Chapter Eleven: No News Is Good News

FERAL CHILD ON THE LOOSE

by Rita Skeeter

Concerning reports were brought to the attention of the Daily Prophet yesterday about a strange and possibly dangerous child calling himself "Milo Amastacia-Liadon."

"He's attacked me and my mates several times," says Gregory Goyle, a soon-to-be third year student. "But no-one ever does anything about it." Goyle declined further comment, citing fears of what Amastacia-Liadon will do to him if he went public with the full truth.

There are several eyewitness reports of him performing dangerous magic on other students without the use of a wand, as some magical children have been known to do in times of stress and danger. Among other incidents, he is said to have temporarily blinded an entire first-year Potions class, and thrown Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, from his broomstick during a Quidditch match. He was also found in the school grounds alone with a critically injured first year girl, who was unavailable for comment, who appeared to have suffered serious knife wounds. On several occasions he has caused major damage to Hogwarts school property, including several broken windows. He is reported to have been involved in an elaborate prank to conjure a fully-grown oak tree in the middle of the school, costing taxpayers untold galleons in repairs. On one occasion, he attacked the family of the Boy Who Lived, leading to his arrest by Muggle police officers (Muggles armed with sticks who enforce the will of their queen) last summer. Further, he was among the last to be seen with Professor Quirrell, former Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, before the professor's complete nervous breakdown.

He was thought to have disappeared for good midway through his second year at Hogwarts, immediately after a highly-dangerous magical beast, the Basilisk, was released into the school. The identity of the culprit, claiming to be the "Heir of Slytherin," remains unknown, though some have speculated that it is no coincidence that this wild youth fled the school when the Basilisk was killed.

It is unknown at this time if this child is an orphan or simply a runaway, but what is known is that despite a history of violence and wild behaviour, he has been attending Hogwarts for the last two years and there is nothing to suggest that he will not return for the term starting next week.

Do not approach Milo under any circumstances. If you have any information regarding the identity or whereabouts of this child, who was last seen roaming a park near Bristol, please contact the Ministry immediately, as much for his own safety as for yours.

"We have to find this kid," Amelia Bones said, setting down the Daily Prophet. The strange necklace she'd taken to wearing the last few months dangled from her neck.

"Doesn't that sound like a job for the Improper Use of Magic Office?" Kingsley Shacklebolt suggested lightly. "Besides, we have our hands tied up looking for Black—who, I will remind you, is a killer, not merely a delinquent."

"This takes priority," Bones said, firmly. "He's one of Potter's friends."

"I don't see the connection," Shacklebolt confessed.

"He knows where Potter lives," Bones said.

"And the Prophet just told everyone of that fact." Shacklebolt felt his eyes widen as realization hit him. "Sirius Black."

"We find the kid," Bones said, "and we'll find Black. And Merlin only knows who else. This isn't the number one priority. This is the only priority."

o—o—o—o

"Dangerous, yes, but 'feral' seems a bit much," Milo grumbled, setting down the Daily Prophet. He felt like twelve miles of bad clichés. He'd run out of high-level spells, and was therefore unable to muster up another Teleport the night before, and with Sirius unable to Apparate, they'd both had little choice but to stay the night in his little hidey-hole. Milo didn't trust Sirius further than he could Bull Rush him, and didn't fancy the idea of falling asleep in a confined space with him. As such, he'd had to rely on his least favourite rules loophole: technically, to get his spells back, he didn't need to sleep for eight hours; he simply had to "rest".

Sitting with one's back to the wall staring at a snoring escaped convict may have counted as 'rest,' although it was far from being restful. He was also annoyed by having to once more prepare spells without the benefit of his own spellbook, limiting him to a handful of his chosen spells and those found in Thamior's. Druids never have to deal with this kind of arbitrary inconvenience. It would take him weeks of work and hundreds of pounds of salt to make a new one.

"I can't believe this," Hannah said. She'd dropped by for a quick visit early in the morning, before her parents woke up. Sirius was still asleep in the corner, and honestly, he looked like he needed it. "The Prophet makes it sound like you're a wanted criminal."

"I haven't gotten my Hogwarts letter," Milo said. "Probably because their magic owls couldn't find me while I was heartbeat-impaired."

"The book list is simple enough," Hannah said. "Although the Monster Book of Monsters is a bit of a pain. It came with a consent form, though."

"A what?" Milo knew what the words 'consent' and 'form' meant, individually, but he had no idea what they implied when put together like that.

"It's a form your parent or guardian is supposed to sign," Hannah said. "It's to allow you to go to Hogsmeade on weekends."

"That... could be a problem," Milo said. "My parents live in another universe, and only one of them is even fully-realized. What happens if I can't get it signed?"

"You don't get to go to Hogsmeade," Hannah said.

"Eh," Milo shrugged. "Suits me fine. Anything I want from town I can owl order. Besides," he added, "it's not like they could really keep me from going there if I really wanted to."

"So, what's your plan, then?" Hannah asked curiously.

"Drop by Harry's house, illegally copy his books with Amanuensis, Teleport to King's Cross, board the Hogwarts Express, and enjoy Snape's surprised look when I come back from the dead," Milo said. "No big deal."

"Um," Hannah said. "You might not want to see Harry just yet."

"No problem," Milo said. "I'll drop by your house, illegally copy your books with Amanuensis, Teleport to King's Cross, board the Hogwarts Express, and enjoy Snape's surprised look when I come back from the dead. Why shouldn't I go see Harry?"

"Weeeeerrrrlllllll..."

"Yes?" Milo asked.

"Hermione may have gotten it into her head that you were the Heir of Slytherin," Hannah said. "And she may or may not have convinced some others of this fact."

"Oh," Milo said. "So you're saying if I unexpectedly drop in on Harry, he might think it's an ambush and blast me to smithereens with magic?"

"Maybe," Hannah said. "Probably."

Milo leaned back heavily in his chair, rubbing his forehead. "Hermione," he said, heavily.

"I know, right?" Hannah agreed sympathetically.

"She is too smart for her own good," Milo said. "Or, more accurately, too smart for my own good."

He reached into Relkin's belt and pulled out his Everfull Mug. "Prestidigitation," he muttered, waving his hand over the water inside. In an instant, it was steaming and milky brown, and tasted exactly like spiced cinnamon tea. He took a sip, savouring the sharp aftertaste. "It never hits, but it crits."

Hannah chuckled. "I should probably be heading back," she said. "I'll drop by this evening with my school books, and some rat food for Mordy."

"Wait," Milo said, as she got up to leave. "One last thing."

"Oh?" Hannah asked.

"'Hands in the air, dirtbag?'" he asked lightly.

"Oh," Hannah said, her cheeks colouring slightly. "Well, I'd just been watching a lot of Batman, and, uh, it seemed appropriate..."

"What kind of manservants do they have in this world?" Milo asked.

"What?" Hannah asked.

"A batman—it's a soldier who's assigned to an officer as a servant, right?"

Hannah chuckled. "Forget about it," she said.

After that, they said their goodbyes, and she was off on her broomstick.

"So," a voice behind him said. Milo whirled around, hands at the ready for spellslinging. It was Sirius Black, who wasn't quite as asleep as he had appeared. "Looks like we have more in common than I'd thought."

"How do you mean?" Milo asked.

He held the Daily Prophet. "We're both wanted," he said. "And we both annoyed the same people."

"I don't think I follow," Milo said.

"Do you think it's coincidence that this story broke now, of all times?" Sirius asked. "Yesterday you didn't even exist."

Milo blinked. "You think this is part of You-Know-Who's plan?" he said. "To turn the peasants against me? But it says here to contact the Ministry if I'm found. That's the last people that..." Milo was barely aware that he'd stopped talking. If Hannah was right about the amulets being cursed, then he absolutely could not trust anyone in the Ministry.

"Not his plan," Sirius said. "This has the stink of a Malfoy's touch."

"I am so sick of those guys," Milo said. "And with Snape as Headmaster, they'll basically be running Hogwarts."

"Snivellus?" Sirius's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. "Are you sure you still want to go there in September? It might not be the most hospitable place for you."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Milo grinned. "As Head of Gryffindor, only McGonagall can actually expel me, so the baddies can't keep me out. And all the fun happens at Hogwarts."

Sirius shrugged. "It's your call."

"So," Milo said. "As long as we both have nothing better to do, mind telling me what's your history with Snape?"

Sirius grinned. "Pull up a chair."

o—o—o—o

"Bloody hell," Fiona Smythe said, setting down the Daily Prophet on the pub table and sliding it over to Evan Travis. "Does this boy look at all familiar to you?"

The Bring 'em Inn was the sort of pub that was generally full of coppers that wanted nothing more than a quiet drink, some chips, and to forget for a moment that they were coppers. Even when the place was packed to the rafters, it was always quiet, with most of the clientele sitting by themselves, staring into their mugs and trying to think about anything, absolutely anything, other than work.

It was the perfect place for conspiring.

Travis picked up the tabloid and glanced at the picture. "Nope," he said. "But most little boys of a certain age look sort of the same. He probably reminds you of your nephew."

"Read the article," Fiona pushed.

Travis rolled his eyes in a the-thing-I-put-up-with way, and read through the article. A few sentences in, and his smirk was wiped off his face.

"Bloody hell," Travis said, putting the paper down. "You don't think..."

"Just how many wizard children do you think were nicked by coppers in Little Whinging last year?" Fiona asked. "It's him. I know it."

"So say it is," Travis said. "What are we going to do about it? This isn't our responsibility anymore."

Fiona knew that when he said 'we' and 'our,' he meant 'you' and 'your.' As it turns out, telling your therapist during a mandatory psych evaluation that five constables were killed by magic during a raid on a house full of wizards, and that you couldn't remember any of it, because, well, magic, doesn't do your career any favours. Technically, she was still a copper, but 'mandatory indefinite psych leave' wasn't a thing that a job could really bounce back from.

Travis had had the good sense to lie through his teeth and a low enough rank that he'd managed to evade any blame, and had actually been bumped up to fill Fiona's place as police sergeant in the latest round of promotions.

"What do you think I'm doing?" Fiona asked.

Travis sighed. "You're going to Bristol."

"Damn right I'm going to Bristol."

"Fiona, I know you don't want to hear this right now, but it's important that you keep going to your therapy sessions. It's the only way you'll get your job back. You can't just leave."

"Bugger the therapist," Fiona said, standing up.

"Figured you'd say that," Travis said. "Look, I'd come with you, but..."

"I understand." Travis was in a tough position. Between his recent promotion and the lingering black mark of his participation in the doomed police raid last year, there was no way he could take time off now, especially during the manhunt for Sirius Black. He had everything to prove and, now that Hannigan had resigned, few friends among the brass. Or anywhere else, for that matter. As Fiona had found as well, having your life completely turned upside-down by an experience that you couldn't share with anybody wrought havoc on your personal life. "Look after Sprocket while I'm gone. The keys will be under the doormat."

"You're going now?" Travis asked.

"Their term starts in a few days, and he'll be out of reach once he's in their school. There's no time to waste." She grinned, and flashed him a smile. She hadn't felt this excited and, well, purposeful in almost a year. "The game is afoot."