15 chapter 15

In spite of the unexpected news regarding the Triwizard Tournament, life at Hogwarts remains entirely predictable, as is evidenced by Snape's displeasure with Ed's new glasses during the first potions class of the term.

"Mr. Elric," he drawls, the ever-present sneer firmly cemented on his face, "must we have a repeat of our shared time together last year?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, sir."

"The spectacles are… unsavory, to say the least." He sniffs. "The lack of uniform is barely tolerable as it is."

Ed isn't ever going to be bullied into wearing a uniform and he's not about to let Snape bully him into taking off the spectacles either. "That's unfortunate. I need them to see."

"Detention, Mr. Elric. Wednesday evening, here in the potions classroom."

"That's also unfortunate. I have a standing appointment with Professor McGonagall on Wednesday's, so I am going to have to request we reschedule for another time, sir. Please give me at least three calendar days' notice so that I can ensure I don't have any other commitments at that time."

It's all said in an overly polite tone of voice, but the way Snape's eye twitches isn't too different from the way Mustang's used to.

Someone starts coughing behind Ed and the muted snickering of his classmates echo against the dungeon walls.

"Detention for the next three weeks, Mr. Elric. On Wednesday."

Snape begins writing out the syllabus on the chalkboard without another word.

Neville bumps Ed's knee with his own. "Are you going to be okay? You can't miss detentions with Professor McGonagall, you know," he whispers.

"Right," Ed murmurs back. "But detentions are really the least of my problems."

"Merlin forbid you actually care about your education," Neville grumbles as he copies down Snape's notes. "How is it possible that you have the best scores of anyone at Hogwarts while simultaneously irritating every professor here?"

Ed shrugs, sliding his specs up his nose. "You could say it's a gift," he replies.

"Oh, I wouldn't call it a gift. A curse, maybe." Neville grins slightly.

"Neville, you wound me."

"My mission in life," he jokes back.

As they set to work brewing a simple draught, Ed glances over to see the ease with which Neville selects ingredients and prepares them for the cauldron. His hands are steady, and his face is smooth and free of the usual lines of worry and borderline fear that plagued him all of last year.

Neville has never looked so comfortable in potions class before.

Ed grins.

It really is the little things that make such a big difference.

* * * * *

None of the book club members had previously discussed what kind of social interactions would be considered acceptable once the school year started, particularly in the realm of "Slytherin vs. Everyone Else" kinds of interactions. Over the course of the summer, it wasn't anything they really thought of as important and it speaks volumes that Ed's non-Slytherin friends have relaxed considerably in their personal prejudices against their resident snakes. (Or perhaps it's just Blaise, seeing as they didn't have the chance to interact with any other Slytherins.)

But the combined lack of discussion and the added normalcy of sitting with and interacting with Blaise is precisely why Ed and Luna casually seat themselves right across from him, Draco, Vincent, Gregory and Pansy during lunch on the first day of term, as if nothing could be more natural.

"I'm starved," Ed says, going over the lunch time options. "Where's the rolls?"

"Eat some vegetables, won't you?" Blaise drawls, all while handing over the bread basket anyways.

Ed sticks out his tongue while Luna laughs.

She starts to speak to Blaise. "Did you want—"

"What do you think you're doing?" Pansy asks, cutting her off and raising an eyebrow at the pair.

It'd be impossible to notice the way the Great Hall goes quiet, every eye on them, every ear straining to hear the expected confrontation that is surely about to happen.

The atmosphere is tense and awkward, in the specific way that only pending teenage drama can be.

Meanwhile, Vincent hasn't bothered to stop eating, looking mostly unbothered by the interruption, while Gregory looks up to gape at the audacity of the uninvited guests. Pansy is starting to scowl and Draco doesn't look particularly happy either.

But there's something incredibly nervous about the way Draco's eyes roam over Ed's face, his expression carefully crafted into a disapproving frown. His fingers curl tightly around his silverware, to the point his knuckles turn white.

He's certain the other boy remembers the last time they'd spoken, almost an entire year before.

Blaise ignores both of his fellow Slytherins in favor of starting a conversation with Luna. "Are you in Muggle Studies again this year?"

"Of course," Luna smiles. "I was just thinking the same thing. Did you want the book list?"

"Do you really need to ask," Blaise says in reply. He's almost smiling.

It's the same way Blaise and Luna have chatted a thousand times this past summer, the same way Blaise has seamlessly adjusted to the experience of friendship with every member of the book club.

"What kind of book lists?" Ed asks.

"Muggle literature," Luna replies.

Well, that's surprising. Ed had only ever heard from Muggle-born wizards that Charity Burbage tried to focus on Muggle invention in science and despite her good intentions, fell short on accurately passing on information.

("She's a little confused, but she's got spirit," a sixth-year Hufflepuff had mentioned.)

He almost forgets Pansy and Draco and Gregory and Vincent are even there until Pansy decides to voice her displeasure once more.

"I repeat, what do you think you're doing?" she says a little louder, a little more shrill, all while leaning over Draco to slam a nicely manicured hand in front of Blaise's plate.

The surrounding tableware rattles ever so slightly.

Ed meets her glare with one of his own.

"Eating," he retorts.

"Actually, they're loitering," Blaise explains to Pansy, before turning to Ed, "but if you'd grab a plate, dear, you're welcome to join us for lunch. I'm afraid you'll actually have to use some of those 'manners' you've told us you had."

Ed makes a noise of disagreement, using his hand to grab a chicken wing off of Blaise's plate in a show of childish disobedience.

Draco finally opens his mouth, the beginning of a sneer spreading on his face, when he's interrupted by Ginny, who slides onto the bench next to Blaise with the same nonchalance as Ed and Luna before her.

"We're still meeting then?" Ginny asks, grabbing a plate for herself. "I suppose this is as close to book club as we're going to get during the term."

"Oh, you're definitely not allowed here, Weasley," Pansy sneers. She curls her hands over Draco's upper arm. "Draco, do something!"

"All of you need to leave," Draco snaps, roughly freeing himself of Pansy's grip. "And you—" he turns to Blaise "—need to rethink where your loyalties lie."

"Loyalties?" Ed repeats skeptically. "It's just lunch, Draco. Get over yourself."

"Yeah, get over yourself," Ginny says, snorting.

"Did he just–, he just called you Draco," Gregory says awkwardly.

That gets Vincent to stop eating.

Pansy's previous annoyance at the sudden intrusion is completely ignored, made clear to her by the way the book club members settle into their seats, undeterred by their overly hostile behavior.

The four Slytherins don't know what to do with themselves.

Moving away means admitting public defeat.

Letting the book club members stay means granting (reluctant) permission.

Pansy, Gregory, and Vincent turn to Draco, their de facto leader.

Ed watches him too.

And Draco takes one look at the words Ed mouths before grimacing and turning back to his untouched lunch.

Now, even Pansy is gaping, but not at the book club members.

They're all staring at Draco, who's determined to ignore all eye contact, as if his life depends on it, and forget the presence of the non-Slytherins as soon as possible.

"Dr–, Draco?" Pansy says, uneasily.

"What," he replies, voice flat.

"Aren't you–, er, well, aren't you going to, to do something?" she asks.

"What's there to do," Draco answers between clenched teeth. "It's just lunch."

The three Slytherins glance at each other helplessly before hesitantly turning their attention to finishing their own meals. The book club members continue to chat as if nothing significant has occurred, although something definitely has.

It's like its own subtle magic, the first step into truly "enemy" territory. Winning over one Slytherin isn't too difficult, but winning over all of them?

It's going to take a while, that's already predestined.

But it's not impossible.

Ed and his friends have shown that, just by sitting at a different table.

It's a silent message for everyone: we're not that different in the end.

Slowly, the whispers amongst the other Houses grow, turning back into the typical chatter associated with Hogwarts meals.

"What did you say to him?" Luna murmurs later, when Blaise and Ginny are too busy arguing about their predictions for the upcoming Triwizard Tournament to notice.

"Nothing much," Ed says back. "Just a reminder."

He catches a glimpse of the way Draco's shoulders come up to his ears, the tight line of his mouth as he speaks to Pansy and Gregory, who still can't get over what just happened. Draco's clearly upset with the way things turned out, but he'd still listened to Ed's words.

Asshole move, he'd mouthed and watched as the other boy turned impossibly pale.

That must count for something, right?

He's changing too, Ed thinks. He's more… considerate. Considerate, that's what it is.

Ed looks at Luna again and almost smiles as he remembers what she'd said about Blaise last school year. "Maybe it's spring now for Draco too."

"Maybe." She laughs slightly, shaking her head as she does. "It's like I said. Only you could make this happen."

* * * * *

It's near impossible for Ed to think of Remus as "Professor Lupin" once more, watching him putter around the classroom with the kind of awkwardness he can guess comes from the desire to not only be an effective teacher, but a well-liked one.

He can't help but snort loudly when Remus tries to start with a joke and stumbles through it, earning a familiar look of tired acceptance and fondness from the man.

Not that anyone else can see it as anything other than annoyance.

And the look Harry, Ron, and Hermione throw his way is pure venom.

"Looks like Elric's a menace no matter what classroom he's in," one Slytherin snickers.

"I'm quite happy to be here again," Remus says, ignoring all of them. "And I look forward to working with you all this year as well."

A few of the students clap, one person even lets out a loud cheer.

With a flick of his wand, Remus distributes parchment to each student, written out in a tidy hand.

"These will be the topics we cover this year. I've chosen subjects I imagine will be useful when taking your OWLs during fifth year, and I can only say now that other professors will most likely do the same." He smiles mischievously. "That doesn't mean we won't have our fun where we can."

Remus begins to introduce a number of simple spells that they'll be incorporating into a slightly advanced game of tag. They incorporate magical inconveniences, much like the ones Remus performed on Ed and Sirius throughout the summer in an attempt to teach them a lesson, which they ultimately didn't ever learn.

"To practice your aim, as well as work on your reaction time," he says innocently.

Ed knows Remus too well to know that he just wants to have a laugh at his students' expense.

Tagging other students with spells while simultaneously dodging in an every-person-for-themselves free-for-all is damn hard, experienced soldier or not. Especially when said students have terrible aim and manage to tag people they aren't aiming for to begin with.

It's fun though, and a practical exercise for wizards of their skill level, with no terrible consequences.

"This is the best class ever," one Gryffindor says.

"You mean Lupin is the best professor ever," a Ravenclaw corrects.

By the end of their first class, Ed can say that Remus has effectively won everyone over, even the Slytherins who seemed hellbent on disliking him last year and he can't help but feel a surge of pride on Remus' behalf.

As the other students leave, Ed lingers behind.

"They like you, you know," he comments, before grinning widely.

The werewolf smiles back, thoroughly pleased with the results of his first lesson. "I'm glad to hear it."

"Just don't let it get to your head," Ed teases, waving goodbye. "I'll see you later."

Remus casts one last spell, tagging the back of Ed's jacket with a bright splotch of vomit green paint as revenge.

"Fuck!"

* * * * *

He doesn't know if he should be sending Sirius letters.

He knows he can.

And he knows Harry has and does and he also knows Remus probably passes on what little information he has about him whenever he goes back to Grimmauld Place.

But he isn't fully sure if he should inform the man directly.

He's never had to, after all.

Back in Amestris, it had been a pointless endeavor to send updates to Al or Winry or Granny, since Al was always by his side and Winry and Granny never needed anything more than the occasional automail check-up to confirm that he was alive and in three pieces — no more, no less.

The year prior, when Ed and Sirius had first "met", there had been no reason to periodically update a stranger (and at the time, criminal) on the events in his life, mundane as they usually are during the school year, especially when Ed and Sirius were living in the same building.

But now, it's not like Sirius is still a random stranger that Ed kidnapped out of the woods. He's essentially family at this point, even if that's difficult for Ed to believe at times.

"You know, Sirius would appreciate hearing from you," Remus mentions offhand, right after the end of Ed's DADA class.

They've mostly stuck to exchanging brief words after class or following mealtimes, since neither of them know how to explain their close relationship to anyone who should happen across them interacting normally. Madame Pomfrey knows, but she isn't really the type to volunteer that kind of private information.

Ed shrugs. "It's not like you can't tell him for me."

Remus bites his tongue and leaves it at that, but Ed thinks about it on and off, wonders if Sirius would like to get letters from him or if he'd find it weird and off-putting.

Maybe he's too in his head about this.

He hesitates in a way he usually wouldn't, wavering between writing and not, but always falling shy of actually doing it.

What ends up being most surprising is that it isn't Remus who ultimately pushes him to write.

It's Harry.

"Why aren't you writing to Sirius?" he demands one morning, invading Ed's personal space shortly after following him out of the Great Hall.

"Nice to see you too," Ed replies, leaning away from the other boy. "What were you saying?"

Harry scowls. "Sirius. Why aren't you writing to him?"

It's Ed's turn to scowl. "That's none of your fucking business, that's what it is."

"It is my business," Harry insists. "He's asking about you now in my letters."

Ed jerks his head back. "What? Why?"

"... he seems to think we're friends," Harry mutters, running his hand through his already messy hair.

What in the name of Truth gave Sirius that impression?

"Did you correct him on that?"

Harry just shoots Ed a sullen look before saying something half-hearted about wanting to get along.

Ed ignores it. If Harry wants to pretend they're friends in front of his godfather, that's his choice.

Now, if he actually wants to get along, Ed will consider it when the other boy doesn't so clearly resent him.

"It's not like you and Remus aren't constantly sending him letters or talking to him anyhow, he has plenty of company, in my opinion." Ed shrugs and then turns as if to leave.

Harry reaches out to grab him, but Ed moves his arm away to avoid it.

"What now?" Ed asks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"Just–, will you please—," Harry stops short, making a noise of frustration as he does. "Are you honestly that thick? He clearly misses you. Write to him!" Harry snaps before stalking off, fuming.

Ed stares after him, genuinely confused by the entire exchange. "...alright, I guess?" He shakes his head. "What the hell just happened."

Still, Sirius must want to hear from him if he's capable of indirectly coercing Harry into talking to Ed.

Right?

He drafts his first letter that night, brief and to the point: he's healthy, attending classes, and spending time with friends. Looking it over, he deems it good enough for a first attempt, even if it reads more like a military order than a personal letter, and he sends it out with a school owl early in the morning.

He gets a response by lunch.

Took you long enough, brat.

Send more soon.

He shouldn't feel so pleased, he thinks, but he can't stop himself from carefully saving the letter inside a side compartment of his trunk and drafting the next one that very evening.

* * * * *

Professor McGonagall is waiting for him in the same classroom that he's served detention in for the entirety of last year.

A home, Ed muses. I could probably consider it one at this point.

"Mr. Elric," she sighs, giving him a stern once-over. "Back again."

"Yes, ma'am," he replies dutifully.

"And you are quite certain you'd like to continue in this manner?" she asks, watching him take a seat in the front row.

He hadn't even bothered showing up for Transfiguration this year. She'd tracked him down in the library and practically dragged him out by the ear to scold him for his truancy.

"I'm very sure."

She stares at him. "You've never explained your particular aversion to transfiguration. It's an incredibly useful magic, I hope you know."

Could it really be called an aversion?

Meestuh… let's play, Meestuh…

"I don't think I'll ever be able to explain it, ma'am," he says softly. "But it's against my principles, even if it isn't against yours."

She stares a little longer, before setting another thick transfiguration tome in front of him. "Then you know what to do."

He gets to work transcribing the text, not realizing McGonagall is watching him write with something akin to curiosity on her face.

Minerva had listened to Albus' observations and concerns regarding the Elric boy all of last year and had reached her own conclusions, padded by the remarks of other staff members.

They'd been alarmed, perhaps, in the very beginning; genuinely concerned that the boy was far too volatile and bad-tempered for a school setting.

But then he'd taken them all by surprise: befriending students from different Houses, standing up for others regardless of his personal feelings, and maintaining an exemplary academic record, despite having no formal education to speak of.

And he's still full of surprises, one year later.

Minerva believes Edward is dedicated to his convictions, going to extremes to uphold them.

Which would be alarming if he were following Tom Riddle's footsteps, but Edward pretty clearly isn't.

He's doing something, she thinks, something incredibly subtle and simultaneously public.

Remus had informed her that Edward had independently discovered his status as a werewolf, but the boy hadn't ever thought to bring it up to the staff as a concern or disclose the revelation to the student body. And as far as Minerva can tell, he's fairly close to Remus now as well, in spite of the knowledge of his condition, which is unusual for most magical people, Muggle-born or not.

And now with the Slytherins.

It'd been a rather large shock to everyone amongst the staff to see Edward's group of merry misfits spending time amongst the Slytherins, perhaps most of all to Severus and Albus.

Severus never bothers to encourage inter-House relations because he knows first-hand the kind of barriers his students face, both internally and externally.

Minerva always thought it would do Severus good to teach his students acceptance, no matter how difficult the task may be. He barely manages to impress tolerance upon them, and there is only so much the rest of the staff is able to do when he is in charge of both punishment and reward of the students in Slytherin House.

She imagines he'd be more willing if he weren't still so affected by Lily Evans and her untimely death, thirteen years later.

"Edward," she finds herself saying, before she fully decides if she'd like to do this or not.

The boy looks up at her. "Ma'am?"

She purses her lips. "What do you think of the Slytherins?" she asks.

It might just be the first time she's ever seen him look so surprised.

"May I ask why you're choosing to ask me?"

"It'd be difficult not to notice your inability to sit at the right table each meal," she answers ruefully.

There's a delighted glint in his eye when she says it, but Edward doesn't make any discernable facial expression.

"They're alright," he says, the most casual he's ever been with her. "They could use a few friends outside of their own House to teach them they aren't as great as they think are." He shrugs, starting to scribble down the transfiguration text once more. "We all need friends who push us to be better."

Minerva hides a smile at that.

It would seem that Albus is worried for nothing — she has full confidence young Mr. Elric is on precisely the right path.

* * * * *

Ed doesn't know if it's his interaction with his friends or it's the bedazzled, pink Spectrespecs he wears more often than not or if it's the way Cedric manages to infect his fellow Hufflepuffs with his own special brand of friendliness, but Ed is having better luck getting along with his Housemates than he could have ever imagined the year before.

Even Justin, who'd been the most reluctant to tolerate his presence in the room last year, has taken to poking harmless fun at Ed's "bizarre" habits (like the gloves), all while beaming at him with a shit-eating grin.

His roommates also start asking Ed for help with a few subjects, much to his surprise, but he's happy to help where he can.

"That's too complicated," Archie usually complains, in relation to his now long-winded technical explanations of magic.

"It's in the book," Ed will insist. "You'd know if you ever read."

They team up against him and usually throw balled up scraps of parchment shortly after that, but he always dodges, leaving them irritated twice as much as before.

The look on Sprout's face on the days he actually eats with members of his House makes him feel like a bashful child with an overly enthusiastic and proud parent, but he imagines if he had a child even half as difficult as he is, he'd probably feel the same way.

"They've finally figured out you only look terrifying," Cedric tells him.

Ed wrinkles his nose. "You're implying I'm not terrifying."

"Well, you aren't," Cedric laughs in reply.

"I take an incredible amount of offense at that, I'll have you know," Ed mutters.

"Get used to it, Elric," someone says, elbowing him. "You don't scare us anymore."

"Wasn't planning on trying," Ed responds dryly. "Clearly I've given up on having a reputation."

That startles a laugh from every single member of his House who is within earshot.

"Ed, you're a laugh," Zach wheezes from across the table. "Everything you do gives you a reputation."

"Not for lack of trying," Ed points out. "You guys are the ones talking shit."

Justin shrugs. "You're the most interesting thing to happen since Potter joined Hogwarts."

Ed rolls his eyes. "You guys need better time management. Maybe if you'd stop wasting all your free time watching me and start reading the textbooks for once, you'd finally understand my explanations."

"What are we, Ravenclaws?" Ernie snorts.

"Judging by your charms essay, clearly not," Ed retorts, which earns him a spoonful of mashed potatoes to the face.

"Alright, you started it," he warns, before launching a number of peas at the boy.

Ernie technically starts the food fight, even though everyone later agrees that the Hufflepuff definitely initiated it. (Even though they're all Hufflepuffs.)

Only when Sprout interferes do they all settle down, but if her smile is any indication, she's not too upset with them in the end for the ruckus they've caused.

* * * * *

Pansy and Theodore (who was absent on the first intrusion, but is very much present for the subsequent visits) are astounded by Draco's continued reluctance to banish the intruders from the Slytherin table each mealtime. (The rest of Slytherin is too, but they aren't "allowed" to question the decisions of Draco Malfoy.)

(The first time Neville sits with the rest of his friends next to the Slytherins, Theodore can't handle it.

"You're going to let Longbottom, of all people, sit at our table?"

"I'm not letting anyone do anything," Draco sniffs.

When Theodore simply stares before gesturing towards the book club members chatting about them, Draco snaps, "Will you just shut up, Nott? They're eating. It's fine.")

Vincent, on the other hand, slowly gets dragged into conversation with them, especially when they have Blaise bridging the gap in their acquaintance for them.

Gregory only ever looks somewhat terrified, despite his attempt at appearing menacing, glancing every so often with wide eyes between Vincent and Draco.

At this point, there's been a growing habit amongst the book club members of mingling with the other House tables, although they tend to settle most frequently at the Slytherin table.

In turn, it'd be a lie to say the Slytherins aren't getting accustomed to the intrusion by now, especially because the book club members regularly try to include the other students, not just Vincent.

The twins are surprisingly the most active about it, constantly cracking jokes and looking to the other Slytherins for some sort of reaction. Even Theodore and Pansy can't help but stifle a laugh on occasion, to which Fred and George exchange proud looks and bump fists.

The rest of the book club take it easy in their approach, throwing random questions from time to time to one of the Slytherins, looking to them expectantly for some sort of response.

Which they can't help but give, when a bunch of people are staring at them patiently.

It's not the end result for inter-House unity that Ed is still hoping for, but he's incredibly proud of his friends' willingness to even try something that they'd considered unfathomable a year before.

And despite not knowing them well, he's pretty damn proud of the Slytherins for even being as tolerant and receptive as they are, especially knowing the kind of backgrounds most of them have.

One week in, Gregory follows in Vincent's footsteps and rather eagerly participates in conversations with Ed and his friends.

A few days later, Draco gives up entirely on whatever facade he was attempting and willingly joins discussions, offering his opinions as if they were the valued words of an expert, rather than those of an inexperienced yet proud fourteen-year-old kid.

It takes two and a half weeks of persistent badgering before Pansy begins to meet George's sarcastic comments with her own snarky retorts.

Theodore holds out the longest, but even he starts to unconsciously accept the foreign presence, mellowing out enough to begrudgingly acknowledge that the book club members are there.

But apparently, that's normal, as Theodore is antagonistic by nature and is prickly and hard to get along with even on good days. That's not just to the book club members, Blaise informs them. He has an interesting relationship with the rest of the Slytherin group, since he speaks his mind and makes cruel jokes without much thought of the consequences.

"You get used to it," Blaise says. "He just likes getting under people's skin."

There isn't really much they can do with that other than tolerate his presence and accept that not everyone gets along.

In the span of a month, the Slytherins are comfortable enough partaking in conversation with the book club that Ed can barely believe how quickly they came around. He'd expected more resistance, but when talking to them and even joking around with them, he gets the impression that the Slytherins are a rather lonely bunch and are actually pretty desperate to be well-liked, despite the way they act.

They may have each other to fall back on, but it's mostly out of necessity, rather than by choice.

Given the chance to interact with others, they're still kids, kids who are hopeful and immature and ever-changing, just like the rest of them.

And that's the biggest thing about what Ed's doing, about what his friends are doing now too: they're reminding everyone, including themselves, that when it comes down to it, the Slytherins are people just like them and they're more similar than they are different.

They're honestly nowhere near as terrible as their reputation would suggest.

Although, they're probably holding back, all told. It's not like Ed is ignoring the reality of their past, pretending they haven't said cruel and vicious things to Muggle-born students for no reason other than for a sense of superiority.

Ed hasn't seen it happen firsthand, but he's willing to say he believes that the Slytherins can collectively turn a new leaf when offered the opportunity to do so.

The first real opportunity to do so, ever since Riddle fucked it all up for them.

And if not, he's got a lot to say about that to them too.

But that's more stuff for future Ed to worry about — for now, he's trying to focus solely on the present.

And that mostly involves getting the Slytherins acclimated enough that they are willing to openly associate with the book club members outside of mealtimes, which is the only time when they don't have much say in the matter.

In classes, around the castle, during breaks — that's a whole other story.

Ed has no expectations of his friends to insert themselves into the Slytherins' lives outside of meals and doesn't bother to request that they do so.

But that doesn't mean he's not going to do it himself.

He's never been social in the usual sense, but he's confident in every decision he makes and unwavering in determination. If "building bridges" requires him to actually talk to people, so be it.

Ed starts initiating conversations with not only Draco and his posse during classes, but also with pretty much any Slytherin in the general vicinity of his seat, because he figures he might as well begin working the magic of his obstinacy on the rest of Slytherin as well.

They're clearly very weirded out by it, if their furrowed brows and wide eyes and gaping mouths are any indication, and Ed is most definitely not helped out by his own reputation (which just gets more and more unbelievable without his having done anything).

But he keeps at it, making casual conversation before they even realize they're chatting amicably with a total non-Slytherin stranger.

The first time Draco willingly offers to be Ed's partner in Defense is inconceivable by Hogwarts' standards, even if Draco pretends it's because he's clearly superior and simply offering his much needed assistance to Ed.

Remus gives Ed a curious look, which Ed waves off with a mouthed "later".

It's working, though — slowly, but surely — and he can see the impact it has on the other students when they see the Slytherins interacting with him like they're normal kids.

Because they are, in fact, normal kids.

* * * * *

October 3rd comes around faster than Ed had thought it would, despite being the same exact day each year, and this time, he runs into what he thought would be an unheard of issue for a stranger walking through a different reality: he is constantly surrounded by people who are concerned for his physical and mental well-being.

His original plan would be to wallow in the memories of his past failures, let the smell of smoke practically choke him, but it's pretty difficult to do that when his friends can instantly read the way his mood dips as the day approaches.

It's just around the corner.

During potions four days before the third, Ed makes a number of mistakes that Neville catches before he can irrevocably ruin their assignment for the day.

"Are you feeling alright?" Neville asks as they walk out of potions.

"Fine," Ed lies and then winces. He doesn't want to be like this, but it's practically a habit at this point. It's like the words he wants to say are caught in his throat — he can feel them each time he swallows.

Neville shoots him a look before shaking it off. "That was a bad question," he says, more to himself than Ed. "How 'bout this. Ed, is there anything you want to talk about? You're not looking… the best."

Ed snorts at that. "Didn't think you'd be one to care about my looks."

The other boy actually rolls his eyes this time. "Are you going to answer my question or not? Because I'll back off if you want me to, but if you want to talk about it, I'm, well, this is me offering."

"I'm going to answer," Ed says, focusing on putting one foot in front of the next. "I'm just… I'm trying–, I want to find the right words."

Neville nods. "I get that. Take your time."

They walk in companionable silence, a flood of students weaving their ways through the hallways and up and down the stairs. It feels oddly quiet despite the rowdiness in the halls, the spontaneous shout and thrum of magic surrounding them.

Right at the base of the staircase Neville takes to the Gryffindor tower, Ed speaks up.

"October 3rd…," he starts off. "It's, uh, it's a hard day. For me." He isn't sure if he should say more than that. It feels like it should already be enough, giving that much of himself up.

Here, he wants to add. It's hard for me here. It's a different day when I'm with Al.

For the first time in a long time, he sticks his hand into his pocket and fingers the design on his State Alchemist watch.

He hasn't looked at it in a while.

But he's never forgotten.

He never will.

Neville softens immediately. "Oh. Oh, I see. Do you need anything?"

Ed's just grateful Neville didn't immediately follow up with, "Are you okay?"

"I think, well. Honestly, I'm pretty shit at pretending I'm not–, that I'm fine when I'm like… this," he says, gesturing to all of himself. "Do you think you could just tell the others for me? I don't really think–, no, wait. I don't really want to keep explaining."

Neville looks taken back. "You're–, and you're okay with that?"

Ed rubs his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, Neville, I'm okay with it. I don't want to worry you guys. And I'll be fine. I swear. Just… it'd be better if you all knew, and I don't really have it in me right now to keep bringing it up and keep talking about it. Definitely not as a group. You know what I mean?"

Neville nods. "Yeah. I get it." He smiles a bit sadly. "Me too, you know?"

Ed remembers the time Neville tried to explain whatever had happened to his parents and nods. "Yeah," he says quietly. "I know."

"I'll talk to them soon, alright?"

"Thanks, Neville. I mean it."

"Anytime, Ed."

* * * * *

October 3rd is not as depressing as Ed had thought it would be, mitigated by his friends checking in on him without being overbearing.

Thank goodness for Neville, who apparently got the message across without incurring any more worry from the rest of the group.

They give him the perfect amount of space, never hovering too long when he appears too overwhelmed to handle company. He's definitely spacing out throughout the day, so focused on his own thoughts that he almost sets his books on fire during charms, much to the delight of Seamus Finnigan, who's widely regarded for his ability to set anything aflame with even the simplest of spells.

He thinks of Al most of the time, of the way he unilaterally stopped both of their lives from moving forward.

Truth had said Al would never find out.

Return me to the moment I left, they'd said.

But that doesn't stop Ed from feeling guilty, from thinking obsessively about the fact that he had made such a huge decision without Al's input.

That's kind of what got them into this situation in the first place. Ed, making the executive decision to revive their dead mother, and Al, being the best brother imaginable, going along with all of Ed's whims.

That's how it's always been. Ed, dragging Al into all of his messes.

Ed still carries Neville's subvenire in his pocket, regularly takes it out in private moments to look at the unburdened smile on Al's face, back when they truly were children.

He wants that for Al, wants it so terribly he'd give anything for it.

Another arm, another leg, so be it.

He'd give all he's got.

* * * * *

There is a notice posted around Hogwarts that the two delegations competing in the Triwizard Tournament are arriving on the 30th, and the tournament itself will begin shortly after.

It's George who explains a little about the schools that are attending to Ed, while Fred is busy scheming for a tournament they know nothing about.

"Beauxbatons is a really well-known school in France," George says. "Super fancy, super posh, you get the idea."

"What about the other one?"

"Oh, Durmstrang. They're super secretive about their location, they are, so all we really know is that it's somewhere up north, somewhere really cold." George leans in, beckoning Ed closer. "I've also heard they're way up north, because they need a lot of privacy. Like, they have… a reputation of sorts, that's what most people say, I mean. A reputation towards the Dark Arts," he says quietly.

Ed frowns at that. Is that the same kind of reputation that members of Slytherin House have, merely from association?

Or is it something to genuinely be concerned about?

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," George qualifies, reading Ed's thoughts. He ruffles Ed's hair. "It is, after all, mostly a rumor."

Ed doesn't miss the way George seems to doubt his own words, but he can't bring himself to call him out on it.

"Let's talk about the prize, this is boring!" Fred interrupts. "Think of what a person could do with a thousand Galleons! It's, well, it's unthinkable!"

"How are we supposed to talk about something unthinkable," Ed answers.

"You're not trying hard enough," George laughs.

"Think harder!" Fred adds.

"You're insufferable," Ed groans.

"You're insufferable," Fred retorts.

"Are you hoping to join?" George asks, interrupting the bickering.

"No way," Ed says immediately. "Who knows what kind of wizard nonsense is going to be involved in this competition."

Fred snorts. "Only you would call it 'wizard nonsense' when you are a wizard."

"It is wizard nonsense!" Ed huffs indignantly. "Some of the shit that happens in this school alone is enough to send me off the deep end. It's a scientific nightmare."

"Science is pretty barmy too, though," George says. "And we only ever talked about electricity all summer."

Ed shakes his head. "Science is logic, magic is nonsense."

"Magic is magic," George laughs.

"You're really not going to try out?" Fred asks again.

"Nope," Ed says. "No way in hell."

"Have it your way," the twins both say, before giving each other delighted smiles and high-fiving at the timing.

"Why do you guys even want to do it? Didn't you make a crapload of Galleons after the World Cup?"

Fred scowls and George grimaces before stopping himself.

"It's always nice to have more money," George says vaguely.

Fred is still making a face. "Doesn't help that we were bloody robbed, either," he mutters.

"What? You were robbed?" Ed asks, taken back.

The twins look at one another — Fred with insistence, George eventually with resignation — before George explains.

"Bagman gave us Leprechaun gold," he says with a flash of annoyance in his eyes. "Fool's gold. It disappears eventually."

It's Ed's turn to scowl. "What the fuck? That must be illegal. Did he even give back your original bet? Like the original money you placed on the bet."

"No," Fred says sullenly. "We're trying to blackmail him now."

"And obviously that's going great, as you can tell by our penniless state." George sighs.

"He'll come around," Fred says.

"Sure he will," George replies, sarcastically.

Ed furrows his brow. "Do you need money, like right now?"

Both of the Weasleys shake their head.

"Not from you," Fred says.

"And don't even think about it," George adds. "We'll find out."

"You know this could easily be resolved if you just accepted my help?"

"Don't care." Fred throws up his arms. "Maybe we just like to blackmail people."

"Now that, I can believe."

Ed lets them change the subject, but he keeps going back to the admission in his head. He knows the twins were investing the majority of their funds into creating their own pranks and he can only imagine the kind of impact losing all of their earnings to Bagman could have.

"I'll help you, if you want it. Just let me know, okay?"

The twins flash identical grins at him. "Okay."

* * * * *

Ed has two new things to add to his list of Wizard Transportation Ideas from Hell: a boat that moves underwater and a bigger-on-the-inside carriage pulled by flying, flesh-eating horses.

"Can there not be one normal fucking way to get from one place to another," Ed mutters as he eyes the approach of the two competing schools.

"Stop swearing," Blaise scolds him. "Shut the fuck up."

Ed almost laughs in spite of himself.

All of Hogwarts has been decorated to accommodate their guests and shortly following the arrival of the boat and the carriage, the students are ushered inside to the Great Hall, also tastefully decorated. There is a large ornate box placed in the front of the room, right in the center.

It's something of a show, watching the two schools enter the building.

Beauxbaton flits into the Great Hall with graceful, smooth movements, almost as if they're dancing. Their uniforms are pale blue and flutter about them as they move, giving them the impression of wings where there aren't any. They are accompanied by the biggest human Ed has ever seen, taller and wider than even Hagrid.

Durmstrang is entirely the opposite: all marching and harsh chanting and stiff, uniform movements. They're dressed in furs and other animal skins and carry large walking sticks.

And with their entrance, the Hogwarts students break out into whispers.

"It's Krum!" they say excitedly. "That's Viktor Krum."

"Who's Krum?" Ed asks, confused. He sounds vaguely familiar.

Cedric looks at him in disdain. "How did you manage to forget! Krum, the Seeker for the Bulgarian national team."

Right, Quidditch again, even when there is no Quidditch this year.

"Forgot," Ed says sheepishly, with a shrug.

Cedric just shakes his head and turns his attention back to the visitors.

Dumbledore welcomes them with a speech that Ed doesn't listen to and then soon, they're eating. The members of Durmstrang sit with the Slytherin students and those from Beauxbatons sit amongst the Ravenclaws.

For all that it is the Welcome Feast, everything is relatively routine.

At least, until the end, when Dumbledore and the other two Headmasters, Igor Karkaroff and Madame Maxine, stand up from their table and approach the box in the front, in order to begin formal explanations of what is to come.

"Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman are here from the Ministry of Magic, to facilitate the Tournament," Dumbledore says, gesturing towards the two men with a sweep of his arm. "And they will be serving as judges, as they also helped organize the tournament."

There's a polite round of applause from the students.

Ed narrows his eyes.

Bagman, like the man who gave the twins Leprechaun gold.

Dumbledore continues.

"Champions will be chosen by an ancient, enchanted artefact," he says.

He taps his wand to the box that's been waiting since before the meal.

The box begins to melt away, revealing a giant, crudely carved wooden goblet. Within the cup itself, bright flames flicker playfully, unnaturally blue.

"It's meant to be an impartial judge of character," Dumbledore says.

He proceeds to explain that those who wish to compete in the Tournament must write their names and place the paper inside the Goblet. Tomorrow evening, on Halloween, the Goblet will choose a worthy champion for each delegation to participate in three potentially deadly tasks.

Ed does not take his use of "potentially deadly" lightly.

"Due to the dangers that are associated with the Tournament, the Ministry has decided you must be seventeen years of age to compete."

Even from the Hufflepuff table, Ed can hear the way Fred shouts, although he's not alone in doing so. There are students from every corner of the Great Hall declaring it an injustice that they are unable to participate in the Wizard Murder Games™ because they are simply too young.

Ed's just relieved that the adults in charge of this situation were smart enough to put an age limit at all.

At least the students choosing to get involved have almost completed all of their wizarding education and are technically legal adults.

That's the bare minimum, in Ed's opinion, but it's a lot more than he thought there would be.

* * * * *

There's an Age Line drawn around the Goblet of Fire.

Supposedly, the suspended line of glimmering white magic will reject applicants younger than seventeen. Dumbledore drew it himself, so most of the student body is unwilling to tempt fate.

Fred and George Weasley aren't really like most of the student body.

"We're almost seventeen," Fred tells Ed. "Just a few months shy. It'd be an outrage if they didn't let us at least put our names in."

"Correction, you're sixteen," Ed says back. "This is a terrible idea. You could die."

"Not likely," George says. "Dumbledore doesn't seem like the kind of bloke to mortally wound underage wizards."

"Not the Age Line, the fucking Tournament. Also, you just admitted you're both underage wizards."

"When?" Fred says, feigning innocence. "I didn't hear it."

"And I didn't say it." George grins.

"This is going to be a trainwreck and a half," Ed says, watching them approach the Goblet.

There are other students in the Great Hall, lingering during breaks to see who dares to put their name in. Apparently Krum had already put his name in, first thing in the morning, and everyone is certain he'll be the Durmstrang champion.

Fred and George have concocted a potion overnight that is supposed to trick the Age Line into thinking they're a few months older, when they'll actually be seventeen.

Ed has run out of ways to express that this potion is bound to fail, especially considering just who drew the line in the first place.

But he supposes, watching them toast their vials before downing their potions, the twins wouldn't be the twins if they were to sit down and take disagreeable news without complaint.

All of the students are watching now, although nothing visibly changes about the twins.

"I think I'm a bit taller," Fred says to George.

"Sure you do," George snorts. "You ready?"

"Ready as ever." Fred grins. "On three!"

"One," Fred says.

"Two," George says.

"Three!" they both shout, jumping over the line with their eyes squeezed shut.

Nothing happens, but Ed still braces himself for some sort of magical retribution.

Fred and George and everybody else in the Great Hall is too preoccupied with the twins' apparent victory, they don't notice the way the line pulses and throbs.

"Wait, watch out!" Ed yells, reaching for them.

He's not fast enough and a blast of magic quickly shoots out from the pulsing line, throwing both Fred and George across the room in a flash of blinding white.

Ed's by their side in an instant.

"You alright?"

Fred groans and George simply lets out a hiss of pain while rubbing at his spine.

But all Ed can focus on is the greying hairs on their identical heads, the long, curling beards that have erupted on their chins.

"Oh man," Ed says, staring unabashed. "He got you good."

"What does that–, Merlin's actual beard, Georgie, have you looked at yourself?"

George quickly turns to look at Fred. "Speak for yourself!"

The students in the Great Hall start to laugh, not unkindly, at the twins' misfortune. They themselves take it in stride, acting as if they've actually turned one hundred years old, hobbling as they get up and complaining about nonexistent joint pain.

"Oh, shut up, you deserve it," Ed snorts. "C'mon. I'll take you to Pomfrey."

They give shaky bows on their way out and receive a standing ovation.

* * * * *

The Great Hall is a little louder than usual, a bit more restless energy in the air.

Dinner is a touch more extravagant, Hogwarts students are eager to socialize with the visiting students, and even the professors seem to be in a good mood (including Snape, who doesn't seem to sneer as much as he normally would). After everyone has eaten their fill, Dumbledore and the other two Headmasters rise from their seats and a hush falls over the room.

It's finally time to announce the three champions of the Triwizard Tournament.

Each headmaster approaches the Goblet of Fire, the flames within flickering just over the edge of the cup itself.

Karkaroff approaches the Goblet first, extending a hand in wait of something.

The students barely dare to breathe, watching with an intensity usually reserved for exams.

The Goblet, bathed in cold blue light, suddenly changes.

All of the flames turn red and a wave of oohs and ahhs flood the crowd. From the flames shoots out a scrap of unburned parchment paper.

"Durmstrang's champion is Viktor Krum," Karkoroff announces, reading off the parchment with an openly proud grin plastered on his normally sullen face.

Madame Maxine steps forward next, towering over even the cup.

Its flames flare red again, before spitting out yet another intact piece of parchment paper.

"The champion for Beauxbaton is Ms. Fleur Delacour." She smiles with an air of satisfaction as Fleur rises from the Ravenclaw table to join Krum in the room behind the professors' table.

Dumbledore is the last to approach the Goblet, the familiar twinkle gleaming in his eyes as he does.

The Goblet flashes red for the last time and Dumbledore catches the paper from the air with ease.

"And the Hogwarts champion is —" he stops abruptly, staring at the slip of parchment in his hands with no discernable emotion.

The Great Hall grows uneasy, breaking out in suspicious gossip.

"Why isn't he saying anything?"

"Who is it!"

"What's happening?"

One person shouts. "Just say it's Diggory and get on with it!"

Dumbledore pulls himself back. "The Hogwarts champion is Edward Elric," he says with forced cheer.

The Great Hall stills to silence.

And then it explodes.

"Did he just say Elric?"

"He's not even seventeen!"

"What the fuck?!"

"How is this ALLOWED!"

Every single member of the Muggles book book club sits stiffly amongst their own Houses, confused and tense and unable to utter a word at all.

The rest of the Great Hall isn't deterred from continuing to voice their disbelief.

"Where is he?"

"Bloody hell!"

"How did he get around the age limit?"

There's another five minutes of outrage before anyone realizes that Edward Elric isn't even in the room to begin with.

In the ensuing scramble to locate the Hufflepuff, the Goblet of Fire flares red once more.

The three headmasters turn to face the cup, bewildered.

"What is—"

Another slip of parchment emerges from the flame and Dumbledore plucks it out of the air.

And no one is more surprised than Harry Potter when his name is called as the fourth champion.