chapter 5

Detention with Lupin happens on Friday evenings, which would be unfortunate if Ed were the type of student to have a social life, but he doesn't, so it suits him fine.

"Edward," Lupin says as he walks into the empty classroom for his first detention. "Please take a seat."

He does, choosing to sit a few rows away from the front.

"I'd like to have a conversation with you before deciding an appropriate punishment for the subsequent detentions." Lupin is leaning against his desk in front of the dusty chalkboard, watching Ed with eyes ringed by dark circles. Ed doesn't respond and waits for him to continue.

"What provoked you to attack Mr. Malfoy during our last lesson?"

He definitely doesn't pull his punches.

"Why do you call him Mr. Malfoy, professor," he counters. "You call everyone else by name."

Lupin's hands twitch, which doesn't go unnoticed by Ed.

"Are you familiar with the Malfoy's, Edward?"

"No, sir." That's a lie. Ed has already read an extensive amount of information on wizard bloodlines, because it had tied into a lot of the history of Riddle's war on all things Muggle. He knows certain wizarding families, like the Malfoy's, had pledged their allegiance to Riddle during the last war, which is one of the dumbest fucking ideas Ed has ever heard of. It also bit them in the ass when Riddle was defeated by one-year-old Harry Potter, twelve years earlier.

"They're an old and powerful pureblood family," Lupin says. "Very strict on formalities."

That doesn't explain why Lupin would be bothered by them. There's something he isn't saying and Ed has a couple guesses as to what. The Malfoy's are definitely the worst kind of blood-purists, based on historical evidence: the kind that actively wanted to shed blood over their prejudiced beliefs. That could imply Lupin's particular discomfort with them is a result of his blood status, but in the current political climate and with Mr. Malfoy's claim that he'd been mind-controlled by Riddle in the last war, it wouldn't make sense for the Malfoy's to blatantly hate on anyone who isn't a pureblood. Ed shuffles the information away for later deliberation and returns his attention to Lupin's ongoing monologue.

"Returning to the reason we are here," he says, "why did you feel the need to attack Mr. Malfoy?"

When he sees Ed about to shrug, Lupin reprimands him. "That's not an answer."

"Do you really need one? I'm here, I'm receiving punishment without complaint, I'm… seeing the error of my ways," Ed says, unintentionally gritting his teeth towards the end.

Lupin gives him a long-suffering look, one that borders on resentment, one that Ed is well-acquainted with from his numerous conversations with Mustang over the last three years of his life. He suddenly feels a loss he didn't think he'd ever have.

Something must occur to Lupin then, because he smiles innocently. The nonchalant way he blinks makes Ed's hair stand on end.

"I see," Lupin says, still smiling. "Then if you really have seen the error of your ways, I imagine you would have no issue with providing Mr. Malfoy with a public apology during our next Defense lesson."

Ed recoils. "What the fuck? I'm not going to fucking do that, the asshole deserv-"

Oh shit!

"I meant no. No, thank you."

Lupin stares at him blankly. "Could you repeat what you said, Edward? I must have misheard you."

"I said no, thank you."

Lupin's blank look cracks and turns into one of mirth. He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, exaggerating his laugh lines. He isn't very old to begin with, but he looks decades younger in this moment than he ever has before.

"I did wonder when you would stop pretending, Edward, I just hadn't expected such an abrupt reveal," he says, between bouts of laughter. "Perhaps if you aren't willing to share your reasons for the violence, you would be willing to answer another question I had."

"What is it," Ed asks warily.

"About your boggart," Lupin starts.

Ed cuts him off. "No.""I didn't even ask the question."

"No means no, sir."

"I don't see the point of you continuing this facade around me, Edward."

He's not wrong. Lupin had already watched him punch the Malfoy kid in the face, heard him swear, and suspected he wasn't actually polite to begin with. There is also the whole Sorting Hat ordeal someone brings up at least once a week.

He seems relaxed, all things considered, Ed thinks, trying to justify dropping the stifling act of a good student.

"I would also prefer that you felt comfortable around me," Lupin adds, when Ed doesn't say anything. "Please, be my guest."

At Lupin's insistence, Ed slouches into his chair, his posture aggressively poor and borderline disrespectful, the way he would normally lounge about Mustang's office. (At least Ed has the decency not to kick his feet up onto the desk in front of him.)

"At least you're relatively cool about it," Ed says. "Think McGonagall would shove her wand down my throat if I spoke like that to her."

"I hope you realize none of the professors buy into your act anyways," Lupin says, an eyebrow raised. "The Sorting was a rather public reveal, wouldn't you say?"

"Yeah, but some of them would lose their shit if they thought I was being disrespectful. You know the type." Ed pretends to fold his arms and sneer, the way Snape does constantly.

Lupin snorts, but covers his face with his hand, as if to pretend he hadn't.

"Saw that," Ed points out.

Lupin ignores him.

"So… are you going to tell me to write lines or something? That's what McGonagall ended up telling me to do." Ed spends his Wednesday detentions rewriting the entirety of the transfiguration textbook, but if he turns in anything at the end of the detention that has even one illegible word, he has to redo the entire section. (Ed is only ten pages into the two hundred seventy-four paged book, because McGonagall is picky as all hell about what is considered legible to begin with.)

"I don't much see the point of that, considering what I've heard about your penmanship - rumor has it that it made Pomona cry, and she's the most patient of all of us when it comes to student work. It would make this detention more of a punishment for me, than you, don't you think?"

"Wise ass," Ed grumbles under his breath. His handwriting only sucks because he's right-handed, but with the lack of feeling in his automail, he's crushed over a million pens and ruined hundreds of gloves in the years following his surgery, before giving up and resorting to using his left.

"I'm afraid only my friends are allowed to refer to me that way," Lupin says.

Fuck, his hearing is insane.

"You have friends?" Ed deadpans.

"Perhaps I spoke too soon when I said I'd prefer you were comfortable," Lupin responds dryly.

Ed snorts. "Yeah, you're going to regret it."

"Who said that I wasn't already?"

* * * * *

Lupin doesn't end up giving Ed a punishment in the strictest sense: he interrogates him with a friendly smile, trying to pry answers out of Ed's reluctant lips. He might as well be pulling teeth with the way Ed grimaces when he thinks Lupin isn't watching.

"I don't know," Ed says for the hundred-and-thirteenth time. Lupin has relentlessly questioned Ed about his boggart, about what language he speaks, about the circle that the boggart had created.

"It looks very similar to alchemy. Have you ever studied the subject during your homeschool curriculum?"

"No," Ed lies.

"So this means nothing to you?"

Ed almost jumps out of his own skin when Lupin flips the chalkboard over and reveals a replica of the human transmutation circle. His right hand tightens into a fist, and if it were not for the glove, he's certain he would hear the screech of metal as his fingers dig into his palm.

"No," Ed says. He thinks he's managed to keep the hysteria from bleeding into his voice.

If the wizards of this reality share one Gate, they don't necessarily have access to the same alchemy Ed does. He's sure that Lupin, or any other wizard for that matter, is incapable of activating this array, even if he has the right materials for it.Scanning his eyes over the crude reproduction, Ed allows himself to breathe: Lupin may have drawn the rough outline, but he wasn't able to correctly fill in the array or write out the proper words linking the circles together.

"You're not very good at lying, Edward."

Ed keeps his mouth shut. The less he talks, the less he gives away. Mustang had drilled that into him before his first performance review, when he was actually thirteen. (As an official member of the military and at the reluctant command of Mustang, Ed has also received extensive training on how to deal with capture by enemy hands, and in worst case scenarios, how to endure torture. He hadn't mentioned it to Al.)

"It's been an hour," Ed replies tersely after ten minutes of uncomfortable silence pass by. He gets up from his chair. "Same time next week?"

Lupin notices how Ed has already angled his body away from him, feet pointed towards the door, ready to leave as soon as possible.

"Yes, I'll see you then."

Ed nods and turns on his heel in order to walk out of the room. He desperately wants to run, but that would only alert Lupin that something is wrong. He has to physically restrain himself from bolting, planning out every step he takes until he's outside of the classroom. The moment the door obscures him from view, he's gone, running down the hallway.

Lupin watches Ed leave and stays seated against his desk until half an hour has passed.

He stretches as he stands and makes his way to the gargoyle that guards Dumbledore's door.

"Lemon drop," he says to the statue. It allows him to access the spiral staircase and soon, he's making himself comfortable in one of the chairs in front of Dumbledore's cluttered desk.

The headmaster sits behind it, half-moon glasses resting on the very tip of his nose.

"Good evening, Remus."

"Good evening, Headmaster."

Dumbledore smiles.

"What have you learned?"

Remus is tired. He has an impending full moon to worry about and although he has been taking his wolfsbane potion, courtesy of Snape, he'll have to make arrangements for the day after. On top of that, Dumbledore has asked him to dig into the transfer student's life and let him know of anything they should be worried about. It's likely that Dumbledore has made the same request of McGonagall and Snape.

"He's got a mouth that reminds me of Si-," Remus cuts himself off. "He's got a mouth on him that would make mothers cry," he amends. "But more importantly, the boy is stubbornly secretive. I couldn't get much out of him about his mother tongue or the nature of his boggart, but I did get a reaction from him when I showed him the alchemy circle I told you about."

Remus had reported to Dumbledore shortly after the boggart lesson, focusing on Harry's boggart more than Ed's, but Dumbledore had taken an interest in Ed's boggart and had requested that Lupin utilize the detention to ask Ed about the scenario, particularly the supposed alchemy.

"I think it's likely that the boy is skilled in alchemy. If not skilled, then at least informed on the topic. He's hiding it and I'm not sure why, but he knows much more than he's letting on."

Dumbledore leans back in his chair and considers his words carefully.

"Do you believe young Mr. Elric is hiding it for the wrong reasons?"

"I can't say for certain, but I am currently leaning towards no. Edward hasn't given me reason to believe he has a hidden agenda."

"The timing, however, is suspicious," Dumbledore reminds him gently. "Sirius Black has been sighted in Hogsmeade."Sirius. Merlin, as if Remus hasn't been tormented by the thought of Sirius for the last twelve years without reprieve.

"I'm aware," Remus says. "But Edward didn't know of the Malfoy's history, so I think it is safe to assume he is Muggle-born or Muggle-raised. Or perhaps raised in isolation from the rest of wizarding society, seeing as he was homeschooled prior to this year. I would think a connection between him and Si-, Black, is therefore unlikely, especially in consideration with his age."

"I see," Dumbledore says mildly. "Anything else?"

Remus rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. "I'd like to request someone take over my lessons the day after the full moon. I'm afraid I might not be completely myself then."

Dumbledore's expression softens to one Remus has become well-acquainted with from conversations as a young wizard, discussing his… condition. He'd take the pity over the fear and disgust he's more accustomed to, but he'd rather not be on the receiving end of any of it, if he were fortunate enough to have the option to choose.

"Of course, Remus. I will find someone to teach in your stead."

He smiles half-heartedly. "Thank you."

* * * * *

Ed isn't one to care about wizarding current events, because most of the time, reading headlines like "Dragons Discovered in Russia For the First Time in Two Centuries" makes him debate slamming his head into the castle walls until the nonsensical realities of the wizarding world begin making sense. They never will, so he usually doesn't bother with the daily papers or any magazines, but he can't exactly ignore the tabloid-equivalents spreading unreliable information about appearances of Sirius Black following his escape from Azkaban.

Sirius Black. It's the name Dumbledore had mentioned during the very first meal of the school year, which Ed had misunderstood to be "serious black". Because, seriously, who names their kid something that unfortunate?

Ed keeps an eye on Black's supposed sightings, not because he cares about the tabloid drama, but because he remembers something Truth slipped him during the initial information overload on the Hogwarts Express.

A raggedy man a big black dog sitting in Azkaban wizarding prison.

Ed's not sure what the dog has to do with anything yet, but he's learned through the Hogwarts rumor mill that Sirius Black is tangentially related to the Boy Who Lived: he is responsible for the deaths of Lily Evans and James Potter, who somehow got pulled into Riddle's blood war.

Yes, blood war. War in Amestris had technically ended before Ed was born, so it's unfamiliar territory in a sense, but the ideology behind it is not, because nothing about war is ever new. Wars are fought between "us" and "them", and from what Ed has read about Riddle's "us", he's not happy. Death Eaters kill and torture Muggles and Muggle-born wizards, and Ed speculates that they will probably begin attacking half-blood wizards as well, if Riddle ever formally comes into power. Along with Malfoy Sr., who was acquitted on the count of being a Death Eater, it would appear that a number of other members of pureblood wizarding families were (and still are) labeled as Death Eaters, including one Sirius Black. The amount of energy he spends on keeping tabs on the escaped murderer is only possible because Ed hasn't made a lot of progress on Horcruxes. He's disappointed in himself, because he's finally read every available book in the unrestricted section of the library and he hasn't found any mention of them. He did, strangely enough, come across information on the Hallows in a book of children's stories. "The Tale of Three Brothers" mentions three objects exactly as Truth had called them: the Elder wand, the Resurrection stone, the Invisibility cloak.

Ed has been making long-term plans to recover the stone. Long-term, because he hasn't figured out a way to leave school grounds without alerting a dozen adults of his disappearance. He's read a lot on the theory of apparition, and while he severely disagrees with the idea of teleportation, Ed can't deny that his life would be made a lot easier by its existence. There isn't the right time or place to practice, however, since the school grounds have wards against apparition and rightly so. Ed can only imagine the horrific accidents underage teleporting wizards would get into. (The few illustrations of splinching he'd seen had been enough of a warning.)

The stone will have to wait until summer, when Ed will also have to secure temporary housing. (The wand and the cloak he doesn't even want to think about until he's dealt with Riddle.) He hasn't had to dip into Truth's sack of ridiculous coins yet, but he'll need a place to stay when the school year ends and he'll need some more books, specifically to find information on Horcruxes.

Because damn, Horcruxes are impossible to investigate. Based on the lack of information he's found in the library, Ed's current hypothesis is that Horcruxes involve some amount of Dark Magic and are thus taboo, which makes him want to tear his hair out, because that limits his options on getting help: he'd love nothing better than to ask Irma for some resources.

Irma is a saint. He's not sure how, but his constant presence in the library has segued into mutual understanding and she's become his go-to person for any academic discussion. She's stern and barely smiles and is more than ready to kick Ed out if he breaks any rules, but she seems to like him most of the time and will recommend him follow-up materials he could buy during upcoming Hogsmeade trips. She had also told him to call her Irma after the second time they had had a lengthy conversation on the necessity of public libraries for the good of humanity.

Irma will undoubtedly cut his throat, slowly, with the blunt pages of a book, if he makes any innocent (or not) inquiries about the Dark Arts. She seems the type to favor death by a thousand cuts.

He'll have to wait for Hogsmeade before he can access any outside information, because Ed has yet to find a valid reason to request access to the restricted section. The best he's come up with so far is that he's read everything else and he's bored, but he can already feel Irma's disapproving glare boring holes into his face.

Hogsmeade it is. The first possible trip will be on Halloween, so hopefully that gives him enough time to research before the summer starts.

With a tentative plan forming, Ed tries to throw himself into school life, but Black and Riddle and Horcruxes linger in his mind as he falls into a monotonous daily routine. In the first few weeks of school, every single day was the same as the day that came before it, but Hogwarts is an infinitely more tolerable place now that Ed has friends. (Although he doesn't give any outward indication that he's pleased to have made friends at all.)

Fred was thrilled to hear that Ed had tentatively accepted the offer of friendship and he and George had crashed into Ed's life like twin Bludgers. The twins will bother him in the library, pester him in the hallways, and occasionally annoy him during mealtimes at the Ravenclaw table while Luna revels in the havoc they wreak. (The Ravenclaws are understandably upset by the constant encroachment of their space, but they keep their mouths shut because they're too passive aggressive to say it outright.) Ed uses words like "bother" and "pester" and "annoy" to maintain a front, but the reality is that he likes Fred and George as much as they like him.

It's nice to be spending time with people his own age. (He hasn't had the chance to do so in the last three years and Al doesn't really count.) He's fifteen, same as the twins, not that they know that, but they don't call him any variation of the word "short" anymore or treat him like he's a little kid, because they quickly learn that that is a world of hurt waiting to happen. It's also uncomfortable to treat Ed like he's a child, because his weird intensity about studying and being a fundamentally good person and faked, overly polite mannerisms in front of professors make him seem like an adult in all the ways that matter. (He's basically the equivalent of a baby in a Renaissance painting: a small man.)

Ed likes Fred's wise cracks and borderline offensive humor and self-confidence that anything he does, he will pull off flawlessly. Fred doesn't hold back and he'd probably get into much more trouble if George weren't constantly calculating the risks.

Ed likes George's witty commentary and sarcastic retorts and what Ed refers to as his "mother hen" tendencies, which George refuses to acknowledge. Fred might be the one to get the ball rolling, but George is the one making sure all details are accounted for.

And of course, Ed likes Fred and George in combination, the cohesive way they function and complement one another in daily life. Fred's loud mouth and George's dry humor fit together seamlessly and Ed likes how he fits in with them without trying to be anything other than himself. They seem to appreciate his blunt honesty and deal with his anger issues and tease him for constantly frowning; they genuinely just like Ed without knowing too much about him.

And that's the thing that Ed appreciates most: the twins let Ed keep his secrets once they've established that they actually are friends, because they decide to trust him wholeheartedly. (They never bring up the gold again and they never ask about the Sorting Hat once they realize it makes Ed uncomfortable and irrationally angry.) It's also pretty easy for them to trust Ed, who's rough around the edges, but has a heart of gold: they can see that from the way he treats Neville.

Neville has changed significantly in a short amount of time with Ed's encouragement. He's less nervous and almost never stammers when he talks anymore, which used to be Neville's default mode of communication. All of the Gryffindors have noticed the change in Neville, who was previously considered "the Gryffindor legacy": not actually brave, but riding the coattails of a family who is.

No one in Gryffindor had ever said these things to Neville, and no one says these things about Neville to Ed, because everyone eventually learns that Ed had punched Malfoy in the face for the boy in question. The rumors exaggerate the words that had been exchanged, but no one wants to find out where the limit is. (Because what if the limit does not exist?) They play it safe and as a result, Neville is having the best year he's ever had at Hogwarts.

Luna is also thriving in Ed's company. She isn't attached to him at the hip the way the twins are and she doesn't see him nearly as often as Neville does, but Ed still finds her at the Ravenclaw table for each meal and will listen intently to her latest topic of interest, while asking insightful questions for clarification. He's the first person aside from her father who can and will carry a conversation with her and takes her seriously as he does. Luna's initial acceptance of the foreign boy has developed into curiosity; she has taken to watching Ed when he's not aware she's looking. She likes how expressive his face is and how he tells the truth, even if the truth is impolite.

She likes that he swears like his life depends on it, but gets upset when anyone else does the same.

She likes calling him Fullmetal, because whatever it is that makes Ed look so forlorn and tired and sad underneath his scowling facade disappears whenever she says it.

With the help of his friends, Ed's reputation goes from noteworthy to straight-up notorious as the rest of Hogwarts scrambles to make sense of his character. Why are the Weasley twins obsessed with him and won't leave him alone? How is Neville Longbottom a whole new person because of him? No one questions why Luna Lovegood isn't ever publicly mocked anymore, since she's also seen around him. And many of the students have started placing bets on when Blaise Zabini would actually make a move on him, rather than the one-sided (almost spiteful) flirting they've seen so far.

Blaise is Ed's strangest "friend", for lack of better word, as Ed very rarely sees or talks to the boy. He knows the friendship, built solely on brief sarcastic exchanges and bickering, is raising eyebrows (and in some cases, raising hairs), but he overheard one girl stage-whisper that it's a real Romeo and Juliet situation. (He had had to consult Irma about the reference and had ended up spending a week tearing into a majority of Shakespeare's works, seeing as he had nothing better to do.)

No, it's not a "Romeo and Juliet" scenario, because Ed can see it in Blaise's eyes whenever he "flirts": there's something calculating, and not necessarily sinister, but off-putting about the way Blaise looks at him, like Ed is a pawn on Blaise's chess board. It's what makes him so irritable around the other boy, who constantly smirks and rolls his eyes at Ed's easily pushed buttons and casually calls him "dear".

(Malfoy and company, who had said nasty things about Blaise's initial interest in Ed, stop commenting on it entirely following the Punch. A week later, the rest of Slytherin won't talk about it either.

"Figures Zabini's type is 'hot-but-crazy'," Parkinson says as the final nail in that coffin.)

Things are almost nice for once, Ed thinks.

Left with nothing to read for the first time since his arrival, Ed spends his free time with his friends, only occasionally dropping by the library to discuss a new idea or interesting fact with Irma, who he can tell is pleased to see him, even if she frowns whenever he comes by. (He thinks she only does it to maintain a reputation.)

Ed is able to enjoy his youth for the first time in three years.Care of Magical Creatures under Hagrid's instruction is the equivalent of opening Pandora's box and letting infants deal with the fallout. Hagrid has already exposed them to a variety of reasonably dangerous creatures, including the textbook, and is always excited to show them weird and fantastic beasts each lesson. Ed appreciates Hagrid's enthusiasm, but Care of Magical Creatures is definitely not his cup of tea. If anything, it would be something Al enjoys, especially given his track record with stray cats. Well, if Al were here.

At least the Hippogriff Hagrid guides them towards is a step up from the Flobberworms.

"Yeh got to be real careful, understand? Hippogriffs are easy to offend." Hagrid goes into great detail on the proper etiquette in approaching a Hippogriff, which involves bowing and other formalities that Ed has no interest in attempting. He does get to watch Harry Potter greet the creature hesitantly and actually manage to ride it, before landing in the clearing again.

Yeah, there's no way Ed's getting anywhere near the winged beast, because Ed's body belongs on the ground, where he was born, where he's lived his entire life, and where he'll be buried once he dies.

Or that had been the plan, until Malfoy opens his stupid fucking mouth and insults Buckbeak, even after Hagrid had expressly told them not to do that.

Ed can see Buckbeak's muscles tense as he begins to rear back, ready to claw through Malfoy.

He doesn't need to think.

Before Hagrid or anyone else can shout a warning, Ed tackles Malfoy out of the way, shielding the other boy with his arm as Buckbeak's talons narrowly miss delivering a serious blow. There's a sharp pain along his left arm, but Ed doesn't have enough time to check the damage. He shoves the other blonde to the side and rolls as Buckbeak attempts to grab them.

Hagrid rushes to soothe Buckbeak while the rest of the class is divided between screaming hysterically and running for cover behind nearby trees.

Buckbeak's pissed, his feathered head angled to glare at Malfoy's prone form on the forest floor with a beady eye.

"Fucking hell!" Ed hisses. He's up and running, grabbing the back of the Slytherin's robes, yanking him to his feet. He's not quite fast enough, because he can see the Hippogriff's pointed beak inches away from his face before he dives out of the way, taking Malfoy with him.

Hagrid rushes between the Hippogriff and Ed, arms raised. "Woah! Woah, easy now, easy!"

Ed drags a gasping Malfoy to the edge of the clearing, where he dumps him unceremoniously against the trunk of a tree.

With Hagrid's giant figure in the way, Buckbeak is no longer able to see the blonde idiot who had insulted him. He spreads his wings and lets out a piercing cry, before folding his wings back in and ruffling all of his feathers back into place. Once Hagrid manages to thoroughly distract Buckbeak with the promise of food, Ed turns his attention to Malfoy.

"You good?" he asks as he extends a hand. The Slytherin takes it without hesitation, shock settling into his system as he nods quietly. Not that that will stop Ed from yelling. "Good, because I'm about to murder your dumb ass!"

Ed shakes the stunned boy. "What the fuck were you thinking, idiot, Hagrid said don't insult the dangerous clawed animal and you think the best thing to do in that situation is to insult the dangerous clawed animal! You must have shit for brains!"

He's still ranting when he feels blood trickle down the side of his face.

Crap.

Ed's jacket is torn, exposing a deep bloody scratch on his left arm. Thankfully, his right side is mostly intact, with the exception of a few scratches on his face from falling to the forest floor. There's a gash on his forehead from Buckbeak's beak that's bleeding profusely. He wipes the blood away with the back of his gloves, which stain them red.

Someone in the crowd of students gasps belatedly and Ed scowls at them.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" he snaps. He rounds on Malfoy, who's staring at his bloodied glove. "You better shape the fuck up or next time I'll let whatever magical creature is pissed off maul you like you fucking deserve."

"Er, Ed, let's get yeh to the infirmary, yeah?" Hagrid looms behind him, wringing his hands nervously.

Ed levels one last glare at Malfoy before facing Hagrid. "I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

"You're bleeding," Harry interjects from the side. It sounds like an accusation.

Ed furrows his brow. "Yeah, and? I get scratched, I bleed. What did you expect?"

"That wasn't my point!" Harry exclaims. "You should get Madam Pomfrey to check on you, it looks really bad!"

Is this what constitutes a "really bad" injury in the wizarding world?

Ed is sent to the infirmary, despite his curt insistence that he is and will be perfectly fine.Madam Poppy Pomfrey fusses over him the moment he walks in, scolding him for the state of his left arm and turning his face from side to side, clucking over a particularly deep scratch millimeters below his right eye.

"How did you sustain these injuries?"

"Hippogriff," Ed says.

"Sit!" she commands, directing him toward a rickety metal infirmary bed. Ed makes sure to sit at the very edge, his feet flat against the floor, because he has a feeling he's about to have a conversation he had hoped to avoid for the duration of his time here.

Madam Pomfrey returns, her wand in hand and a worried look on her face.

"You should remove your coat so I can get a better look at those scratches. Hippogriff claws can cause some horrific infections," she explains, waiting for Ed to undress.

"I'm honestly fine, ma'am, I don't think that will be necessary."

She shoots him a withering glare and any other objection Ed had in mind dies in his throat. He slowly peels off his jacket and he hears Pomfrey gasp. He's wearing short sleeves today and the steel of his automail is all but obvious now that he's abandoned his usual layers.

He takes off his gloves as well, because there's nothing left for him to hide.

"What is this, young man?" she asks, prodding his automail with the tip of her wand.

"My arm," he replies sullenly.

She frowns. "That's not what I was referring to. How did you acquire this thing?"

If only Winry could hear you call her masterpiece a "thing".

"I was young when it happened."

She waits for further details, which Ed does not want to give, but he has to say something, so he tries to come up with something related to the wizarding world.

"Tried Apparating," Ed settles on. "Got splinched."

It's technically possible to lose entire limbs through splinching, isn't it?

Madam Pomfrey's knuckles are white against her wand, which is still resting against the back of his arm.

"You were homeschooled your entire life?"

That's not the line of questioning he was expecting. "Yes, ma'am."

"Did the Ministry of Magic not send someone to check up on your development each year?"

"We lived in a very rural area."

"So no one came by and noticed you had lost a limb?"

"No, ma'am." He shifts uncomfortably under her gaze.

The look on Pomfrey's face shifts rapidly from horror to anger.

"Why didn't you regrow it?" Her voice is tight.

You can regrow limbs?

"A reminder," he says.

And a promise, he doesn't say.

Madam Pomfrey's suspicious glare worries Ed; she wouldn't say something about the automail to the other professors, would she?

"Please don't tell anyone," he says.

The look on Madam Pomfrey's face morphs into something monstrous and it suddenly hits him.

Oh. She thinks… that someone… to remind me… OH FUCK!

"It's not like that!" he rushes to add.

Her lips are a furious scowl and her eyes are narrowed in a murderous glare.

"Not like what, Mr. Elric?" she asks. The tone of her voice is entirely at odds with the anger Ed can feel radiate off of her in waves.

"No one forced me to keep it like this," Ed says. He can almost hear Granny's spiel about the stress and pain involved in acquiring automail, in an effort to discourage him for his own sake. "I made the choice myself."

He stops talking, letting Madam Pomfrey fill in the gaps with whatever she thinks is a reasonable explanation."Please." He looks her in the eye for the first time since he'd taken his shirt off. "Don't tell anyone."

She turns away from him and busies herself summoning and erecting a pair of privacy curtains around his bed. Her expression is unreadable.

"Young man, do you really think a healer would disclose medical information to just anyone?"

"Oh, thank fuck," Ed says under his breath.

"That said, I can't say I've ever seen a prosthetic limb like yours before." She holds out a hand, hovering over his arm, and looks to him for permission. He nods and Madam Pomfrey allows her fingers to travel over the grooves of his automail, before casting a diagnostic spell over it.

"A friend made it for me, when I refused to regrow it."

"I see," she says. Her eyes travel over some of the faded scars that map across his skin. "And these?"

"Ah. Rural area, kids raise hell outside, normal sh-, ah, stuff."

Madam Pomfrey purses her lips. "Right." She turns away from him for a moment and taps her wand against her chin as she deliberates. She looks back. "Sit still for a moment, I'll find some ointment for those scratches." She shakes her head as she walks away. "Hippogriffs, goodness."

The curtains she had raised leave Ed in temporary isolation and he lies back on the cot, eyes closed.

She said she wouldn't tell anyone.

But wouldn't she? She said she's never seen automail before and Ed has never seen any mention of prosthetic limbs in the many, many books he's read since he arrived. Based on the interrogations he's been enduring on Friday evenings with Lupin, it's not hard to guess that he, or perhaps all of the professors in general, are questioning his background and his existence. They're suspicious and rightfully so: he's an unknown name and face, he speaks an unknown language, and he's appeared out of nowhere around the same time that Black had gone missing from Azkaban.

Ed's not stupid even if he acts like it sometimes.

They probably think I'm involved with Riddle.

He grimaces at the thought. There isn't a fool-proof method of assuring the wizards that Ed is on their side in what looks to be the makings of a war. Anything and everything he does would be scrutinized as an attempt to trick them into trusting him.

He's interrupted from his rumination by the return of Madam Pomfrey, who has a bottle of sickly green sludge in hand.

She uncorks it and Ed immediately gags due to its overpowering smell. Madam Pomfrey rolls her eyes.

"None of that now," she says. "This should help heal those claw marks nicely."

She slathers it on his skin and he ignores the stinging sensation as the ointment sinks into his raw flesh.

Ed pulls on the gloves. As he's putting his jacket back on, he hears: "You'll be staying here for the remainder of the day. Tomorrow, once I check on how the wounds are healing, I'll let you know if you can attend classes."

"It's fine, ma'am, I'll just leave now."

He regrets saying it immediately.

"You'll do no such thing! To think a patient would try to leave my care before his treatment is finished!" She glares at him. "If you step foot outside of this infirmary before my say so, you'll regret it, Mr. Elric." And then she's gone, leaving Ed to lie back down on the bed and contemplate his life choices in solitude.

The twins come find him once their classes are over and sit at his bedside chattering away until Madam Pomfrey banishes them due to the noise.

Neville drops in before dinner to catch him up on what he'd missed following his departure from Care of Magical Creatures.

In the evening, Luna leaves him a book of poems filled with handwritten notes and a cupcake from dinner. He takes his time reading the book, referencing her observations and interpretations as he goes.

Shortly before curfew begins, Blaise slips into the infirmary, with Malfoy in tow.

"You didn't have to help me," Malfoy says. He's staring at Ed with an entirely unfamiliar expression.

"Hello to you too, asshole." Ed doesn't bother to get up from the bed, lying sprawled across the sheets. He covers his eyes with an arm.

"Why did you?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"You punched him in the face," Blaise points out mildly.

"He deserved it," Ed retorts.

"He is right here!" Malfoy whines.

"Then why?" Blaise prods, ignoring the indignant huff coming from Malfoy.

Ed sits up, putting his feet on the ground before turning to face both Slytherins. Malfoy, at least, has the decency to deflate under Ed's glare.

"I don't need a reason to help someone. If someone needs my help and I'm in a position to give it, then I give it freely."

"How does that benefit you? It landed you in the infirmary," Malfoy grumbles."And it could've ended with you six fucking feet under. Why does a person do anything? In the end, not everything is about ambition or profit or winning."

Not everything has to be an equivalent exchange, he thinks ruefully, not when it comes to people.

Malfoy shrinks at the venom in Ed's voice and looks properly chastised.

Good.

He also watches Blaise ponder over his words before looking back at him. Blaise's eyes travel over Ed's face and for the first time, Ed thinks he can see genuine emotion in them, not the calculating gleam of a predator observing its prey.

"Think about that the next time you make the conscious decision to be a total fucking asshole." Ed lays back down on the mattress, a clear dismissal of the two.

Malfoy opens his mouth, annoyed, but then stops. "Thanks," he mumbles. He turns and leaves the curtained off area in a rush, the tips of his ears red with embarrassment.

"Good night, dear," Blaise says with the usual amount of sarcasm. But his eyes are intrigued as he opens the curtains surrounding Ed's bed and follows Malfoy back to the Slytherin dorms.

* * * * *

Ed and Malfoy are asked to head down to Hagrid's hut the next day, when Ed has been freed from Madam Pomfrey's care.

Dumbledore is there, as are Hagrid and Buckbeak, who is lying down with his wings tucked carefully behind him.

"Ah, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Elric, thank you for joining us." Dumbledore's eyes twinkle. Ed shivers.

Malfoy turns his nose up slightly. "What's this about?"

"Regarding the situation yesterday in Care of Magical Creatures, I have heard from Hagrid that there was something of an attack. We were wondering if something must be done in regard to our Hippogriff friend and so we called you here. Would you care to explain what happened?"

"So you did hear about it. Good. My father will certainly be hearing about it as well! To think that we're allowed to even be around these, these dangerous beasts! We could have died! We could have -"

Ed cuts Malfoy off. "Mr. Malfoy here didn't pay attention to Hagrid's lesson -"

"Hey!"

"- and aggravated Buckbeak, sir. Nothing bad happened, so it's nothing to worry about."

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows while Malfoy turns to face Ed incredulously.

"You don't want to press charges?"

"Buckbeak is an animal."

"You can still press charges."

"That's called being a total fucking asshole," Ed says quietly, so that only Malfoy can hear.

The Slytherin's haughty look falters at the reminder and he makes a small noise that Ed takes as his cue to take over.

Ed addresses Dumbledore and Hagrid. "We're both fine, sir. I thought yesterday was a very interesting lesson, Hagrid. Buckbeak's great."

Ed not-so-subtly elbows Malfoy in the ribs. "Yes," the Slytherin says weakly, "great."

"If that's all, we'll be off then!" Ed grabs Malfoy by the arm and begins climbing the slope back up to the castle.

Dumbledore watches the two students leave, before addressing Hagrid. "It looks like Buckbeak will be perfectly safe right where he is."

Hagrid beams.

Buckbeak sleeps without a care, head balanced on top of his folded front legs."At least you learned something this time around," Ed says to Malfoy, who's struggling to keep up with Ed's quick strides.

"Hardly," the Slytherin sniffs, falling back on his best I'm-better-than-you impression. "It just goes without saying that Slytherins don't owe people. So consider us even."

Ed has half a mind to tell Malfoy they technically already are even, when one considers that Ed had struck Malfoy across the face, but he keeps it to himself.

"Some things," he says instead, focusing on the castle ahead of them, "are not about being 'even'. Can you tell me what you think your life is worth?" He glances at Malfoy, who looks too young to be as cruel as he is. "That's right, you fucking can't. If I had decided to let Buckbeak attack you and you had died, would killing Buckbeak be worth your life?"

Malfoy is silent.

Ed stops walking and stares at him. "If Buckbeak hadn't killed you, and you'd been critically injured, would there be anything equivalent that could be done to compensate for what you'd lost?"

His right arm is gone, not even a bloody stump left over. Al's body is gone, everything left of him intangible.

Ed swallows, trying to alleviate the ache of his dry throat. "Take it from me -"

The composition of an average human adult is…

"- an eye for an eye -"

… not enough.

"- only ever works in theory and theory alone."

Ed leaves Malfoy at the side entrance and looks for a quiet place where he can be alone.

Ed stands by equivalent exchange as the most important rule of alchemy. One is all, all is one. But it doesn't work with people, who are messy and unpredictable and unable to be valued by an easily determinable worth.

There are no equivalents when it comes to handling human beings, Ed had learned long ago.

* * * * *

Ed doesn't sleep for seventy-two hours, beginning when he wakes on the second day of October.

Every minute of October 3rd, he spends thinking of Al, of his mother, and of alchemy and Truth.

He tries to quantify the worth of an arm, of a leg, in comparison to a heart or a lung. What would Truth give him in exchange for his brain? For a finger? A hair?

(He constantly smells smoke and feels the heat of a house on fire, that isn't there.)

At 23:59, October 3rd, Ed sits on his bed, curtains drawn, and opens his watch and rubs his thumb over the message scratched inside.

"Don't forget."

* * * * *

"What have you learned about young Mr. Elric this week?"

Remus is once again sitting across from Dumbledore in the privacy of his office. (Relative privacy, given that the portraits of past headmasters love nothing better than providing their opinion.) He rubs his eyes.

"Not much, Headmaster."

It's been several weeks since Edward Elric's first detention and the only thing Remus has been able to ascertain is that the small, admittedly brilliant, landmine of a transfer student probably wouldn't talk even with the aid of Veritaserum (and hadn't he been tempted to use it the last time he'd endured Edward's eye rolls and derisive snorts at his attempts to question him.)

He pauses. "Actually, do you know about his wand?"

That peaks Dumbledore's interest. "I do not. Care to elaborate?"

Remus wets his lips. "It's nothing too important, more of a coincidence really, I'd say."

"Go on," Dumbledore encourages. His eyes are bright with curiosity.

"Interesting wand. Rather plain at first glance, completely smooth, no obscene shade of wood polish or fancy custom engravings as some students have."

"But?"

"There's an alchemy circle on the bottom." Remus indicates lightly with his own wand. "Nothing too detailed or advanced, but a rather odd choice of embellishment for a student who denies having any interest or background in alchemy."

Over the years, Remus had come to realize that Dumbledore lacks the typical mannerisms that most people display. He's never seen Dumbledore jiggle his leg in impatience or drum his fingers against a hard surface. Remus has never seen the man so much as crack a knuckle. The complete absence of random habits makes Remus feel like Dumbledore's missing some of the small irregularities that make most people seem like… people.

It's what makes him seem intimidating, Remus thinks, no matter how friendly he is.

"The material, too, seems uncommon," he adds, when noticing Dumbledore's thoughtful stare. "I've never met anyone else with a wand made of yew."

Dumbledore blinks slowly. "A wand made of yew," he repeats.

"Yes," Remus answers. "Yew."

The Headmaster doesn't respond, sitting utterly still, which unsettles Remus further.

"Is there anything else?" Dumbledore asks, after a moment or two.

"Not that I can think of." Remus shakes his head, remembering how hard it was to even begin a discussion with Edward about his wand. The boy acts like he's a seasoned veteran under interrogation, even if Remus frames the curiosity as small talk."Then that'll be all, Remus. Thank you, as always, for your hard work." Dumbledore smiles, the expression gentle on his weathered face.

Remus leaves before he can watch the spark of pity flicker in his eyes.

Alone in his office, Dumbledore folds his hands over one another as he reflects on Remus' report, as well as what he's learned about Edward Elric since the start of term.

The boy defies expectations and seems to stick to his own moral code, which Dumbledore has yet to figure out. He's in Hufflepuff, which is telling, reassuring, but his short temper and convenient timing are worrying.

"Yew," he eventually says to Fawkes, who's asleep and not listening at all. "Perhaps this is the omen I was afraid to find."

* * * * *

On Halloween, flocks of Hogwarts students are escaping the school grounds to have fun in Hogsmeade.

Ed, as a presumed orphan and emancipated minor, doesn't require permission to leave Hogwarts, so he goes with Neville. He asks about the local bookstore on the way there, but Neville hasn't ever been and doesn't know much about it. He offers to go with Ed, but Ed quickly dismisses it and insists that he'll meet Neville at the Three Broomsticks.

He wanders into Tomes and Scrolls on his own, preparing to deal with a barrage of questions regarding his topic of choice. Instead, he discovers an ancient wizard manning the cash register, who doesn't acknowledge Ed's entrance into the store and ignores him when he asks a question about the store's layout.

The bookshop is dusty and dimly lit, but the books are well-cared for and well-organized, with small labels clearly indicating the subjects each section represented. He quickly finds his way to the section designated for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Unfortunately, but as expected, there aren't any sections specifically dedicated towards learning the Dark Arts, but Ed hopes there will be something about Horcruxes or how to defend oneself against them in what he has available.

He flips through the table of contents in a number of unfamiliar titles before he comes across the word at all.

How to Deal with Cursed Objects, by Annabel Sutton. There's an entire chapter dedicated to Horcruxes, but Ed discovers the chapter is a mere four pages in the three-hundred page book. However, he's already spent an hour looking for any leads and this is the only mention of Horcruxes he's seen so far. If he spends any longer in the store, he's certain Neville will wonder where he is.

He buys the book from the decrepit store keeper, who doesn't say a word the entire transaction, simply scrawls out a price with a shaking hand on a scrap of parchment.

"Thank you," Ed says after paying. The store keeper blinks. He slips the book into a brown paper sack and slides it over to Ed, who accepts it and rushes over to The Three Broomsticks.

"Took you long enough!" Neville says upon spotting him.

"Yeah, yeah, I was reading," Ed says. "You know how it is."

Neville makes a face. "You read too much for a Hufflepuff."

"I do not! Everyone else just doesn't read enough."

"Merlin," Neville says, eyes wide with sudden realization, "sometimes it's like talking to Hermione."

The two of them find a small table crowded into the back corner of the pub and Neville insists he go fetch them something to drink (non-alcoholic, of course). He returns with two steins brimming with hot butterbeer, which Ed accepts gratefully.

"Honestly prefer it cold," Neville says, wrinkling his nose after swallowing a mouthful, "but I don't think I can bear it right now."

The weather has been decidedly cool as of late, with few students daring to linger outside longer than half an hour or so before slipping back into the warmth of the castle. Ed, however, hasn't relented in his early morning routine and has still been making the short trek out to the practice pitch long before the sun rises. Three cheers for warming charms, otherwise his automail ports might have given him frostbite weeks ago and then Madam Pomfrey would have his head on a platter. (She already insists he drop by the infirmary twice a month to check in on his arm; he never ended up talking about his leg.)"I like it this way," Ed says. He's never had butterbeer before, but Ed has always had a bit of a sweet tooth, so he's not complaining. He doesn't know if the drink would be better cold, given that the weather is absolutely miserable in Scotland all year long (in his opinion; he hasn't actually experienced summer yet, but he's 99% sure there's no sunshine then either).

Neville launches into a monologue of sorts, rambling about the merits of chilled butterbeer on sticky summer afternoons, while Ed listens intently. He nods and hums at the right times and Neville talks for seventeen minutes uninterrupted, without stuttering.

"Did you find what you wanted then?" Neville asks, only once he's run out of compliments for butterbeer.

"Yep," Ed answers, popping the last syllable. He pats the brown paper bag resting next to him at the table.

"What's it on?"

"Nothing interesting, more research for some DADA stuff I wanted to look into in my free time."

"Ergh, more research."

"I think you mean, more research!" Ed says, with fake cheer and an entirely dead expression. He almost wants to smile at the look of disgust Neville shoots his way. The Gryffindor notices the slight twitch of Ed's lips.

"The day I see you smile is the day Merlin, Morgana, and King Arthur himself decided I deserve to die," Neville declares.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Neville and Ed spend roughly two hours chatting in The Three Broomsticks before picking up their things and making their way back to Hogwarts. Neville laughs at Ed's in-depth analysis of Luna's confusing arguments and teases him on the twins' most recent efforts to prank him (piss Ed off).

The combination of a change of scenery, fresh air, and company leaves Ed in a good mood as he heads off to the Hufflepuff dorms.

It doesn't last (it never does).

The common room is full of energy, like a live wire, the commotion overwhelming.

"What's going on?" he asks Elliot, who jumps a little at Ed's question.

Elliot's eyes are huge. "The Gryffindor common room… Sirius Black was in the castle."

"What?"

"Someone slashed through the portrait guarding the Gryffindor common room," Zach says, joining Ed and Elliot. "The other portraits are saying it was Sirius Black."

"Why Gryffindor?" Ed asks.

Zach snorts. "Why do you think? Who in all of Hogwarts would peak Black's interest?"

"Harry Potter," Ed says immediately. But why?

"Exactly," Zach says, with a snap of his fingers. In a low voice: "I heard he's here to finish what You-Know-Who couldn't."

Ed recoils. "You think he wants to kill Potter?"

"Everyone wants to kill Harry," Elliot responds. "Happens every year he's been here."

"Potter is thirteen," Ed says.

Both Zach and Elliot shrug in unison. "He's the Boy Who Lived," Zach answers, as if that's a valid justification.

This is fucking unreal, even for wizards.

Ed knows all about "the Boy Who Lived" crap, but he had somehow missed that "logical" step between "Potter and Riddle are enemies" to "grown-ass adult wizards are going out of their way to murder the kid".

"Are you Muggle-born, Ed?" Zach asks hesitantly.

"Yeah," Ed says, distracted.

"Makes sense. Everyone else knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."

"His life must suck," Elliot adds quietly.

Not as much as Black's will, Ed thinks viciously, once I find him.

* * * * *

The entire student body is moved into the Great Hall as the professors sweep the castle for signs of Black.

Everyone is whispering about the escaped Death Eater for a change, which Ed would appreciate if he weren't still reeling from the thought of adult wizards trying to kill a Muggle-raised child with little more than two years of magical experience to his name.

Fuck, how is Potter not dead already.

"This is some fucking bullshit, Al. This is more fucked than letting a kid into the military," he mutters.

(You think everyone has it worse than you do, Brother.)Ed is sitting, arms and legs crossed, on a bedroll closest to the doors, at the very end of the Hufflepuff line of students. There's a space between him and the rest of the Hufflepuffs, who are practically huddled together in a giant dog pile. It's discomfort that keeps them apart: Ed is still dressed in his jacket and gloves, unwilling to potentially expose his automail, and the rest of Hufflepuff still don't know what to make of him. It's fine. It's always fine.

He is still thinking about Harry Potter when someone sits down next to him.

"Your face will get stuck like that if you keep making that face," Luna says softly. Her hair almost glows in the low light.

"You should get some sleep," Ed responds, trying to smooth out the scowl on his face.

"Can't," Luna says. "Too many Feinfeys right now."

"Feinfeys?"

"They whisper things in your ears and try to drive you mad while you sleep by manipulating your dreams."

"I see," Ed says. "Definitely a good time for them to be doing their thing then."

Luna nods. "Can I braid your hair, Fullmetal?"

Ed almost bursts out laughing, because that is definitely a sentence he's never heard before. "Sure," he says, pulling his hair tie out. "Go crazy."

He knows some of the students are watching now, but he couldn't care less. They're vultures, always waiting for their next meal (their next source of gossip).

Luna runs her fingers through his hair.

"Favorite color?"

"Red."

She tells him a story while she braids, something about an old witch who could hear lies, and Ed listens.

"I think I'm ready for bed," she says when she's done. She admires her work. It's the same simple braid as always, but she tied the end with some red yarn.

"Night, Loony," Ed says with a little wave. "Don't let the Feinfeys get you."

Ed doesn't sleep that night and he can't risk slipping out for his normal morning routine. He lies down with his eyes open, listening to the hundreds of other students breathe and snore and mumble in their sleep.

In the morning, the Fat Lady is replaced by Sir Cadogan the Mad Knight and everyone is allowed to return to their dormitories.

Things are technically back to normal, but Ed is now formulating a new plan. He's read though How to Deal with Cursed Objects (thank you, Annabel Sutton!) and he knows why there aren't any books on Horcruxes in the Hogwarts library: they're hidden pieces of a person's soul.

The book isn't clear on how a Horcrux is made or how a person can tell if an object is a Horcrux, but Sutton makes it quite clear that Horcruxes are probably the worst Dark Magic a wizard can attempt. Attempt, because they are notoriously difficult and immoral to create in the first place.

Ed feels sick thinking about them, because of Al.

Al, whose entire soul is bound to an object, because of Ed.

(Ed throws up in the bathroom of his dorm room with the shower running, hoping no one can hear him. He doesn't eat for two days before Luna suggests he at least have some bread before she reports him to Madam Pomfrey for neglecting his health.)

The new plan is simple: Truth hadn't bothered to tell him where or what Riddle's Horcruxes are, so Ed will need someone familiar with Riddle to tell him the details. And as luck would have it, there's a former Death Eater lingering somewhere in the area, that Ed's been meaning to talk with.

Is it a good plan? No. It's a great plan. And if Black needs some encouragement to start talking, Ed is more than ready to provide it.

But trips to Hogsmeade (and opportunities to find Black) are put on hold after Harry Potter gets attacked by dementors during a Quidditch game.

Ed's not surprised, he just wonders why this hadn't happened sooner. Black had first entered the castle during the Hogsmeade trip on Halloween weekend after all, so he can't help but feel that the Hogwarts staff aren't doing enough to protect Harry from the threat on his life. They're negligent, in Ed's opinion, but maybe that's just from the viewpoint of someone who's familiar with military strategy and isn't lacking in common sense.

* * * * *

Lupin also misses class (and postpones Ed's detention the week of the Quidditch game), so Ed gets to enjoy Snape's presence in two of his classes, instead of just one. Snape doesn't bother following Lupin's schedule either, shoehorning werewolves into the lesson plan with no regard for the syllabus.Werewolves, Ed thinks. Peculiar timing.

It should be around the time of the full moon; Ed's not exactly sure when though.

Lupin's boggart. Mr. Malfoy and that lie about propriety. Snape being even more of an asshole about this particular topic.

"Well," Ed says, "that explains a lot."

* * * * *

"How do you guys always know where I am?" Ed asks Fred.

The three of them are sitting in the Hogwarts kitchen, which Fred and George had only recently let Ed know about. (They still have their secrets too.)

The house elves took some getting used to, but they're always excited to see students and Ed, who likes to eat in the early hours of the morning in addition to three meals a day, becomes a frequent visitor, once he's assured by the elves they like working and they're fine with him dropping in. (Ed suspects his automail plays a role in his constant need for food.)

Fred is chewing on a muffin and George has a cup of hot chocolate in his hands. Ed is digging into his second bowl of goulash.

"That's confidential," Fred answers with a shit-eating grin.

Ed whacks his arm. He turns to George. "How do you do it?"

Fred and George track Ed down no matter where he is, popping into existence as if apparating, unless he's in the Hufflepuff dormitory. Even then, there were a couple of times one of his dorm mates would let him know the twins were causing a ruckus outside the common room and demand he go out and placate them.

"Why do you want to know all of a sudden?" Fred asks.

"Can you swear," George adds with a smile, "that you're up to no good?"

I'm looking for ways to track down Sirius Black, Ed doesn't say, what do you think?

"Obviously."

"What do you say, Freddie?"

Fred keeps grinning, but pulls out a folded piece of parchment and lays it out for Ed to see.

"I solemnly swear," Fred starts. Both he and George place their right hands over their hearts. "That I am up to no good."

Ink appears on the parchment, bleeding out randomly at first, but then taking shape.

"Marauder's map," Ed reads aloud. "What kind of names are these?"

Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot & Prongs is scrawled in flowery penmanship across the front.

"They made it," George clarifies. "We don't know they are."

"But whoever they are, they're absolute legends," Fred says.

"This map," George continues, opening up the parchment, "shows the location of every single person in Hogwarts and the locations of the many secret passages incorporated in the castle."

Ed watches tiny ink footprints appear and disappear on the castle layout displayed before him.

Fred Weasley, George Weasley, and Edward Elric stand motionless in the room marked Kitchen.

"Holy shit," Ed says.

"Brilliant, isn't it?" Fred wiggles his eyebrows.

"You stalk-"

Ed doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Fred crams the rest of his muffin in Ed's mouth.

"You know you love us," Fred says.

Ed shoves him out of his chair, while George laughs in his brother's face.