chapter 17

Ed receives some of the most important news about the first task the day before it's supposed to take place: Hogwarts, courtesy of Gladrags, would prepare a "proper" robe for him, to signify that he is, in fact, a school champion in this Truth-forsaken tournament.

Obviously, that doesn't sit well with him.

So he makes his own.

* * * * *

There's an ambiguous "they" in charge of the Tournament (overseen — Truth help them — by Crouch and Bagman), who have converted the Quidditch pitch into an arena of sorts — most likely the only place "they" could reasonably fit not only the audience, but also the actual dragons "they" are hoping to pit against "their" unfortunate teenage victims.

(Ed is never going to let that go.)

There's a tent set up off to the side for the champions to wait in and Ed strolls in with the confidence of Draco Malfoy name-dropping his own father at the slightest inconvenience.

Harry gapes at him the moment he walks into the tent.

"What the hell are you wearing?" he asks.

Victor and Fleur glance over curiously, unsure what the issue is, but wanting to know nonetheless.

Good to know I'm still keeping everyone on their toes.

"This old thing?" Ed says, grins mischievously, flaunting his coat. "It's just something I had hanging around. Dug it out especially for that old bastard to see."

He's referring to Crouch, but there's an honest-to-Truth list of names he could be referencing instead.

Harry continues to let his mouth hang open. "But–, but the color!"

"Oh, you like it?"

With an unprecedented and rather unpredictable combination of alchemy and magic, Ed had recreated his familiar red coat, complete with the symbol on the back. He has no doubt that Hogwarts would attempt to dress him in something that not only looked like a uniform, but one that was most likely a mustard yellow.

And he can't stand for that, can he, when he's spent over a year protesting the very idea.

"It is what you call eye-watering?" Viktor offers.

"Obviously. Thanks," Ed says, taking it like the compliment it's clearly meant to be.

"You can't–, they're going to say, well, they're going to say no!" Harry tries again.

The poor boy doesn't seem to remember that Ed hasn't taken "no" for an answer for well over a year. (For well over a lifetime, if you asked anyone in Amestris.)

"So?" Ed shrugs. "They couldn't get me in a suit and tie on a regular basis, what makes this any different?"

"It is an affront to fashion. To any sense of style," Fleur comments.

"This is my style," Ed says back.

"It certainly suits you," Viktor muses, looking at the red coat as if he wants to laugh.

"I'm gonna assume that's not as rude as it sounded for your sake," Ed snorts.

Crouch and Bagman and the three headmasters push aside the tent opening and walk in before stopping to stare at Ed in his ridiculous red coat.

"Mr. Elric," Crouch starts and then stops, twice.

"What in Merlin's name are you wearing, boy?" Bagman asks in his place, crinkling his nose like Ed's a rotting bag of garbage.

"Robes," Ed says back, nonchalant. He glances over at Dumbledore, who hasn't made any indication of his disapproval. That's as good as a "yes", in Ed's opinion.

"No time to change it now," Crouch says gruffly, interrupting the way Bagman's mouth opens to protest. Probably for Harry's sake — the man is weirdly invested in the Chosen One getting far in this competition. Ed should really look into that sooner rather than later, especially since there are still no explanations for Harry's name coming out of the Goblet.

Crouch shifts his weight, his eyes unblinking. "In this first challenge, you will be facing a dragon."

If Ed knew the man any better (and he's really not looking to learn anything more than he's been forced to learn), he'd say he's acting giddy — what with the way the expressionless man's eyes shine with an unsettling gleam — like he can't wait to see a bunch of ill-prepared teenagers confront wild beasts with nothing but a stick to protect them from certain death.

At least the four of them are somewhat prepared for this, courtesy of their nosy, meddling headmasters and one nosy, meddling Edward Elric.

Bagman holds out a sack and takes over explaining the actual goal of the First Task.

Each champion will select a dragon to face — a dragon, with a golden egg slipped into its nest amongst its other actual eggs.

"Nesting dragons," Ed interrupts, jaw going slack before tensing. "Arguably some of the most volatile and protective beasts available in this hemisphere of the wizarding world… or something, right?" He aims the question at Crouch with a pointed glare and the man returns the favor, eyes darting over Ed's face with that cold, unfeeling gaze.

It's not just that he's absolutely pissed off on the behalf of the three teenagers beside him — he's fucking outraged at the audacity of Crouch and Bagman and every single wizard involved in the planning of this tournament who thought their idiotic murder games allowed them to fuck around with nature and other living things just for their pleasure.

It reminds him of the house elf situation all over again — the image of Winky's teary face the night of the World Cup flashes in his mind — and he has to remind himself to bite his own tongue and squeeze his hands into tight fists lest he gets himself thrown into Azkaban for maiming a Ministry official.

Bagman, again, steps in to explain what Crouch doesn't bother to.

"Yes!" he says excitedly. "It will be quite the challenge to extract the golden egg from the dragon's nest! You will be judged on the manner in which you approach the task, as well as the time it takes you to complete it."

Ed stops glaring at Crouch long enough to register what Bagman says.

In spite of the anger simmering under his skin and curling in his stomach, he's able to feel a hint of amusement internally — a few things are falling into place better than he could have expected, given how half-assed whole-assed his "plan" is.

After all, what's that thing Mustang would say to him sometimes?

"No plan survives first contact with the enemy."

* * * * *

Ed's plan is simple and fool-proof and he's been upfront about it from the very beginning: he won't be confronting the dragon.

He is going to walk out into that arena and do absolutely nothing for as long as he's allowed, because he has a point to prove.

At some point, whether the judges like it or not, they're going to have to end the event if it drags on for too long — the other champions will need to face their dragons whether Ed approves of it or not.

The dragon itself should be unpredictable enough that no one will like having it out in the open for too long and since he most likely won't be the last person to go, Ed would be wasting everyone's time by prolonging the affair. Even if he were last, the judges and audience won't be able to wait him out, he's certain.

He'd also surely be awarded no points given the absence of an approach and the time in which he'll be dawdling on their arena stage and he can also prove his point that he won't be partaking in this wizarding nonsense even if they think they can force him to.

No one can force him to do anything he doesn't want — Ed would rather die than let that happen.

* * * * *

Harry is either incredibly lucky or incredibly unlucky because he gets to go first and face a Swedish Short-Snout.

He's followed by Fleur, then Viktor, confronting a Welsh Green and a Chinese Fireball respectively.

Ed, because he is either incredibly lucky or incredibly unlucky, gets to go last.

"The Hungarian Horntail," Crouch says when Ed reveals the miniature dragon attempting to tear his glove apart. The man's eyes slide over Ed's figure and Ed can't help but suppress a full body shudder at the unspoken contempt the man seems to hold for him.

It's practically a death sentence.

Who exactly decided a Hungarian Horntail, one of, if not the most dangerous dragon known to wizardkind, was a fitting choice for this competition?

If I weren't in this fucking tournament, who would've faced the Horntail? Maybe—

Ed doesn't let himself finish the thought.

He's here now and that's what matters.

That, and the fact that if worse comes to worse, Ed is more than prepared to subdue a dragon.

* * * * *

The adults give their last words of encouragement before exiting the tent, leaving the four champions to make their last preparations for the task, which is minutes away from beginning.

"You've all got some kind of plan ready, yeah?" Ed asks, before the other three disperse.

Fleur blinks, before a small, genuine smile creeps over her features.

"Naturally," she replies.

Viktor shrugs, but Ed can see how relaxed and unbothered the other boy is and decides to let it go.

And Harry…

Harry presses his lips tightly together.

"I, uh… I have, er, an idea," he admits, running his hands through his unruly hair.

Ed raises an eyebrow. "An idea," he repeats flatly.

Harry scowls as he drops his gaze to Ed's left. "It was Ron's idea," he says defensively. "Ron's good at planning, I trust him."

"Not that I'm not happy to hear you're on good terms with Ron again, but how good of an idea is this?"

When Harry opens his mouth to retort, Ed stops him. "Like, as in realistically, how likely is it that this plan won't fail and leave you fucking defenseless in front of a dragon?"

Harry's shoulders droop. "If my life doesn't suck the most, I might not get burned? If my life actually sucks as much as it usually does, I'm gonna lose body parts? Maybe?"

"Why are you saying that like a question?" Ed barks, concerned. "What did I literally say about being too proud to ask for help?"

"I did get help!" Harry protests. "Ron and Hermione helped me practice all week!"

Ed's frowning, but before he can say anything else, Bagman's magically enhanced voice blares through the tent and a tournament staff member approaches them.

"Potter, you're needed in the arena soon," they say, waiting.

Ed, Viktor, and Fleur look at the youngest champion. If his hand is trembling, Ed doesn't mention it.

"Fuck it," Ed says, "you can do this. Don't die or I'll kill you."

Harry blinks and then snorts. "That's counterproductive, wouldn't you say?"

"Shut up and go kick ass," Ed says.

"Yes," Viktor agrees, "best of luck with the ass kicking."

Fleur reaches out and squeezes Harry's arm. "Good luck."

Harry leaves the tent, following the staff member, as the other three champions watch him go.

Ed swears quietly.

"Please don't die."

* * * * *

It's ridiculous, but they aren't allowed to watch each other's performances, since there's a chance they could copy each other's ideas.

Ed spends his time listening to Bagman's annoying commentary and the audience's reactions for some idea of how Harry is doing.

For the most part, there's only one or two moments in the beginning where the crowd gasps and Bagman lets out a hiss, which is good news. They haven't stopped the event, which is also good news.

After some time of relative quiet, there's uproarious cheering and shouting and screaming and Ed's heart is beating so fast and he's not even the one out there facing a dragon.

And he's definitely not fretting, not at all. It's just that he's… concerned.

By the time Harry stumbles back in through the tent, slightly charred and covered in dirt but with all of his limbs, Ed lets out a breath he hadn't even noticed he'd been holding.

"You good?" he asks, double checking that Harry's not horribly injured.

"Great," Harry replies. He lets out a disbelieving laugh. "I can't believe Hagrid wanted to raise one of those."

Ed cracks a grin at that.

* * * * *

From the sound of it, Fleur and Viktor finish well.

Ed's worried about them too, to some extent, but at least they had voluntarily put their names into the Goblet and knew what they were getting into.

Harry and Ed are a different story.

"Elric," a tournament staff wizard approaches him. "You're next."

"I know," he grumbles, sliding off the cot he'd been sitting on. He cracks the knuckles of his left hand before cracking his neck.

"Showtime," he says, catching the other three champions looking at him. He flashes them a feral grin and steps towards the arena with confidence.

* * * * *

The arena is a rock pit, surrounded on all sides by rickety wooden stands for the audience to sit.

"Why wooden seats next to a fire-breathing dragon," Ed mutters.

When he's given the go-ahead by the staff standing at the entrance, he steps into the light.

The audience reacts to his appearance and Ed can't help the self-satisfied grin that spreads across his face.

"Our resident Hufflepuff champion must have gotten confused and worn Mr. Potter's robe!" Bagman shouts.

Ed's not really listening, because he's more preoccupied by the "elephant" in the room.

"Oh," he says flatly, looking around, "that's where you were."

The Hungarian Horntail is tethered by thick iron chains to the center of the pit, crouched protectively over a collection of eggs. If Ed squints, he can just make out the glint of gold.

Not that it really matters, because as soon as he's gotten the lay of the land, so to speak, he sits down, crossing his legs.

"What's this? Our last champion is really taking a novel approach to our first task!" Bagman shouts, his voice artificially loud in Ed's ears now that he's actually in the arena.

The crowd waits anxiously for Ed to make his first real move, not realizing it's already happened.

He leans back against a rock, yawns, and scratches his stomach.

Oh, he knows how badly his friends are going to yell at him the minute this is all over (Luna will probably just look at him with sad eyes, but that's arguably worse than the yelling), but right now, he feels incredibly smug.

This is what I think of your fucking murder games, he thinks vindictively, not making any effort to do anything.

Bagman continues to ramble, growing increasingly nervous as the minutes pass and Ed continues to sit at the entrance.

The crowd begins to grow restless and some people begin shouting abuse, attempting to prod him into action as if he were a stubborn horse hitched to a cart, refusing to pull its weight.

If they actually knew Ed, they'd know that neither the carrot or the stick will make him move unless he wants to.

And he absolutely does not want to.

His only real concern is the dragon.

He doesn't care about wasting his time or wasting everyone else's time, but he's keeping a careful eye on the Horntail as it eyes him while hissing, short bursts of blue flame erupting from its nostrils.

Judging from the distance, the dragon would be restricted from lunging at him, but he has a decent idea of how far its flames might reach and if it decides it'd like to roast him, he's going to be in trouble no matter where in the arena he sits.

At least it's holding itself back (for now), head swiveling back and forth as it tries to get a better look at Ed in his bright red coat.

Are dragons color-blind?

Ed wrinkles his nose at the thought. He knows a few things about dragons, since he's read the entirety of Fantastic Beasts, but he can't quite remember if Newt Scamander had included that tidbit of information or not.

He's still thinking about it when the first fireball comes his way.

He dodges just in time, leaping out of the way and rolling as the fire fizzles out against their rocky surroundings. Surprisingly, the wooden bleachers survive the impact.

There's cheering and Bagman is eager to announce that the action is finally starting.

He's squatting, bracing his hand against the ground as he takes stock of the situation.

Apparently, sitting for nearly ten minutes in the presence of a passive foreign threat had been too long for the Horntail. Its tail sweeps through the air, somehow nimble despite its sheer size and the uncountable thick spikes protruding from it.

The Horntail rears back, snarling, before it spits out another fiery warning in Ed's direction. This one doesn't quite reach him, so he stands his ground.

No need to unnecessarily spook the irritable nesting dragon, right?

Although, Ed's pretty spectacular on pissing off the wrong people on a good day.

Today must be a bad day.

The dragon hisses, head poised to strike should he come too close.

"I didn't even do anything!" he shouts at it, annoyed. "I just want to fucking sit here!"

The dragon is apparently not one for conversation, because it answers with an ear-splitting roar. The subsequent blast of fire tells Ed everything the dragon won't: you can't sit with us!

If the dragon weren't being so uncooperative with Ed's awesome plan, they could both get out of this first task with minimal conflict.

One look at the dragon's defensive crouch and Ed knows that plan is out the window. The dragon is going to risk a fight to protect its eggs, which isn't surprising, given the nature of soon-to-be mothers.

He still hasn't bothered to take out his wand from his pocket.

Ed has something of an idea in the back of his mind, a plan that really would be grasping at straws.

"Why can't one single fucking plan work out the way it's supposed to," Ed scowls at the creature in front of him, a mass of raw strength and firepower that he's never been confronted by before.

Smoke curls out of its nostrils and spills from its opened jaws, its teeth wet with thick, oily saliva.

Ed momentarily remembers the look on the Weasleys' faces when he took down the Death Eaters and grimaces before shaking his head and bracing himself for this even more reckless plan he'd come up with moments prior.

He takes off, strategically zig-zagging as he approaches the dragon.

"What's this!" Bagman screams in the background. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, AFTER FIFTEEN MINUTES OF INACTION, EDWARD ELRIC IS MAKING A DIRECT ATTACK!"

Ed mentally curses at the cheering and heckling and announcing happening, as if his life were a game for others to use as entertainment.

The dragon doesn't just let him approach, of course. As he gets closer, it begins to make use of its tail, its claws, and its teeth to thrash near him, attempting to deliver a physical blow that would surely kill him.

If Ed weren't the Fullmetal Alchemist, he'd probably already have been dead at this point.

The closer he gets, the more he can let himself sink into that similar feeling of adrenaline pumping through his system, calm despite being confronted with danger.

Maybe he's calm because he's confronted with danger.

He's managed to pick his way right in front of the dragon. Five paces to his right, he can see the matted dirt creating the dragon's nest.

There's the golden egg, ready for the taking.

Too bad that isn't the plan either.

When the dragon reacts to his presence and snakes closer in an effort to take a bite out of him, Ed takes a deep breath and enacts his plan.

He instinctively throws a right hook, putting all of his weight behind it.

Directly into the side of the dragon's face.

There's no way anyone can miss the way the dragon actually jerks to the side with the force of the blow.

He's not stupid enough to think they won't wonder how a single punch from someone his size managed to move a dragon the size of a house.

Bagman makes a series of unintelligible noises. The crowd goes silent, which is terrible, honestly, because Ed would much prefer the jeering and booing than whatever shell-shocked silence this is. In the moment, it's arguably worse than the kind of silence that follows a funeral.

The Horntail gives itself a shake before attempting another attack with a swipe of its claws, combined with a burst of flames. Ed dives under the dragon long enough to escape the heat and clap his hands together.

To anyone in the stands, they'd think he cast a spell with his wand due to the lack of visibility.

He closes the ground around the dragon's front foot in order to restrict its mobility.

When it discovers that its foot is caught, it thrashes harder, swinging its tail wildly as it attempts to escape.

Ed slips out from under the dragon and starts running for the head.

He has no chance of beating a dragon if he aims for anything else. Despite the fire, the head is the weakest point with the least amount of scales to protect it.

He falls into a familiar pattern of punching, dodging, and kicking, as if he were back at home, sparring with Al. The dragon is fast given its size, but Ed's faster and he knows he packs a powerful punch even though he's human. Strangely enough, Ed feels like he hasn't seen any fire past the initial blasts that had him approaching in the first place.

It's when he's managed to deliver an uppercut to its jaw that the Horntail stills somewhat, for all that it was a wriggling mass of anger before.

It seems quite irritated with the blow to its face, but also isn't making any moves to retaliate immediately, which Ed would've expected of it.

Dragons aren't known to be friendly creatures, after all.

Hell, people aren't friendly creatures when you strike them across the face.

But this one is strangely subdued now. It hisses, spitting out sparks and snapping at him, but makes no effort to maim at all. Which, all things considered, should probably be its instinctive reaction to the situation, especially considering how tetchy it had been following the first strike.

It's like a giant snake, Ed thinks, scales rippling with every flex of muscle as it moves, all too smooth and fluid for something as gigantic as a dragon. The spikes covering the entirety of its back and tail look sharp enough to impale flesh without trying too hard.

The beast could literally decimate him with a flick of its tail and it isn't making any attempts at harm.

The dragon opens its mouth again and Ed braces himself, sliding into a fighting stance, prepared to stand his ground. Dodging now would be the same as admitting he's too weak to hold his own against the dragon — showing your back or running from most predators is usually when they choose to attack.

The Horntail pushes its snout into Ed, shoving him over with an undignified shout.

The crowd screams and Bagman stumbles over his own words as he yells at the dragon handlers to rush into the arena.

Ed's fine, though.

This is fine.

The dragon is being affectionate.

For lack of better words, the dragon begins to purr. It's a deep rumble, starting from somewhere deep within the dragon and causing the ground beneath them to shake ever so slightly.

This is really not how I expected this to go down.

The Horntail rests the weight of its entire head on top of Ed and it knocks the wind out of him. He wheezes, trying his best to breathe in spite of the burden.

He reaches out with his left hand and touches the scales of the Horntail's head with only minor concerns of losing yet another arm.

It blows out steam through its nostrils and it envelopes Ed in an uncomfortable heat that soaks into his clothes. His automail, in particular, grows unbearably hot, beginning to burn the already scarred flesh near his ports.

He grits his teeth and shoves at the dragon's head, urging it to shift its weight enough that he can wriggle out. Even once he manages to clamber back to his feet, there's instantly a snout nosing at his side, nudging him lightly. Lightly, for the dragon, is about five times too hard for Ed, who goes stumbling forward.

The screams and shouts from the audience falter, as they see him all in one piece.

"What–, what in Merlin's name?" Bagman exclaims.

* * * * *

Ed is awarded a grand total of zero points due to the time it took him to finish and the fact he didn't even get the egg before the dragon tamers had to intervene, startling not only the Horntail but also Ed as they worked to stun the dragon.

Charlie's the one to pull him up from the gravel, an enthusiastic smile on his face.

"How'd you know?" he says, ignoring the fact that the other wizards are busy putting the dragon to sleep long enough to extract it from the arena.

"Know what?" he asks, genuinely confused.

"Know how to get the dragon to like you," Charlie says with a snort, as if that were obvious.

The older boy herds Ed back towards the tent.

"So?" he prods, when Ed isn't responding fast enough for his liking.

"I didn't know," Ed replies. "I wasn't originally… I didn't really want to participate. Then, uh, plans changed."

"No kidding," Charlie says humorlessly. "You didn't put your name in, right? At least, that's what Fred and George have been talking about for the past month, apparently."

"I didn't," Ed says. "And I didn't really know what I was doing with the dragon either."

Charlie grins. "They're surprisingly friendly, did you know that? A bit like overgrown cats, but they really are more bark than bite when it comes down to it. They don't like magic, though, but you didn't really attempt anything, so I'm not surprised she was excited to play."

Ed shakes his head. "You call that playing?"

He lets out a delighted laugh. "Yeah, didn't you see her eyes? I'm sure Henrietta took a liking to you when you didn't back down from her little tricks. Probably also because you punched her and I don't think anyone's done that to her either."

"Henrietta?"

"The Horntail," Charlie clarifies. "I've never seen her so fond."

Ed stops in his tracks. "Are you telling me that you think the dragon actually likes me? That wasn't some weird attempt to turn me into steamed meat?"

"Oh, she might've been looking for a snack, but also definitely some affection there. More than with anyone else I've seen," Charlie replies bluntly, before laughing again. "And I think she has a type."

Ed narrows his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"Just that Henrietta's favorite person amongst the wranglers is Astrid, who's pretty vicious in her own way." Charlie shrugs. "They're all different — the dragons I mean —and I'll be the first to say Henrietta is far from a sweetheart, but I think given her personality, she likes people who give as good as they get."

"Do they all… play?" Ed asks.

That's not like anything he's ever really read from wizarding books. Although, now that he thinks of the Muggle science and alchemy sections of the library, he's not sure why he trusted such information in the first place.

"Oh, all the time," Charlie says. "They're just so big it seems threatening, y'know? Like, did you notice Henrietta didn't try to burn you to a crisp when you got closer in?—"

"Much appreciated," Ed mutters. "Yeah, I did notice."

"—because their young aren't as fireproof yet, so they know how to hold back when they play with them—"

"Are you suggesting the Horn–, Henrietta, thought I was like, her child, or something?" Ed interrupts.

"That's one way to think of it," Charlie laughs. "We're still researching a lot of that. It's such a new area in terms of what we think we know about dragons and what they're actually like."

"Why'd you guys shoot stunning spells at them at the end then, if they don't like magic?"

Charlie ruffles his hair, which he begrudgingly allows. There's this weird "older brother" vibe Charlie gives off, which makes Ed feel off-kilter because he's always been the older brother, he's never had an older brother.

"Asking all the good questions, aren't you?" He smiles ruefully. "Like I said, it's still a really new area of research. We don't want anyone to get hurt and we haven't established a good enough relationship where we can trust each other to do what we say we will."

Ed ruminates on that for a bit. "You think you'll ever get there?"

"Given the chance? Absolutely."

They're at the tent, lingering in front of the entrance. Ed gives Charlie a considering look and the Weasley boy returns it.

"I'll see you 'round, Ed. It's been really good talkin' to you," he says at last, waving as he leaves. "G'luck with the next task!"

* * * * *

"What took you so long," Harry says furiously, the moment Ed walks in.

Ed shrugs. "I was procrastinating."

"Procrastinating? In front of a dragon? How do you even do that!"

"What? Like it's hard?"

"I'm going to murder you," Harry threatens.

Ed shows his teeth in a sharp grin. "I'd love to watch you try."

"You know what I mean!" Harry shouts, exasperated. "Don't tell me not to die and then be out there for so long all of us think you died!"

"Aw, were you worried about me?"

Harry opens and closes his mouth several times. "I, er, well, no–, but! Yes! Yes, of course, I was worried! We were all worried!" He gestures back to where Viktor and Fleur are also nodding slightly.

"Well, I'm fine," Ed says, "but I appreciate it, the thought. I, uh, appreciate your worry, but you guys don't need to. I'm going to be just fine."

Harry's scowling again, clearly embarrassed by his own admission, and Viktor gives Ed a onceover, as if he's thinking Ed might just drop dead of some wound right then and there.

"You're impossible," Harry snaps.

"That's kind of the idea," Ed replies. "It's like you don't even know me."

"I really wish I didn't," Harry mumbles angrily.

Ed laughs, loud and unapologetic. "C'mon," he says, turning to the other three teenagers, "let's get out of here."

* * * * *

Viktor and Harry are tied for first, Fleur is not too far behind them coming in second, and Ed is dead last.

The look of disdain that almost every single judge excluding Dumbledore gives him makes him feel like he's living the dream. The slight frown on Crouch's face just makes it all that much better.

He's super proud of himself.

His friends — and his Hogwarts supporters — are less than thrilled with his performance.

"When you said you didn't have a plan, we were really, really hoping you were joking!" George exclaims, worrying over Ed after the book club had convened in the kitchens.

"To be fair, he was pretty honest about it," Ginny says.

Fred hasn't stopped rambling since he laid eyes on Ed. "WhenyougotknockedoverwethoughtyouweredeadlikedeaddeadandIthoughtIwasgoingtohaveaheartattacktellhimGeorgetellhimIwasgoingtohaveaheartattackbecau—"

"Fred, breathe," Ed interrupts, "I can't understand a single thing you're saying."

"He's just worried you're going to die before he ever has the guts to ask you o—"

"Ginny," George says, exasperated. "Don't do that to him right now, yeah?"

She rolls her eyes. "Drama queen," she insists.

"Please don't do this again, Fullmetal." Luna's looking at him in earnest. She takes a hold of his hand and squeezes. "You really had us worried."

"Yeah," Neville agrees, his eyebrows nearly meeting from how severely his forehead wrinkles together. "I don't ever want to see you that close to dying ever again."

Blaise remains tense and silent where he sits at the table. "You dumb fuck," he says primly, stiffly.

Ed snorts. "Yeah, I know."

"No more reckless behavior!" George says. "I can't believe you made me say those words with my own mouth."

"Who's mouth would it be otherwise?" Fred points out.

"Yours," George replies.

"Right," Fred says, turning to Ed. "No more reckless behavior!"

"Alright, alright! I swear, I'll be better about the next one."

"What is the next task?" Ginny asks, pointedly looking at the golden egg sitting atop the table.

The golden egg he never bothered to get during the first task.

Right.

* * * * *

The four headmasters, Crouch, and Bagman had explained that the next task would take place on the twenty-fourth of February and that the golden egg was actually their hint for the task.

"Although Mr. Elric has failed to retrieve his egg, we have decided to allow him to receive it, as it would be near impossible to prepare for the second task otherwise."

The moment before Crouch hands the egg over to Ed, he looks as if he's debating slamming it against Ed's skull.

Why is this guy so fucking unpleasant?

"You will all have ample time to prepare yourself for what comes next. In the meantime, don't forget your studies!" Bagman says with a winning smile.

And with that, they usher the four teenagers back to the castle as if it were just any other Tuesday.

* * * * *

After Ed explains what's going on with the next task and that he's technically on a break from Tournament crap until February, his friends insist he open the egg.

"How are you going to find out what the next task will entail if we leave it for later?" Blaise asks.

"Exactly," Ginny agrees. "Open it! Open it, open it, open it, open it, open—"

"Fine!" Ed yells. "Only if you stop that!"

Ginny sits back, arms crossed, pleased with herself.

When Ed opens the egg, it splits into four pieces, held together at the bottom by a hinge of sorts. That's not the thing he notices first, though. That's not even the thing he notices second.

All he can think about is the shrill shriek that erupts from the egg's wobbly contents.

He closes it almost immediately.

"I blame you," he says, pointing a finger at Ginny. "This is all your fault."

"Hey, I wouldn't have suggested you open it if I had known that was going to happen."

"What an odd melody," Luna says, interrupting them.

"What?" Neville tilts his head. "Wait, are you referring to the screaming?"

"She is," Blaise says.

"Loony, you can't be serious."

"Oh, deadly," she replies cheerfully. "I just couldn't make out the words."

"That's probably because there were no words," Neville says slowly.

"I'm intrigued, what exactly did you hear?" Fred asks.

"Singing," Luna says, matter-of-fact.

"I have no words," Ed says monotonously.

* * * * *

They eventually decide to part for the night.

"Get some sleep," Neville says, yawning. "We'll talk more about your poor decision-making tomorrow."

"Yes, let's all gang up on him tomorrow and teach him a lesson," Ginny says.

"Then you won't find me tomorrow," Ed replies curtly.

Fred and George snort.

"Unlikely," Fred says.

"Impossible," George agrees.

"Fine," Ed grunts. "Yell at me tomorrow. I've run out of fucks to give for today."

Blaise exhales loudly from his nose as he gets up to leave. "Good night, dear."

"Fuck off!"

"Looks like you had one last fuck to give," Blaise says, amusement bleeding into his voice. He smiles slightly and exits the kitchen.

Luna bumps Ed with her elbow and pulls him into a brief hug before departing. "Sleep tight, Fullmetal."

And then there were three.

The moment Luna shuts the portrait door behind her, the twins pounce. Fred grabs him from behind and George is yanking on Ed's coat, pulling it off.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!"

Ed wrestles against the both of them, stronger enough to throw them off.

"You're burned, aren't you?" George accuses, scowling.

"And you didn't go to Pomfrey," Fred says, uncharacteristically serious, "so we figured you were trying to hide it."

"Does that really necessitate ripping my clothes off?" Ed frowns. He shrugs back into his coat, pulling up the collar of his shirt as he does.

"It's not like we could just say, 'Oh yeah, Ed, we've noticed your shoulder's stiff and you're kind of limping, you got burned, didn't you?' and you would just go along with it like you're actually a reasonable person," Fred snorts.

"You could've at least tried," Ed says. "Maybe I would've surprised you."

"He's trying to distract us," George says, his expression still angry.

"I say we jump him again."

Ed raises his arms in case they do. "Do NOT!"

"Is this about your hand?" George asks, furrowing his brow. "Merlin, I almost forgot about that."

"Regardless! You need to get that checked out, and if you aren't going to Pomfrey, at least let us see it. George is pretty good at basic healing charms!"

Ed involuntarily presses his back to the kitchen wall, eyeing his friends warily.

Sure, the mediwizards had glanced over him and asked if he needed anything right after the task had ended. Obviously, he had said no, because he wasn't about to strip in front of the other champions and expose his automail.

But also, he can tell the skin around his ports is most likely blistered, if not actually burned, fromthat moment with Henrietta, where her breath alone was hot enough to heat his automail.

He hadn't gone to Pomfrey because he's had worse and he could probably walk this off and deal with the pain like he normally would.

"It's, uh, related to my hand," Ed admits. He's still pressed up against the wall, unwilling to move any closer to them.

"We won't judge you," George assures him.

"Honestly! We wouldn't ever think about you differently because of whatever it is that's wrong with your hand," Fred says brightly.

George brings a hand up over his eyes. "Merlin's beard, Freddie, could you have said that any worse?"

Ed brushes it off. "It's fine, guys. I'm fine. It's probably nothing, maybe I'm just sore."

Fred comes nearer and Ed doesn't stop him. When Fred takes his gloved automail in hand, Ed freezes.

"Trust us?" Fred says, half-amused, half-hopeful.

"Obviously," Ed says, somewhat hesitant. He doesn't relax.

When Fred moves to take his glove off, he can't stop himself from clamping his hand around Fred's wrist.

"I'm–. I don't know if I–, I don't," Ed fumbles, thoughts racing.

The only issue with revealing his automail is the fact that automail doesn't exist. But he's already shown Sirius and Remus and Madame Pomfrey, and while he hadn't enjoyed those experiences, they had only been concerned about whether he was healthy, in spite of the metal limbs.

And Fred and George have once caught him in the middle of a transmutation.

And they didn't say anything about it, patiently waiting for Ed to feel comfortable enough to explain himself.

Arguably, they've already seen the most incriminating information about him not being a part of this universe. What's one more little detail?

"Okay," he says abruptly, making the decision before he can change his mind. "Okay, yeah. I trust you guys."

Fred smiles, genuine and soft, and so does George, lingering to Ed's left.

Ed tries to return it, but mostly, he just tries to brace himself for what's coming next.

Fred pulls off his glove with care and he's left holding Ed's automail.

The twins stare at his metal hand blankly.

"I thought you said your hand was messed up," Fred says, not looking away from Ed's automail.

Ed flexes the automail fingers slightly. "Yeah. This is it."

"This is so cool," George breathes.

"I kno–, wait, what?" Ed stares at them, confused.

"How'd you make this?" Fred says, turning Ed's hand over. "Is it Muggle? Is it magic? It looks goblin-made, but even then, I've never seen something like this before." He looks over at George. "Thoughts?"

"I'm guessing Muggle invention. Wizards have been regrowing limbs for centuries, other than the people who don't bother with it. Like Mad-Eye and his leg. But this? Maybe Muggle idea created with wizard methods? I don't see how everything would move so flawlessly otherwise."

Fred and George never cease to surprise Ed. They fall into a rhythm of hypothesizing not only the make and material of Ed's automail, almost forgetting Ed's there in the first place.

This is probably what they look like when they're inventing their pranks and various snack-based jokes.

"—and what does the connection look like?" George asks as Fred pushes up Ed's sleeve before Ed could stop him.

Now they're gaping. Just a little bit.

"The whole arm?" Fred screeches, yanking Ed forward.

"What, the hand is okay, but it's a little more than that and that's worth freaking out over?" Ed snaps, pulling his arm back.

Fred doesn't let go.

"Oh. Oh bloody hell, is your whole body like this?" Fred shouts.

"No, we've seen his other hand," George reminds his brother.

"Oh, right. Whoops. But still! When were you going to tell us about, about this?" Fred gestures towards Ed's right side.

"Ideally I wouldn't have ever," Ed grumbles. "But Pomfrey already knows, Remus already knows, Sirius already knows, and maybe Luna knows, so I thought what the hell, might as well let you two in on the secret."

"Wait, hold it! Remus? Like Remus Lupin, Defence professor?" George says, taken aback.

Shit.

"Alright, fuck, that one was actually unintentional," Ed says to himself.

"We're coming back to that," George warns.

Fred lets go of Ed's wrist to throw his arms up in exasperation. "Why do you have so many secrets? Who even has this many secrets! Are there more? What aren't you telling us now!"

"I don't have that many," Ed lies, defensive. "I just… homeschool?" he offers weakly.

"Ed," George says, almost like a threat, "where does this end?" He reaches out and taps his automail fingers.

Ed takes a deep breath. "Shoulder," he admits, trying not to rub tit as he does. "And, uh, while we're being honest and all that crap, my left leg, below mid-thigh, is the same."

George looks at him from head to toe. "Strip," he commands. "I got to see what I need to heal."

Fred blushes furiously beside his brother.

* * * * *

Ed really doesn't want anyone but Madam Pomfrey to see him like this, automail and scars bared for anyone to comment on, and even then it's mostly due to a sense of self-preservation that he bothers to let her see him like that at all. (He has no doubt she would murder him and bring him back if he didn't come to his regular check ups.)

But that's nothing compared to this.

"This is a spell, isn't it? It has to be! This, I mean, that, er, those —" Fred points an accusing finger towards Ed's stomach "— can't be real!"

Ed slaps Fred's hand away with a scowl, as his face colors. "Fuck you!"

"I'm seeing things, aren't I? That's it, that's definitely what is happening here."

"I guess you can say we're seeing double then," George answers.

Fred continues to gape at Ed's abs as if he were to stare hard enough, they'd reveal themselves to be a mere trick of the light. George simply allows himself to enjoy both the view and the spectacle of his brother finally at a loss for words.

"STOP FUCKING LOOKING!"

* * * * *

George heals the burns around Ed's automail ports with only a dozen or so insults about his intelligence for keeping injuries to himself.

Fred takes the time to compose himself in the corner of the kitchen.

Ed just considers himself lucky that the house elves have allowed them a certain degree of privacy, despite their being trespassers.

When George finishes up, he crosses his arms. "And what do you have to say for yourself?"

Ed sighs. "I'm an idiot and I need to tell people if something hurts."

"And?"

"And if something hurts, do not count it as a minor injury and endure it."

"And?"

"And if something hurts, I am 'not fine'," Ed snorts, using air quotations.

"Don't be sarcastic, I mean it," George says firmly. "If you aren't going to go see Pomfrey about something, at least come to us."

"What, so Fred can stare at me like I'm some kind of freak?" Ed snorts. He doesn't really mean it, because even if he doesn't understand what was up with Fred earlier, he knows his friend wasn't intentionally trying to make him uncomfortable.

"You think–, are you serious? You don't know that–, you know what, I'm not dealing with this right now," George says, cutting himself abruptly.

It's past midnight at this point and they're still loitering in the kitchens.

George yawns and Fred pats him on the back.

"Thanks," Ed says, breaking the silence. "You two are always really, like, you guys are always so understanding. Of me. Even though, I'm, uh, a disaster."

Fred and George grin at each other before turning to Ed.

"Anytime," Fred says. "Don't be a stranger."

The look on George's face softens. "Promise?"

Ed gives them a helpless little smile.

"Fine. Promise."

Then he grins.

"Does this mean I can help you blackmail Bagman now?"

* * * * *

One of the worst parts of this whole Tournament deal is that the day after, Ed is right back in classes, doing exercises that make him want to stick his fingers in an electrical socket and ignoring questions and taunts from a few of his fellow classmates.

For the most part, his supporters didn't know how to react to him. The Slytherins had been upset that he'd "made them look stupid in front of the whole school", but he just informs them they're welcome to support Harry in the next task and they promptly stop mentioning it at all.

His own House is a touch awkward around him, because they're disappointed but don't know how to relay that information to him.

"What are we going to do with you," Cedric muses, not disappointed, but not happy with Ed's performance either.

Ed's not under the illusion that anyone is a huge fan of how he's belittling and underestimating this Tournament, squandering a chance that many had desperately hoped to have.

But he wishes they'd wake up and realize how terrible the whole thing is.

He knows they won't.

* * * * *

Remus stands at the front of his empty classroom. It's early evening, the time most weekday detentions take place.

"Do you know why you're here today?"

Ed glares at Remus, who lets out a long-suffering sigh.

"Ed. Do you know why I called you here today?"

"Are you really going to abuse your power as a professor and give me detention just because I almost got myself killed yesterday?"

"Yes," Remus says. "What else would I use that power for?"

"I don't know, real shit. Like helping your students."

"I am going to give you another detention for that," Remus snorts.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm not," Remus says, to which Ed perks up, "but I am fuck—"

Ed claps his hands over his ears. "If you finish that sentence, I'll burn your classroom to the ground."

Remus smiles smugly, but doesn't mention it again.

* * * * *

Apparently, Rita Skeeter is skulking the school grounds, seeking out potential victims for her next few articles.

"Don't talk to her," Ed tells anyone who's willing to listen. "She's a menace."

It's enough to make people wary of her, especially coming from someone as threatening and grouchy as Edward Elric. Or maybe it's that Harry and Viktor have taken to doing the same, dissuading people from giving her any sort of information. Fleur does it too, it's just that she understands the subtlety that they do not.

She shows up to one of the Care of Magical Creature classes and attempts to twist Hagrid's arm into doing an interview. He politely lets her down, much to Harry's relief.

A couple of times, she approaches Ed, that ever present, smug grin plastered on her face.

He always turns on his heel and stalks off before she can even get a word out.

* * * * *

With the book club now hanging out in the kitchens at least three times a week following dinner, Ed isn't surprised when he and his friends run into an unlikely group one evening in early December.

"What are you lot doing here?" Ron says, tone accusing.

Ron, Harry, and Hermione stand at the kitchen entrance and stare at the seven of them like they've done something borderline illegal.

Ed glances around the table, where the book club members are loitering in various states of awareness. It is rather late, as far as their usual meetings go.

"Plotting a government coup," he replies flatly.

"You, WHAT?" Ron splutters.

"He's joking," Hermione replies, rolling his eyes.

"I'm not," Ed says back.

"He–, you heard him!" Ron turns to his friends, holding out a hand in Ed's direction.

"He's always plotting murder, Ronniekins, you should get used to it," Fred says, not looking up from where he's facedown on the table. "Also I'm about to commit murder if you don't keep it down."

"Don't bully our little brother," George grumbles, slouched against Fred.

"Bite me."

"Actually, why are you guys here?" Neville asks, the only person in the group polite enough to make an effort.

Harry and Ron gesture towards Hermione, who shrinks in on herself slightly, before standing tall.

"I'm–, we are here to meet the house elves who work here," she declares.

The book club members exchange glances.

"Go for it," Ginny says, pointing down the hall. "They're mostly over that way. Sometimes they come talk to us, but usually not."

Hermione frowns. "Why? Do you not let them?"

Ed snorts derisively. "No, they just don't see the point of hanging out with teenage humans when most of them are ten times our age."

"Oh." Hermione falters. "What are they like? Are they happy?"

"Why don't you go talk to them and they can tell you," Ed says. "They're a friendly bunch."

Hermione narrows her eyes as she looks at him, but when he shrugs and turns his attention back to his essay, she concedes, dragging Harry and Ron off to the actual stoves where most of the house elves are busy at work.

Roughly twenty minutes later, they're back with one of the house elves in tow.

"Who are you?" Ed asks, brow furrowed.

This house elf is unlike any that Ed's ever met before. Normally, they wear whatever is convenient, which usually means whatever is discarded, but this one has a sense of style. He's covered in brightly patterned tea cozies, an atrocious tie, and a pair of eye-watering acid yellow socks.

"Oh! I is Dobby. Are you another friend of Harry Potter?"

"I… no?" Ed isn't sure how to answer that question.

Dobby pouts and tugs on Harry's hand. "Is he not a friend of Harry Potter?"

"He's… yeah? He's a, erm, a friend, Dobby. This is Ed."

Well, color me surprised.

"Nice to meet you, Dobby," Ed says, holding out a hand.

The gesture excites a squeak out of Dobby, who rushes to take it. "It is nice meeting with you too, Ed!"

"Dig the outfit," Ed comments. "You like socks?"

Dobby nods vigorously. "Yes! Dobby is a free elf, you see, and he was freed by Harry Potter with a sock!" The little elf puffs his chest out with pride. "Dobby is also the only elf to earn a wage!"

That elicits a smile from Ed. "I'm happy to hear it, Dobby."

Hermione is having some kind of argument about the house elves with Ron and Harry and from the look of it, it's an argument they've had multiple times already. Neither of the boys want to engage with her about it.

"Any reason Hermione wanted to talk to you guys?"

Dobby smiles. "Yes! She is wanting help with her organization!"

"Organization?"

"The Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare," Hermione says, joining in Ed and Dobby's conversation with a pointed glare at her friends. "The original name was 'Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status', but I was informed that was too long." She frowns. "Neville hasn't mentioned it to you? He joined."

Ed can practically feel the blood drain from Neville's face from where he's sitting.

"We've had other things on our minds lately. Like dragons." He covers for Neville, shooting him a shit-eating grin when Hermione can't see. Neville returns it easily.

"Right," Hermione says, nodding. "Well, anyways, I was hoping to get more people onboard for improving the treatment of house elves. I just haven't stopped thinking about Winky ever since the World Cup and I don't like that that kind of treatment can be tolerated, let alone legal."

"Winky's doing alright," Ed says, trying to remember the last time he'd heard about her. "She's definitely a good influence on Kreacher, anyhow."

"Oh, that's great news! Is she–, well, is she still… free?"

"Yeah," Ed says, "Sirius isn't interested in making a contract."

Hermione bristles. "Those contracts are barbaric! The things that are written into them are just exploiting the house elves and taking advantage of their generosity!"

"I agree," Ed nods.

She stops abruptly. "You–, you agree? With me?"

"No one else is talking," Ed snorts. "And yeah, I think it's fucked up. Lots of things are fucked up here, not just the treatment of house elves."

"Here? As in Hogwarts?" Hermione blinks.

"Here as in the wizarding world."

"Oh," Hermione says thoughtfully, twisting a ringlet around her finger.

"But your approach is bad," Ed explains.

She stiffens, her face screwed up as if to yell at him.

"Hear me out," Ed says, "no one wants to listen to a lecture and no one likes thinking the way they were raised or the things they believe are wrong. So if you want to change that kind of thing, you need to think of a long-term plan, not something like this." He taps on her SPEW badge. "Things like this are short-lived. You incite a lot of outrage and protest, garner attention for your fifteen minutes of fame, but eventually, all that attention is going to disappear. It's fleeting and you're just going to burn yourself out trying to keep the fire going all by yourself."

Hermione's mouth is open to protest before she really thinks about it, but once she does, her eyes arewide with realisation.

"Thank Merlin someone got her to stop," Ron mutters. "I don't think I can take another lecture."

She steps on his foot before asking Ed, "What would you suggest then? If you're so smart."

Ed grins widely, showing all his teeth in a not-so-friendly way. "Government coup."

He starts talking about the best ways to manipulate people without them realizing you're doing so before Ron and Harry can stop him from giving Hermione ideas.

Hermione soaks it all in with a fire blazing in her eyes.

When the time comes for him to enact a revolution within magical society, Ed has a feeling he'll find an ally in Hermione too.

* * * * *

It's rare that Professor Sprout calls a House meeting, which is why Ed makes an effort and shows up on time for it.

She has them all get themselves comfortable in the common room, checking off her roll call list to ensure that everyone is present before starting.

"I have exciting news," she says happily, bouncing on her feet. "On the twenty-fifth, we will be holding the Yule Ball!"

Ed's a bit disappointed that he showed up on time for an announcement like this. Not that he'd ever be rude enough to say that to Sprout.

"It will be held for Fourth Years and older, although younger students may come if they are invited by an older student."

She scans the crowd and stops on Ed.

"And our very own Hufflepuff champion will be opening the ball with the other three champions in a dance!"

SAY WHAT.

Ed bolts up from his seat on the floor. His Housemates all look at him with amused expressions and the whispers are starting — people guessing who he'll ask, if he can dance, what he might wear.

"I can't dance," Ed insists. "I've got, like, one foot."

"Hush now, Edward, we're all looking forward to your performance at the ball! And it is not a problem if you cannot dance, because I will be holding mandatory lessons for Hufflepuff twice a week until then!"

This wasn't part of the agreement, Truth, Ed thinks frantically, trying to come up with an excuse.

All of his roommates face him with gleeful expressions.

He's never going to hear the end of this.

"Fuck me," he says quietly.

Sprout beams.