to the events in the Common Room. These people, whoever they were, could simply have pulled a hair from their marks' robes or pillows at their leisure to use for a Polyjuice potion. Not only was that what Milo would have done, it's what he had done; he'd already owled to Cog small paper packets with hairs taken from, at most recent count, one-third of the Hogwarts student body. "The wall behind me is an Illusion," Milo said.

The funny thing about Illusions is that, once you know they're not real, they turn transparent. The most obvious use of this trick is to create a one-way window from which to spy or snipe, but, in Milo's opinion, that was far from the only one.

Anyone who heard his declaration would notice, if they were paying very close attention, the south wall of the Gryffindor Common Room move almost a tenth of a millimetre as the Illusory Wall flickered away. And even if they weren't paying attention, they'd notice the massive, garish, magenta-and-cyan glow-in-the-dark text that was suddenly visible.

THE CHAMBER OF MUNCHKINRY HAS BEEN OPENED.
ENEMIES OF ABSURDLY OVERPOWERED ARCANE MAGIC, BEWARE.

Post Scriptum: this text is exactly twenty five words long, thanks.

"Wh—"

A small viper, sepia-toned like an old photograph, leapt out of the wall from a discreet sigil concealed in the final period of the message. It flew towards not-Seamus like a bullet before vanishing in a puff of dun smoke in front of his startled eyes.

As the smoke cleared, a shimmering amber field became visible, surrounding the immobile not-Seamus. Unless somehow dispelled, he would remain trapped there, in stasis, for about a week and a half.

"Merlin's beard!" not-Hermione cursed, staring at the frozen not-Seamus.

"Avada—" not-Neville began casting.

"No, you fool!" not-Dean shouted. "We need him alive!"

Good to know, Milo noted.

"But he used magic!" not-Neville protested. "He could kill us all!"

"Idiot! That was clearly a premade trap—if he could do it to all of us, he would have. Use your mind! He's powerless."

Milo had to make a formidable Bluff check to bite down laughter. Whoever thought that a Wizard was powerless simply because he was surrounded by enemies, alone, unarmed, and tied down in the middle of a room had Bad Things coming in their near future. Not that a Wizard who could speak was ever really unarmed, of course.

"So, this book," Milo said, "I don't suppose you could describe it for me?"

"Don't get cute with me, boy," not-Dean snapped. "You know very well what book I'm talking about."

"You're absolutely certain of that?" Milo asked.

"Obviously. Stop stalling for time. You have thirty seconds."

Milo frowned. Maybe he did have this book they wanted. There was only one book he carried around of any magical significance, and that was his spellbook. Maybe they thought they could learn Arcane magic from it?

"It won't work for you," Milo said seriously. "It'd be as useful as a notebook full of scribbles."

"I'll be the judge of that," not-Dean said. "Just hand it over before things get... unpleasant."

Right, because being sprawled on the floor with my hands tied up isn't unpleasant at all.

"It will only work for me," Milo repeated. "It's mine."

Not-Dean's eyes widened. "You don't mean that you..."

"Yes! Yes I do!" Milo wasn't quite sure what not-Dean was getting at, but he seemed to be making progress here. Any attempt to use his spellbook was a fool's errand.

"Then you'd best come with us," not-Dean said.

Milo laughed. "I'm not going anywhere with you." This conversation was getting weird, fast.

"Then I'm sure you'll understand my predicament. If you don't back up your claim by either producing the book or coming with us, I'll use more direct methods to determine the truth, and I don't think either of us want it to come to that."

What claim? What the Hells was going on?

"Torture won't help you," Milo said, frantically trying to think of a plan. "Because I'm not Milo. I'm really, uh, that guy." He nodded at not-Neville completely at random.

"Who, Avery?" not-Dean asked. "What nonsense is this?" not-Dean aimed his wand steadily at Milo. "I'm done with this. You'll tell us the truth, now."

"Yeah! Avery! We switched by some kind of—"

"Crucio," not-Dean cast.

"Translocation Trick." Milo muttered. In a rather disorienting manner, he suddenly found himself looking like Neville and staring at, well, himself from the other side of the room.

"Wait! Stop!" the unfortunate person (Avery?) disguised as Neville disguised as Milo gasped between tortured screams. "I'm really Avery! Avery!" Milo tried to think back to where he'd heard that name before.

"He's lying," Milo said. "I'm Avery!"

"Where is the book?" not-Dean shouted at the writhing Avery.

"How the hell should I know?" Avery shrieked back. "I'm one of you!"

"That is the least believable lie I've ever heard!"

Milo shifted uncomfortably as Avery writhed on the floor, straining against the ropes that tied him down. Killing orcs was one thing, but this was... wrong. Torture was explicitly stated to be an Evil act in the rules, and Milo felt it was a flimsy defence to say that he wasn't the one doing the torture; he had simply arranged events such that someone else would be tortured while he waited, doing nothing. The fact that the victim looked exactly like him didn't help matters any.

"Ready an action, Mordy," Milo whispered to his Familiar. "We'll take them next turn."

The Translocation Trick hid Milo's extradimensional belt, so anyone looking closely would see Mordy's head and arms pop out of seemingly-nowhere.

3...2...1...

"Shatter." Not-Dean's wand exploded with a thunderclap, saving Avery from his torment. Briefly. Mordy, using bracers enchanted with Launch Item, fired a marked knut into the centre of the room. The rat squinted, using his goggles-enhanced Spot check to read the tiny rune at a distance.

The coin exploded in a purple-green burst, taking most of the room with it. The windows shattered outwards, and most of the furniture was reduced to splinters. People disguised as most of his best friends were sent flying across the room.

"Mercy!" the one disguised as Harry Potter gasped, cradling a clearly broken arm. "Master, have mercy!"

Death Eaters—Milo remembered where he'd heard the name 'Avery' before—were sprawled around the room, battered and broken. But alive. Another volley from Mordy would change that. He knew that it was the right decision. If they lived, they'd go on, serving Malfoy and Voldemort, until they were thrown in Azkaban or killed. It was the smart choice. Milo looked at the Death Eater disguised as Ron, whimpering on the floor. He looked at the Death Eater disguised as Hermione, whose face was covered in blood. He looked at the Death Eater disguised as Harry, begging for mercy at Milo's feet.

He looked at himself—Avery—on the floor, unconscious.

"Everybody leave," Milo said quietly. "Just go. If I see any of you again, I'll probably kill you." Of course, they were in disguise, highlighting the absurdity of his threat. He didn't know who most of them were, but at this point, he didn't really care.

"A—Accio Broomsticks," the Death Eater who looked like Harry said, and a tightly wrapped bundle of brooms flew in through the window a few seconds later.

It took some doing to get them all on brooms, but a few minutes later, they were gone, and Milo was left in a room with his rat, an amber-trapped Death Eater, and pile of broken furniture.

o—o—o—o

Lucius Malfoy sealed the envelope to the Hogwarts board of directors before tying to an owl's waiting leg. All in all, he'd call the day a victory. Sure, his Death Eaters had been bloodied and defeated (and, more importantly, had failed in their mission). But really, he'd expected that. Their mission had served its purpose; it had distracted them from his lack of desire to bring the Dark Lord back and given them a new motive: revenge. They were mad enough about their humiliating defeat that they would question no orders that sent them up against that unnatural little child. And, now that they had returned home, he could stop blackmailing potion makers across Britain into making him Polyjuice. Of course, there was still the matter of what to do with the captured students, but Lucius was certain that, if they were found, he was removed enough from the situation that it wouldn't affect him in any real way.

But it was the surprising attack on Slytherin's Quidditch team that had been the real highlight of the day. Rich, pureblooded families across the country were crying for blood, and Lucius knew exactly how and where to channel that anger and fear. There were a not insignificant number of halfbloods and mudbloods, even those who were usually Lucius's enemies, who were joining the mob.

Power came from seizing opportunities when you found them, not from stubbornly sticking to outdated plans and causes, and this was an opportunity too good for Lucius to pass up. Come tomorrow morning, he would not trade places with Dumbledore for all the gold in Gringotts. Well, maybe he would. With that much gold, he could bribe his way out of any problem. But the sentiment still stood.

Lucius pulled out another sheet of parchment, this one intended for the Daily Prophet, and began writing.

As a concerned father and respected community leader, I am outraged at the flagrant disregard for student safety exhibited by Hogwarts's current administration...

It was almost too easy.

o—o—o—o—o—o—o

Author's Notes: I'm switching the update days to Fridays to better match my new schedule. If I don't find that that works, I might push it to Saturday or Sunday instead. Also, I've decided that the previous chapter's name ("Hallwe'en Masks") fits this chapter much better. So I've renamed Chapter 11 to "Trick or Treat" (which is a better name anyway, considering the events of the previous chapter) and I'm naming Chapter 12 "Hallowe'en Masks." Sorry for the confusion, as this is one of the problems in writing in a serial format: it can be awkward to go back and change things when you have a better idea.

D&D Tip: Though this one works equally well for pretty much any RPG. If you're doing one of those Showdown At High Noon-style walk ten paces, turn, and fire duels (or a quick-draw Single Stroke Battle), here's what you do for optimum coolness around the table: have one player count down, and at one, both contestants simultaneously roll attack, and initiative, and do all the addition of bonuses, etc., before declaring what happened. Then you roll damage.

This highlights the sudden, tense nature of the duel around the table in a satisfying way, while still following the rules to the letter.