chapter 11

The first meeting of the Muggle-books-book-club (they really need to pick a name, because that's a mouthful) actually goes a lot better than Ed had thought it would when it had initially been proposed on the train.

He's the second to arrive, joining Luna at the street corner where she's flipping through a magazine with purpose.

"Quibbler?" Ed guesses. He still hasn't gotten his hands on one, but he's heard plenty more about its reputation since Neville first mentioned it. Primarily from Remus, who despite being calm in most situations, became a bit aggravated when trying to describe his "light disagreement" with the articles written inside.

"Correct," she says, looking up. A pair of bedazzled pink sunglasses rests on the tip of her nose.

"Nice glasses," he comments.

"Spectrespecs! I'll get you some for the next time, Fullmetal. I think they'll look rather charming on you," she replies.

The mental image of wearing bedazzled pink spectacles at Hogwarts and making the entire student body lose their collective shit makes Ed bite back a grin — not to mention the kind of reaction it'll inspire in Sirius. "I'll hold you to that."

Neville shows up then, followed shortly afterwards by Blaise, who arrives the moment the clock strikes eleven, punctual as ever. The four of them exchange greetings, which is then followed by Luna complimenting the color of everyone's magical signature as seen through the spectrespecs while they wait on the twins.

Blaise stands perfectly upright, his clothes pressed and neat as if he were still dressed in uniform, and he looks so uncomfortable Ed almost feels bad — socializing in such a casual manner is clearly a new experience to the other boy. Though Ed can technically say he's in the same boat, he's never been one for formalities or niceties like Blaise is.

"We're here!" Fred shouts as he and George race down the street. "We're on time!"

"You're late," Ed says, more to be contrary than to actually give them grief about it.

"Miss us that much?" Fred says.

"No."

Fred tries to ruffle Ed's hair and Ed tries to bite his hand for attempting it.

"So, how should we go about getting the books?" Neville pipes up.

"I'll go buy them," Ed says, still pushing Fred's persistent hand away from inching towards his head, "because I can't trust any of you to walk into a Muggle store and I don't have the patience to teach you the right etiquette right now."

Despite his blunt words, there are actually a couple different reasons Ed doesn't mind shelling out the money for the future education of his friends, with the main one being that he has more money than is practical for a single person and he doesn't have to be friends with the twins to know that the Weasleys are not well off; it's been a well-established yet unaddressed fact, just like everyone knows about Malfoy's dad pretending to not be a Death Eater in the last war and getting away with it.

(There are whispered secrets about everyone, given how small the British wizarding world can be at times.)

He's also the only one who understands Muggle currency and he's not looking forward to being summoned by the Ministry of Magic for breaking the Statute of Secrecy over an innocuous slip-up like paying for books.

Luna ducks her head to hide a knowing smile, but the other boys merely protest and let out insulted whines as Ed walks off with a wave.

"Don't move!" he yells back before pulling the door open and entering the bookshop.

Luna, Neville, and Blaise start chatting about how they got to this part of Muggle London, with Neville and Blaise eventually discussing their excitement to "finally learn how to apparate"!

The twins, however, have a little conversation of their own.

"He thinks he's subtle," George murmurs to Fred, who's biting back a smile.

"About as subtle as a trainwreck," Fred says.

"Well, he's an idiot," George says fondly. "It's in his blood or something."

Ed brings back six copies of a book called Electricity for Dummies and a few other thick volumes tucked away in a paper bag.

"So, how do we get into Axe-Cident Alley?"

Blaise clears his throat. "The entrance is over there." He gestures towards an unremarkable and narrow alleyway between two Muggle store fronts.

Neville grins. "Lead the way, Blaise."

* * * * *

"And here's yours, Loony."

"Thank you, Fullmetal."

They'd followed Blaise through a long, crowded alleyway that featured some scenic view of rubbish bins and monotonous layers of brick, until he'd stopped them in front of a seemingly normal part of the wall. Tapping a specific pattern into the brick with the tip of his wand, it had appeared to Ed that Blaise had pushed the bricks out of place to create an opening.

And now they're all comfortably seated in the chairs of various size, shape, and color at Ranklebury's Cafe. Everything here is warmed by ambient magic and the lights inside lean yellow, making the interior seem cozier. It's a different type of homely than the Hufflepuff common room, looking less cottage and more summer getaway, with patterned tiles decorating the floors and plush furniture and interesting art pieces scattered on the walls.

"So, are either of you ever going to explain the nickname?"

Luna and Ed respond to Fred at the same time.

"Are you referring to Fullmetal?"

"You mean Loony?"

"Both," he laughs laughs.

"It'd be nice to know the reasoning behind both," George agrees.

Ed glances at Luna and she gives her permission with a tiny nod. "Technically, I thought Luna's real name was Loony when we first met, because, well, because that's the only name anyone else ever used."

Neville tries to hold back a laugh and ends up snorting. "Why can I so easily imagine that kind of thing happening to you?"

"It's not like anyone was going to randomly tell me her real name!" Ed points out indignantly. "That was still when people were pretty actively avoiding me!"

"They're not keen on being your friend now either," George points out.

"Yeah, you still glare at everyone like you were raised by trolls," Fred says, "and not the kind that live in mushroom houses and grant wishes — more the kind we used to tell Ron would come eat his toes if he ever slept without socks on."

"Gee, thanks," Ed retorts. "Do I have a rude nickname too?"

"Actually, I've just heard you referred to as the Hufflepuff, now that I think about it," Neville answers, tilting his head in thought.

"Me too," the other four say in unison.

Ed throws his hands up. "How do you know that that's referring to me? I'm not the only person in Hufflepuff!"

"You're the only person in Hufflepuff anyone not in Hufflepuff would be talking about," George points out.

"Thanks, I hate that," Ed replies, slouching in his seat.

A server comes by, holding a large tray piled high with their food and drinks. He places all of the tea cups on earth-toned coasters that float gently in front of the intended drinker. Ed watches, fascinated and maybe a little disturbed, at the use of everyday magic, especially when the server taps the bottom of his tray with his wand and it sprouts spidery-long legs. The server places the makeshift table in front of them and smiles.

"Enjoy," he says before heading back to the counter.

"What about Full Metal then?" Blaise inquires, returning to their original conversation. "It's an odd choice. Loo—" he stops, unsure, before continuing on "—Loony is understandable, given the circumstances."

The Gryffindors nod in agreement.

"Yeah, what gives? Full Metal? It's a weird name!" Fred insists.

"It's a title," Luna replies casually and Ed chokes on his tea.

"A title for what?"

"Hm, maybe a job description?"

Ed coughs, still trying to recover from inhaling tea moments earlier. Why would she know that?

George crinkles his brow. "What kind of job would that be?"

"I'm not quite sure myself," she says, apologetic, as if she has any reason to be sorry, "but Fullmetal has given me his permission and I think that by itself is enough good reason to call him by his proper title, don't you?"

"Well, I'm not going to argue with that logic," Neville says. "Is it a title though, Ed?"

"Some–, something like that," he says lamely. "A nickname might be a better description."

There's a sudden rush to change the subject amongst themselves; they all seem to pick up on his slight discomfort about the origin of his title, with Luna throwing an apologetic look his way as Neville starts announcing how excited he is to learn about "Muggle magic".

He gives her a tiny half-smile and shakes his head. It's okay.

They start to read the first chapter of Electricity for Dummies together, everyone reading a page out loud as the others follow along, with Ed jumping in every now and then to explain anything that makes his friends look confused and daunted.

By the end of the chapter, they've been sitting in the cafe for a little over two hours, discussing not only their new (very basic) knowledge of electricity, but how their summer plans are currently looking, who likes what kind of tea, and other miscellaneous topics.

It's nice, Ed thinks, to be able to spend time like this. To make innocent jokes about nothing. To not be constantly thinking of the next step required to achieve his long-term goals.

It's nice to feel like a kid again.

"Hey, Ginny wanted to join next time if that's alright with all of you," George mentions, glancing primarily at Ed, but addressing everyone present.

Blaise purses his lips. "Is your sister… aware… of my presence here?"

"Oh yeah, she doesn't care about it as long as you aren't, and I quote, 'a prick who concerns themselves too much with other people's lives'. But you're not, so it's not an issue, right?" Fred turns to face the Slytherin with an amused look.

"Right," Blaise says. The corners of his mouth threaten to turn into a smile.

"It'd also be nice to have more people my age," Luna replies.

"What happened to being ancient and all-knowing?" Ed snorts.

"Ginny is also ancient and all-knowing. More accurately, she's more of a 'young' ancient and all-knowing type of person, I can tell, whereas I'm more of a 'middle-aged' ancient and all-knowing person."

"Then who's an old, ancient and all-knowing type of person?" Neville asks, bewildered.

"Professor Lupin," Luna answers.

"Alright, I want the specifics on that later, Luna, but can we say this is an agreement on Ginny?" Fred interrupts.

"I don't see why not," Blaise says, and everyone nods in agreement.

"Then it's settled," Luna says brightly. "Same time and place next week?"

"Looking forward to it already," Neville laughs.

* * * * *

The next day, Ed leaves Grimmauld Place on foot before the sun begins to rise, without leaving a note or telling either Sirius or Remus about his plans for the day.

From past experience with proper alchemy and now magic, Ed is well-practiced in teaching himself new skills and techniques from books alone, even potentially dangerous ones.

He hadn't been able to practice apparition while on school grounds, but he'd read everything available about the theory and method of what amounts to wizard teleportation and he knows he needs to do it for where he wants to go today.

With that said, Ed has three points of contention with the existing body of research on apparition:

How the fuck does wanting to be somewhere actually take you there?

Apparition isn't for the irresolute. Seriously, the entire premise of the thing is wishing yourself to the desired location and messing that up leads to splinching. It's a good thing one of Ed's only redeeming qualities is his stubborn persistence to get shit done.

They should tell you to be prepared to vomit if you don't enjoy breaking physical laws or the sensation of having your entire being sucked through a straw and spit out somewhere completely new.

* * * * *

When Ed is done throwing up the contents of his stomach and strong enough to stand up, he's pretty pleased to see that he's all in one piece. He did just do something illegal (which doesn't really count for much in Ed's eyes of what's morally right or wrong), but with the company he keeps, there's no way for the Ministry to find out about this and he's only doing it because he didn't have much of a choice.

He's apparated to the edge of a wooded area and he spots tiny curls of smoke rising from chimneys in the village nearby. Birds are chirping sporadically and he can just barely make out one or two people walking in the streets.

But Ed's not here for the village.

He heads directly into the woods and eventually, after some searching, the entire purpose of this little adventure appears.

"Fuck yeah," he breathes, which isn't really anything a person normally would say while taking in the destroyed remains of the house before them.

But this particular shack looks exactly like Ed's seen it in Truth's info-dump almost a year ago, the structural bones of the building remain, charred and dark against the sky.

There's no one around, Muggle or otherwise. Given the location, there can't be much of a chance that Ed will run into another living thing, because even the birds are quiet here.

It's unsettling how still everything is. Even in the light of the rising sun, he imagines a dark shadow is cast over the little patch of land that the burned remains occupy.

"It's now or never, Fullmetal."

He walks inside what's left of the shack, only slightly concerned that the structural integrity had degraded to the point of collapse. Other than the creaking of the floorboards beneath him, nothing moves or looks out of the ordinary — it's just another burnt home.

I wonder if Riddle was running from something too.

There's no way the building burned by accident; Riddle definitely committed arson. But that leaves Ed with a lot of questions. Like why did Riddle bury the ring here, in the remains of an unimportant hovel that he probably burned to the ground himself? It's not that Ed doesn't think him capable of senseless violence, because everything Riddle's done since adopting that stupid moniker is senseless violence.

But why here?

What made this place important to him?

Even with the questions on his mind, this is all too easy in relation to Ed's typical assignments. He's skeptical, almost certain that Truth didn't tell him some vital detail, but everything, down to the rubble, is exactly like he remembers in that implanted memory.

He reaches the floorboards that were formally in front of the tiny fireplace and gets down on his knees, taking off his jacket and setting it to the side. Brushing away the dirt and grime built up from years of neglect, he's able to find a large crack in between the boards and quickly gets to work prying them off the ground.

The ring rests on the soft earth underneath, a slightly tarnished metal band decorated with a dull square stone.

Again, it's so easy, it's suspicious.

There is something ominous about it, as plain as it is — it feels like magic normally does to Ed, something alive and electric about its very existence. But he's never felt such a clear threat like he does now. The warning radiates off the innocuous piece of jewelry, eliciting shivers down his spine the same way Truth's toothy grin does.

He doesn't want to know if that threat can be made tangible, but he'll have to take the risk — at least if he uses his right arm and anything bad happens, it's easier to fix than if he were to lose his left.

Fighting his instincts to cover the ring back up and run, he reaches for it with his automail and prepares for the worst.

His metal fingers curl around the band.

"Huh."

Nothing happens. His automail doesn't tingle or throb and that sinister, living pulse of energy doesn't register at all, even though Ed can still feel it linger in the air.

Why don't you put it on?

His brow furrows. Why would he put it on?

Why not? What's the harm? Aren't you curious what this does? Why is this so important? Why are you risking your existence on a ring?

That's kind of true. He's been dropped into an alternate reality for this ring (amongst other things), he at least deserves to try it on, doesn't he?

Right, you deserve to know the Truth of the matter, don't you?

He's already sliding the ring onto the pointer finger of his automail when he realizes it's not him that's thinking it.

"FUCK!"

He scrambles to yank it off, but it's too late. Whatever magic had effectively and easily convinced him to try the ring on in the first place spreads up the steel plates of his automail. Ed watches, helpless, as the metal corrodes rapidly and doesn't stop until a majority of his metal arm rusts off entirely and the ring clatters to the floor.

Ed's left standing in the destroyed remains of a shack with three and one-fourth limbs and a cursed ring.

"Shit. How am I supposed to explain this one?"

* * * * *

It's late at night when he creeps back into 12 Grimmauld Place.

For hours, he'd tried a number of spells on his completely destroyed automail to see if he could bring it back, but to no avail. Dismayed, he'd been forced to detach the remains of his upper arm and come back to the house without nothing past the shoulder.

It had been a stroke of good fortune that he'd taken off his jacket, because the empty sleeve provides, at the very least, the illusion of an arm. The ring is tucked away safely in his pocket and he doesn't make any more attempts to put it on, no matter what the magic tries to whisper to him.

He doesn't think he'll be caught like this, considering he and Sirius make it a point to never run into each other late at night, but he's not looking forward to the next day, when it'll be significantly harder to hide the lack of automail.

A problem for the Ed of tomorrow. Right now, he just wants to lie down and pass out and not stress about everything that went wrong today.

He's on his third step up the stairs when a voice stops him.

"Where in Merlin's name have you been? It's two o'clock in the morning!"

Sirius is standing in the open doorway of the sitting room, which is situated at an angle where he can see the stairwell, but not straight on. The light of the fireplace casts a weak spotlight on Ed, who's literal inches from stepping into the shadows leading up to the second floor and disappearing from sight.

"Nowhere," Ed calls back. He shifts his body so that the loose sleeve of his jacket is hidden by his torso.

Shit. Holy shit, this is risky.

"I wasn't born yesterday," Sirius scowls. "What kind of mischief have you gotten yourself into?"

Ed scoffs at that. "Well, I did at some point in the last year solemnly swear that I'm up to no good." He tries to stomp down on the wave of nausea rising inside of him. If Sirius comes even two steps closer, he'll have a better view of Ed's arm (or lack of one, in this case).

Sirius stares and then turns to yell into the sitting room. "Moony! Moony! He's using Marauder code against me!"

"I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner," Remus says back, the sound slightly muffled. There's some shuffling and moments later, he's standing just behind Sirius. "Hello, Ed. We missed you all of today and Sirius, despite his claims of being a 'cool' adult, worries."

"I do not," Sirius says immediately. "Moony's the one who was worried."

"I never said I wasn't, I'm just pointing out you were too," Remus says. "Regardless, care to explain where you've been?"

"I was just, you know, out. Bookclub."

Remus raises an eyebrow. "Is that so? I was under the impression that only took place on Thursday's and you just had one the day before."

"We had another one today to catch up. Needed more time than we thought, I guess."

Ed wonders in the back of his mind if this is what it'd be like to be a regular teenager with parents who cared about him — sneaking out and then guiltily sneaking back in, enduring well-meaning questions and answering with white lies for their sake, rather than his own. He shoves the thought away before it has time to take root in his brain. (He won't let himself imagine that kind of life. Not even as pretend.)

"Catch up on what?"

"Reading," Ed retorts, "which is probably the only thing books are good for, unless you're in desperate need of a weapon and you're stuck in a library."

"Give it up," Sirius scowls again. "You're lying."

"I'm not," Ed lies.

"You are."

"Am not!"

"Come here for a moment, will you?" Remus interrupts their bickering.

"Uh, I was just going to head upstairs. I'm super tired. Really need some sleep."

"Come here." The command leaves no room for argument and Ed grits his teeth before walking towards them with halting footsteps.

"BLOODY HELL!" Sirius shouts when Ed's made it to the base of the stairwell. He rushes forward and grabs Ed by the shoulders, checking him over frantically. "WHAT'S HAPPENED TO YOUR BLOODY ARM?"

Remus is still calm, but his face pales with worry. "We need to go to St. Mungo's."

"MERLIN, DO THEY STILL HAVE A FLOO ENTRANCE? OR WILL WE NEED TO APPARATE? I HAVEN'T APPARATED IN YEARS, FUCK, OH FUCK, WHAT DO WE DO?"

Ed brushes Sirius off with his remaining hand. "Calm down, I'm fine."

At least Ed can always rely on Remus to be rational under pressure, even as his boyfriend continues to freak the fuck out.

"HOW CAN THIS BE FINE? YOU'RE MISSING AN ARM!"

"Yeah, about that… technically, the arm was already missing."

"THIS ISN'T THE TIME TO MESS AROUND, ED! YOU HAD AN ARM LAST NIGHT! WHERE THE FUCK DID IT GO!"

Ed cringes upon hearing his own name — Sirius, even after learning it, hadn't ever bothered to call him that. He normally uses some variation of "hey, you", "brat", and "kid".

He must be really freaked out.

"Let's, uh, yeah, you know what? Let's sit down and I'll show you, okay? No tricks."

Sirius ignores Ed's suggestion and babbles to Remus. "He must be delusional from the blood loss, right? We need to, St. Mungo's, can we go by Floo? I can't, I haven't apparated in so long. We should, no, we have to go now!"

"He's not bleeding," Remus says slowly. He looks over Ed's appearance once more and chews on the inside of his cheek. "He might be telling the truth."

Sirius shakes his head. "No way, absolutely no way."

"Stop ignoring me, sit down, and I promise I'll explain, alright?" Ed says again.

Remus nods awkwardly and grabs Sirius by the back of his shirt and drags him back into the sitting room while Sirius continues to ramble about Ed's missing arm.

Once they're both settled down on the sofa, Ed gives them one long look before sighing dejectedly and grabbing his glove between his teeth.

"What, wait, what are you doing?"

At least he got past the shouting.

Ed glares at Sirius anyway. "I'm showing you." He pulls off the glove and lets it drop to the floor.

Remus eyes his bare hand curiously, glancing at the fallen glove as well.

Nothing out of the ordinary about his left hand, after all.

Ed licks his lips, trying to settle back into the Fullmetal part of him, the unshakeable persona he takes on to fight as a soldier, before speaking again. "Okay. Okay, so. You need to promise me you're going to stay calm."

"What?"

"Just. Can you promise me you're not going to freak out again before I continue with the explanation?"

The two men share a look, before Remus nods hesitantly for the both of them.

Ed shrugs out of his jacket and exposes his empty shirt sleeve. He hears one of them gasp, but ignores it, using the last of his mustered courage to continue. With practiced ease, he grabs the hem of his shirt and peels it off one-handed, revealing — amongst other things — the remains of his automail port.

Remus, as promised, remains outwardly calm, but Sirius yelps. Both of their eyes are huge and round as they take in the steel of the embedded port and the exposed wires as well as the massive amount of scarring on that particular shoulder, not to mention the other scars littering his torso.

Ed's suddenly self-conscious of the very obvious stab wound on his left side and the puckered scar left by a bullet just below it.

Wizards wouldn't know what bullet wounds look like. Right?

"Yeah, so I, uh, didn't technically have a right arm to begin with. My arm, the one you've seen, uh, it was… I guess you could call it a Muggle replacement." Ed waves in the general direction of his exposed port.

They're still staring at him like he's some creature that crawled out of the shadows.

Probably not the best sign.

"How did this even happen? You haven't explained that at all."

"Uh… I was out sightseeing and tripped?"

The two men talk over each other upon hearing Ed's obvious lie.

"Oh sure, and the next time I trip over my own feet, I'll lose my leg," Sirius spits out.

"You tripped," Remus deadpans. He rubs his temples. "This is giving me flashbacks to those detentions."

"I tripped and it broke!" Ed defends his poor excuse ferociously. "I haven't had proper maintenance in almost a year and Madame Pomfrey couldn't do much other than occasionally magick it clean! Muggle inventions aren't meant to last forever, they require constant care and repair over time."

"Why didn't you ever think to mention this to us? Who else knows at Hogwarts? Did Pomona at least know about this?"

"Just Pomfrey," Ed mutters.

Remus raises his eyebrows. "Just Poppy? Ed, are you ser–, are you joking? What were you going to do if this had happened during the term?"

"Probably get accused of cutting my own arm off by the rest of the student body, be disgraced in proper wizarding society, and be forced to return to my little foreign town as a drop-out and failure."

"That isn't my point, Ed. When you moved in with Sirius almost a month ago, why didn't you tell us about, about this, about your… arm? We could've done something, we, we could've helped you figure out your options before this could even happen!"

Remus' even-keeled composure begins to crack and Sirius is still silently staring at Ed's exposed torso, eyes wandering over the countless scars on his skin and consistently returning back to focus on the shiny steel of his automail port.

"It's not something that needs to be shared. It's my arm and I am perfectly capable of dealing with it on my own!" He's shouting now and he wishes he could stop, thinks that Sirius and Remus have been nothing but welcoming to and accepting of him while in Grimmauld Place and that they don't deserve to be treated like this. But his frustration and anger at his hand being forced, at the lack of choices he faced up to this moment, are finally threatening to bubble over in the worst way possible.

"We're not saying you aren't capable, we're saying you're a kid and you shouldn't have to deal with it alone!" Remus yells back.

It's the first time Ed's ever heard the man raise his voice.

"I'll be, no, I am fine," Ed says through clenched teeth.

Remus jerks back as if burned and Sirius' face twists into a pained expression.

"You know you said the exact same thing when you were hyperventilating in my classroom, that day we learned about boggarts?" Remus says, struggling to keep his tone even. "You said it again in detention, when you looked dead on your feet and told me you knew I was a werewolf."

Sirius curls a hand protectively over Remus'.

"And you said it again moments earlier when you showed us what's happened."

He sighs, exasperation written into every line of his face.

"You don't have to be fine, Ed. There are people who'll be there to catch you when you fall. You have friends who I know care about you immensely. You have professors at Hogwarts who want to see you happy and successful. And you have me and Sirius who already know more about you then you usually let on and have tried, to the best of our ability, to make it clear on multiple different occasions, that we appreciate having you around."

Sirius talks then, gruff and short in delivery, but the sentiment is completely the opposite. "That means you can, no, I mean, that you should tell us things. Things like when you need help or when something's difficult. You don't need to do it alone, kid." His eyes settle on Ed's face. "You haven't let us go it alone, so why do you think we'd let you?"

Ed drops his gaze to the floor, every muscle in his body tense.

Because I'm afraid.

Because I don't want to let people know I'm weak.

Because —

"—I shouldn't have to be anyone else's burden," he spits out before wincing. Regret instantly floods his entire body, ten times worse than when he'd talked about Al to Sirius. "Ugh, just… fuck. Forget I said that."

"No," Sirius says, "this isn't like last time. What happened to your family is something you can keep to yourself until you're ready and that's fine, I can wait years, need be. But this? This right here is something we have to address now."

"I don't want to talk about—"

"You once said you were now your own problem," Sirius cuts him off. "And I got the feeling that whatever happened in the past made you feel like you had to be an adult even though you're barely a teenager. That you're responsible for every single thing that happens, even the things out of your control. And maybe, I'm guessing, that you feel like you have to fight alone, even when everything is overwhelming. I get it, I've been in your shoes, I've been the person who had to grow up a little faster than everyone else. But you don't have to fight alone, that's what you have family for."

"My family isn't here," Ed all but snarls.

"But kid, just look. This" — he gestures between the three of them — "is family! You and your friends? That's family. And Hogwarts! That's family, if you want it to be. You're not alone, Ed, and we don't want you to feel like you have to pretend everything's fine for our sake."

Ed is reminded of Professor Sprout, of how she'd said Hogwarts could be a home if he gave it a chance. Homes, and families; they usually go hand-in-hand, don't they?

"You're one to talk," Ed lashes out, feeling off-balance. "You wouldn't ask for help even though you needed it."

"And I was fucking wrong, wasn't I? I can admit that, easily. I was fucking wrong. I needed help and was too proud and too afraid to say I needed it and in the end, I. Was. Wrong. Why do you think I'm telling you this? You should learn from my mistake and start figuring out how to ask for help instead of carrying your burdens alone."

"I just, I, fuck, I just can't. It makes me, like I can't… it makes me feel like I can't do anything right."

"No one can do things right all the time," Remus says. "People make mistakes, it's part of human nature."

Ed shakes his head. His hand unconsciously goes to grip the automail port, which is throbbing painfully now. "It's not the same. The ways in which I've, I've fucked up and, and failed people, people who were counting on me! That's not a mistake, it's, it's, god, it's downright cruel."

Sirius exhales harshly. "You're being too hard on yourself."

"I'm not, it's, that's the objective truth. My mistakes don't hurt me, they hurt the people around me and that—" Ed shakes his head again "—is unforgiveable."

"Ed, you're just one person, and you're still a child at that. Ask yourself, do you think any person, especially a child, deserves to feel the weight of the world on their shoulders?"

"That's not the same—"

"Answer the question. Is it fair, is it right or just in any way to hold a child to the standards to which you're holding yourself?" Remus stares at him.

"It's not—"

"Stop avoiding it and answer the question, Ed," Sirius says sharply.

He knows the answer.

He doesn't want to say it.

Remus and Sirius wait expectantly, because they know the answer too.

"No," he says slowly, "no, it's not fair. Or right. Or just."

Remus' expression softens. "And that's all we're saying. You're a child, Ed, even if you don't think so. You deserve to have support and you're allowed to make mistakes, because that's a natural part of growing up."

Edward Elric doesn't allow himself to think his life sucks, because even if everyone else thinks so, he might fall apart if he does.

But in the relative safety and comfort of this reality, where children can stay children until they're ready, maybe Ed can finally stop lying to himself and admit that his life sucks.

He's made mistakes and he's hurt people — Al especially — and he's kept the pain and exhaustion of it to himself for years.

It's a burden Ed could never bring himself to share with Al, who didn't deserve to be saddled with that kind of responsibility at his age.

But Al isn't here.

No one who knows the Truth is here.

So maybe that means Ed can have the chance to fall apart after all this time, because there are people waiting to help him collect the pieces and build himself back up, people who are far removed from Ed's past, who can't be burdened by the knowledge of human transmutation, or by the memories of Ed's various failures over the years.

It's what they were trying to communicate all along, whether it's George checking in on him when he didn't even like him or Luna telling him he has permission to accept his life separate from his past or Neville making sure he has a place to stay over the summer.

It's the way Sirius so casually can say they're family.

It's been said, both loudly and discreetly, by all of his friends paying attention to him and waiting for him to ask for what they've been offering from the start: their help.

"You're right," Ed says, unable to look either man in the eye. "You're right about all of, about everything. I should've said something. And I was wrong to keep hiding this shit from you when I'm living in your house and you're both just trying to help. I really need to stop being a stubborn bastard about everything."

"This is your house too," Sirius corrects him, "and you're right, you need to stop being a stubborn little bastard."

"Not little." Ed gathers up the energy to be annoyed, but it feels out of place to do something so typical during such an unusual conversation.

"Sure, kid. But more importantly, we'll say it as many times as we need to get it through your thick skull," Sirius says, earnest and unlike himself. "We want to help you and we want you to feel like you can ask us for it, any time, any place, no strings attached."

"I'm starting to get that," Ed says quietly.

"Good," Remus replies.

Ed smiles weakly and Remus and Sirius do too, crooked and soft and a little bit sad.

After another half hour of not-quite-stilted-but-not-quite-comfortable conversation, Remus urges Ed to get some sleep, saying they'll talk more once they've all gotten decent rest.

Ed doesn't need to be told twice; he gets into bed without changing and is out like a light in minutes.

* * * * *

He wakes up to blinding whiteness.

It's so bright, it hurts.

He's still reeling from the pseudo-argument he's had with Sirius and Remus and he feels sick to his stomach just being here, because he knows what comes next.

"Fuck."

The Gate stands before him, large and imposing and indifferent, like it's been each and every time he's been here.

"My, how your manners never improve, little alchemist."

Truth is seated behind him, facing the Gate. They've got Ed's arm propped up against their non-existent knee and their mouth is stretched wide in that unfriendly grin.

"My manners are fine," Ed says tiredly. "What do you want?"

"What's your hurry? We've all the time in the world to catch up," Truth says.

"I'm not in the mood to entertain you and your god complex, so stop wasting my time and get on with it." Ed rummages through his pockets and pulls out the ring. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? Take it."

In a moment of anger, he throws the ring hard, directly at Truth's head.

They catch it before it can hit them and hold it up for inspection between two fingers.

"I think," they comment neutrally, "it would do you good to show some decorum around your betters."

Ed grits his teeth. "I don't consider you my 'better'."

"Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant; it doesn't change objective truth."

"What, you going to kill me if I don't obey?" Ed taunts.

"That's the least effective means of punishment and the worst threat," Truth says simply, "because it's far too easy and not nearly drawn out enough to teach the lesson, wouldn't you agree?"

"I wouldn't know," Ed says, teeth still clenched, "because I don't enjoy other people's pain."

"Hm." Truth tilts their head to the side. "I think you'd rather like it, given the opportunity to appreciate it."

Faces instantly come to mind: Al, Winry, Granny, Mustang and Hawkeye and their unit. Nina.

New faces pop up too: Neville, Luna, Fred and George, Blaise, Cedric, Sirius, Remus.

Not to mention the number of faces Ed would still fight to protect, even when he barely knows them.

The list of people Truth could use to teach him a lesson has grown since Ed's last been here and the realization makes his blood run cold.

They grin, as if they can read his mind.

"I wouldn't," he says, his voice hoarse. He clears his throat.

"How would you know unless you've already experienced it?"

"I just do," Ed says, feeling defeated. Everything aches and his eyes burn from the unending whiteness that surround them.

He never wins when it comes to Truth and he'd known that from the start. Yet he'd gotten ahead of himself and lost his temper and now who knew what Truth would do to him.

Or to someone he cares about.

He flinches.

Truth gets up and meanders over, taking their time to fully soak in the image of Ed, shoulders drooped and eyes wary. Once close enough, they reach out with Ed's stolen arm and pat his face lightly, mockingly affectionate.

(Even without the automail, Ed can feel the phantom tingle of his own fingers touching his face.)

"I'll let you off with a warning this time," Truth says softly, "but I expect more from you moving forward, little alchemist."

They hold the ring out in the palm of Ed's hand.

"Take it," they say. "I'd like you to hold onto the Hallows until you've finished everything."

Ed reluctantly accepts the ring. "What about the Horcrux part of this?"

Truth grins and Ed wishes he hadn't said anything. He hates that lipless smile, hates the blunt white teeth exposed by it.

"Because I'm such a kind and benevolent benefactor, I've actually only brought you here to tell you something you didn't know and likely won't be able to find out on your own." They lean in like they're about to share their own deep, dark secret. "There are only three, perhaps four, reliable ways to get rid of these pesky little nuisances."

They hold up three fingers and count them off.

"Basilisk venom, Fiendfyre, and goblin-wrought silver."

"What's the fourth?"

The grin grows wider. "There's the potential to use the Killing Curse, should the Horcrux by alive."

Ed furrows his brow. "What does that mean?"

"I think that's enough information for now," Truth replies, self-satisfied. "See how easy this was? To think you were so rude over one short little meeting. Be a good boy and get rid of the Horcruxes in a timely manner, won't you?"

Ed shouts, frantic at the implications of Truth's final statement. "Wait, you bastard, what does that mean?"

"Until next time, little alchemist. I'll be watching." Truth waggles his own fingers back at him. "I'm always watching."

He jerks awake with a strangled cry in the back of his throat. He claps a hand over his mouth and gags.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck you, you fucking bastard!"

When the sun rises two hours later, Ed's still awake, sitting with his back pressed to the headboard and his knees brought up to his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut.

* * * * *

When Sirius and Remus run into Ed in the kitchen the next morning, Sirius splutters and points while Remus sighs and ignores Sirius' antics to fix himself a cup of coffee.

"Don't you think you could have mentioned the leg when we were having our lengthy discussion about your arm?" he asks as he stares pointedly at Ed's bare feet.

Ed also looks down and wiggles his automail toes. "Nah," Ed grins half-heartedly, "gotta leave some things to the imagination, after all."

Remus looks unaffected after the events of the night before and Ed is trying to emulate that same relaxed demeanor.

It's not working so well.

Ed's starting to think Sirius had a valid point in deflecting any meaningful conversation with jokes.

"You act like we're torturing you for information," Remus sighs, "when we're just trying to learn basic things about you."

"Maybe you should actually try torture and see if it works any better."

Ah, another joke to avoid having awkward conversations.

"Merlin, I almost want to owl McGonagall an apology for everything I've ever said or done while at Hogwarts," Sirius grumbles before dropping into a chair at the table. He rests his cheek against the wood, closes his eyes, and extends a hand out in the general direction of Remus, who passes him a fresh mug of coffee with a roll of his eyes and a fond smile.

"Are you kidding me, a written apology? She'd probably set it on fire."

"Actually, I imagine Minerva would frame it in her office, so that her other difficult cases learn that being a self-declared 'punk' is, indeed, a phase."

"Not a phase, Moony," Sirius replies. "I'll be a punk 'til the day I die. I just now also happened to realize how terribly annoying mouthy little brats who act like they don't need help are when they're not me."

"Who're you calling little?" Ed snaps, kicking the leg of Sirius' chair.

He chokes on his mouthful of coffee. "No need to get short with me."

"You think you're funny," Ed scoffs, "I think you're pathetic."

Sirius shrugs and grins upon receiving such a classic Edward Elric response, before taking another long sip from his mug.

"And don't think I can't see you smiling, asshole," Ed scowls at Remus, who's holding his own cup in front of his mouth in a poor attempt at concealing his amusement.

And just like that, everything feels right again.

Even if they're all moving forward like things haven't changed, Ed's still ruminating on the discussion from the night before, hearing a repeat of Sirius' and Remus' words on the matter. It's like he finally got an answer to his question, about whether saying something would make him feel lonelier than saying nothing and now, he realizes how desperately he needs practice in communicating his more vulnerable feelings to the people who care about him.

How do people do this?

"Hey, which room do you have in the tower?"

Ed hadn't been paying attention to the conversation. "What tower?"

"Kid, where've you been all year? Obviously, the tower where all the dorm rooms are."

Ed frowns. "My room is the third one on the left of the second hallway."

Now Sirius frowns. "There aren't hallways, it's a tower."

"There are hallways in the Hufflepuff dormitories. There aren't any towers."

Sirius laughs. "Very funny, brat. Hurry up and tell me what room you're in! Maybe you're in the same one Moony and I were. Or actually, which room is Harry in, now that I think about it?"

Ed blink and then turns to face Remus, who looks absolutely delighted at the realization that Sirius firmly believes Ed is in Gryffindor.

"I have no idea," Ed explains slowly, "seeing as I'm in Hufflepuff."

Sirius huffs. "Not as funny the second time around, but I commend you for the commitment."

"I," Ed says, drawing each word out longer than the first time, "am a Hufflepuff."

"Alright, this isn't nearly as funny anymore."

"Oh, haven't you heard?" Remus says with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Ed is in Hufflepuff."

"Not you too! Ergh, this is, this is like the name thing all over again!" Sirius points an accusing finger at Ed, who scowls in protest.

"I am in Hufflepuff!" he says adamantly.

"Yes, Ed is in Hufflepuff," Remus agrees, but emphasizes it like he's lying.

Sirius glances between the pair of them and then throws his hands up in the air.

"It's too early for this," he decides. "Neither of you are allowed to talk to me until lunchtime."

He marches out of the room and Ed just watches him go, dumbfounded.

"I wasn't even lying that time!"

Remus chuckles. "You aren't really what the average wizard pictures when they think of a Hufflepuff."

"Why the hell not? I'd consider myself to be pretty damn loyal when I feel like it," Ed grouches. "Even helped you two pull your heads out of your asses and I barely knew you at the time."

"True, but Hufflepuffs have a reputation for being pleasant and patient with others," Remus responds, matter-of-factly. "You're rather violent for a Hufflepuff, truth be told."

"I only punched one person in nine months, how is that violent? That's maybe even less than normal."

Remus stifles a laugh. "I really do wonder where you learned your definition for that particular word."

Ed momentarily thinks of Teacher's loving and well-placed fists and shudders.

"Maybe you've got a point."

Remus sips his coffee and Ed knows he thinks he's won this time.

(He technically did.)

* * * * *

During lunch, when Sirius finally "allows" them to talk to him again, Remus tentatively brings up the matter of replacing Ed's automail, as if worried it's too soon to be discussing it.

Ed cherry picks what he'd like to address for now. Hopefully with enough time, he'll be more comfortable talking about it. "I'll just get another one made somewhere, and then I think I can do the attaching myself. Basically, good as new. No more problem." His hand grips his knee tightly as he braces himself for the inevitable questions that'll follow.

Sirius blinks in surprise. "You're actually going to get that thing put back on your shoulder?"

Ed snorts. "First of all, it's my arm, not a thing. Second, seeing as it is my arm, yeah, I think I'll need to get it back."

"Where exactly are you planning to get this" — Remus frowns — "thing made? I've never seen anything like this."

"Again, not a thing, it's my arm. And that's what Madame Pomfrey said too," Ed grumbles. "It's not a big deal. I'll need to find someone who works with metal though."

It is a much bigger deal than that. Without Winry around (or any automail technician), Ed runs the risk of staying one-armed for the rest of his time here, which means running the risk of fighting Riddle without alchemy.

And that's not a risk Ed can afford to take.

He's also never actually been armless for very long, since he regularly gets repairs back in Amestris, so he's starting to feel anxious about his potential weakness.

"What, you're just going to ask a blacksmith to make you an arm?"

"What else can I do?" Ed snaps. "I can't go back to Hogwarts without it — fuck, who knows what they'll say about me? Probably something about ritualistic sacrifice or whatever else they think Dark wizards do in the name of summer fun."

"We could take you to St. Mungo's," Remus says gently. "I can imagine it's far too late to regrow the limb—" Ed violently recoils "—but it's not too late to arrange for a prosthetic."

"What kind of prosthetic? Because this is a prosthetic, so what are you suggesting?"

"Like the ones made from magically-grown flesh," Sirius interjects. "Or like the ones that are magicked on, not fucking screwed into what's left of your shoulder."

"No," Ed says, frowning, "I don't need to regrow it and I don't want any magically-made prosthetic. I just need to find a metal-worker."

"You're being awfully stubborn about this," Sirius says, now irritated and confused. "Don't you want a real arm?"

Ed's glare turns murderous and defensive all at once. "This is my real arm," he snaps. "I'm the one who decided to get the fucking thing implanted into my own god-damn shoulder so I'll be the one to decide whether I need a magical replacement for it or not!"

I'm not replacing it with ANYTHING other than automail until I get my real fucking arm back, goes unsaid.

Remus grabs Sirius by the wrist and squeezes, hard. "We understand, Ed. We, I swear, we really do. And we want to help you get your arm back on your terms." He fixes Sirius with a look and a cautionary tilt of the head.

"Yeah, brat. We just… want to make sure you're alright, after yesterday," Sirius says, embarrassed and not quite able to deal with it. "We're just worried about you."

"Yesterday you were too cool for worrying," Ed says, his irritation still there, but slowly ebbing away.

"Will you just be quiet and endure my worrying, you little brat?" Sirius scowls.

Ed can tell exactly what shade of red his own face is by the heat of it alone. "No, I'm going to be loud and unbearable about it, because I'm uncomfortable," he says, more truthfully than he normally would see fit in this kind of situation.

"...then I suppose it's back to business as usual," Remus says wryly. "Good to see your predicament hasn't changed your cheery disposition."

"Hey, I'm missing an arm, not my personality. Nothing's changed."

"Nothing's changed," Sirius mocks in a high-pitched voice.

Ed glowers and kicks the legs of the man's chair for good measure.

"The little brat has no regard for his own well-being even after admitting he has a problem," he mutters.

Remus brings a hand absentmindedly up to his face as he ponders something. "Is this why your wand arm is the left one, even though your dominant hand is the right?"

"Yeah. I've broken a number of things with my right hand since I don't have any feeling in it, so I gave up on some things just for my sanity. Like writing."

Remus nods in understanding. "You realize, this explains quite a lot about the rumors and the — quite frankly — atrocious penmanship."

"You've heard those rumors?" Ed asks, incredulous.

The werewolf pins Ed with a Look. "Everyone has heard those rumors."

"Wait, I haven't heard these rumors," Sirius interrupts. He leans towards Remus conspiratorially. "Tell me! Tell me, tell me, tell me, please, tell me, I'm dying to know."

"Don't tell him anything," Ed warns.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Remus replies, smiling. "I can't even imagine how Sirius would react to finding out most of Hogwarts thinks of you as some kind of Muggle delinquent."

Sirius immediately starts laughing, bending over until his forehead almost hits the table.

"This is the best day of my life," he says between breaths.

Ed groans. "Remus, you bastard!"

* * * * *

"There are several places that I think you could, er, commission another… another arm," Remus explains.

The three of them are still sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea and snacking on a plate of biscuits as they work out how to most efficiently replace Ed's arm.

"Alright, hit me with 'em. I'm looking for someone who can do some pretty intricate metal-work, because I can draw out the arm mechanics for them and they'll just need to follow it."

"Right," Sirius says, uncertain, "mechanics. Arm mechanics. I understood that."

"Great," Ed grins. "I won't bore you with the details then."

Sirius perks up at that and Remus snorts.

"Anyway, given the highly specific nature of your request, I think your best options are getting a consultation directly from the goblins or broaching the subject with Zestrian Smythe at Smythe's Scintillating Smithery."

"What's with the alliteration? Is it some sort of British wizard thing?"

"Wizards want wonky words with which we wield weird wonder," Sirius replies.

"Y'know, I'm actually impressed with the speed of that response," Ed comments.

Remus clears his throat. "Actually, there's a fascinating discussion on the history of magical and powerful words, with many early incantations relying on the use of repetition, whether of sounds or words or symbols, to build, so to speak, upon already existing magical power."

"What he said," Sirius says, pointing finger guns at Remus.

The werewolf smiles. "Yes, like I said."

Ed flicks a pea at each of them. "What did we say about prolonged looks?"

"That they are only allowed in private spaces," Remus and Sirius recite. They share another amused prolonged look before Ed flicks several more peas at the both of them.

"So, what're you going to do? Goblins or Smythe?" Sirius presses.

Ed rubs his ungloved hand across his forehead; if there's one thing that's been immediately comfortable following their discussion last night, it's been the fact that Ed can freely wander the house without the gloves or long sleeves or shoes.

The situation isn't ideal, but Ed has to work with what he's got available to him. He's leaning towards working with a wizard, more out of convenience than anything, but suddenly he recalls Truth's words.

Goblin-wrought silver.

He sits upright. "Do you think the goblins could make my arm out of silver?"

Remus shrugs. "I don't see why not. Sirius, you'd know better than me."

The man in question runs his hand through his hair, still long and untamed after his stint in prison. "I mean, they can if they're willing to do it at all, which is the main problem. Goblins aren't very fond of humans, wizard or otherwise, and getting one to agree to make anything for you will probably be an issue."

"How would I go about convincing one to do this then?" Ed asks.

Sirius shakes his head. "There's no guarantee. You'd just have to set up a consultation and ask, and they'd be the ones to decide if they'll take your commission or not."

"Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do that," Ed says, nodding. "What could go wrong?"