chapter.19

Ed receives a note from Remus the next morning, to come find him sometime before classes start up again "to have a chat".

"Why did he write it like that," Ed mutters, flicking the crumpled parchment into the common room fire when no one's looking.

It'd be a lie to say he's not nervous.

Remus handing Ed a copy of a somewhat unknown alchemy book is a sign that the man is hoping to talk about alchemy. And while he'd dropped his interrogations following their official detentions a year prior, Ed has no doubt the werewolf never actually forgot about it.

So, the actual question he has is what's up with the timing?

If Remus were going to bring this up, wouldn't he have found better opportunities to do so than here, at Hogwarts, where their relationship remains strictly teacher-and-student in the public eye?

The cynical part of Ed whispers that Remus is still a member of Hogwarts staff, and therefore is somewhat loyal to Dumbledore.

The rational part of Ed tells his cynicism to fuck off, because he fully knows Remus isn't like that.

It doesn't make him dread having this potential conversation any less.

"Come in," Remus' muffled voice comes through the door and Ed walks in with a pit in his stomach that he can't explain away to himself.

"Remus," Ed says by way of greeting, collapsing into one of his chairs after shedding his coat and gloves.

There's tea already set out at the table, as well as an assortment of chocolates that Remus likes to carry around regularly. The man's penchant for the sweet is amusing, given that he basically turns into a dog one night each month — Ed likes to think Remus just loves being a contrary bastard at every opportunity.

"Ed," Remus says, warmly. He nudges a teacup in Ed's direction and Ed takes it, at least to have something to hold so he won't fidget too much.

"You called?" he says. The warmth of the teacup in his left hand is grounding and he focuses on it.

"Straight to business, I see."

Remus settles into the armchair opposite Ed, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Well, I was assuming this wasn't really a social call."

He detests this atmosphere, dislikes the way it mirrors those days where Remus had been a prying stranger rather than a trusted friend. Despite how different the circumstance is now, he can't shake the feeling this is going to become a pseudo-interrogation.

"It still is very much a social call," Remus corrects him. "Just one I imagine you were hoping to avoid."

"Right," Ed says, "because I have such great memories of you interrogating the shit out of me around a year ago."

"What makes you think this is going to be an interrogation, instead of a simple conversation between friends?"

"Do you give all of your friends vaguely ominous signs that you have information on them?"

"I suppose not," Remus sighs. "To be fair, Irma was the one who mentioned you were looking for the book. I just thought it could bridge the gap between the detentions and now."

They're both silent for a while.

"I'm not going to talk about it," Ed says, when Remus doesn't initiate. Better to be upfront and take control of the situation before it even begins. "I appreciate the book and all — I've been looking for it everywhere — but I don't really want to explain myself. I figured you probably knew that already, but I'm just reminding you. In case. Y'know?"

Remus smiles and his crow's feet crinkle in their familiar, fond way. "Yes, I imagined you'd be reluctant to speak about it."

"Then why bring it up in the first place?" Ed mutters, still loud enough for Remus to hear.

"My concern isn't really directly related to alchemy. Not that I'm not curious, but it's ultimately not that important."

That startles a reaction out of Ed, who's surprised, until he's suspicious.

"What is it," he says, trying not to be as aggressive as he feels.

Remus takes his prickly demeanor in stride, most likely due to a full year of dealing with classrooms full of hormonal teenagers. His fingers are steepled beneath his chin and he looks worse than Ed has ever seen him before. Worse, even, than on the days following the full moon.

"Is there anyone interested in hurting you?"

Ed tenses involuntarily. His leg locks up, although that's probably not as noticeable as the stiffness in his arms and the awkward, pinched expression that flickers on his face before he can force himself to relax.

"What makes you ask that," he replies tersely.

"Your mysterious background, the intense secrecy, the vague answers even now when you clearly trust us, your automail, your name coming out of the Goblet this year, your involvement in Sirius' redemption before I was even involved, the alchemy circle that showed up during the boggart lesson last year, and the circle that's quite literally carved into the bottom of your wand," Remus answers, without a single hint of hesitation. "All of it is… well, shall we just say it makes a person wonder what kind of life you've been living before your Hogwarts days."

Ed scowls.

Remus continues to smile, like he hadn't just called out how suspicious Ed is right to his face.

"You and your facts," he grumbles, crossing his arms.

"Yes," Remus says simply, leaning back into his chair, "me and my facts."

And then he's waiting, looking at Ed expectantly.

"No," Ed says after some time, slowly, deliberately. "I don't know anyone like that."

Remus hums, still looking to Ed as if he's expecting a better explanation.

"Why're you doing this now?" Ed says instead.

"Instead of the summer?" Remus thinks it over before answering. "I suppose, I could put aside what I'd learned about you for a time, especially as we were still getting properly acquainted. But now, I feel that I can no longer leave it alone. Not when you've been dragged into this Tournament this year. You're attracting trouble nearly as often as Harry, and he's literally the Chosen One." His expression softens. "I didn't bring this up before the First Task because I didn't want to add unnecessary stress."

"Oh, but now it's completely fine, since I clearly have so much time?"

Remus rolls his eyes, exasperated, and Ed snorts.

"You know what I mean," he says. "You've got time before the Second Task. And now, before you truly get yourself killed, who exactly have you managed to piss off prior to showing up at Hogwarts last year?"

How do you tell an atheist that you've pissed off "god"?

"It's… complicated," Ed says lamely. He wants to smack himself in the face for that excuse, and by Remus' facial expression, he can tell the man feels the same way.

"I mean," he corrects himself, "I don't explicitly know of anyone here trying to kill me."

That much is true. He really doesn't know how his name came out of the Goblet, and short of Truth abducting him in his sleep to tell him what's happened, he isn't sure he'll ever find out.

"Before Hogwarts?" Remus presses, unusually serious about the whole thing.

Ed sighs. "That's actually complicated." He thinks about it, mentally editing out what he can, filling in what's missing. "I'm not from here."

"Obviously."

"Rude. Anyway, not from here. Raised out in small town wherever —"

Remus raises an eye at the vague description, as well as the lack of a name.

"— shut the hell up, you wouldn't know it even if I told you. Not a lot of magic in the area, honestly, where I was raised. We weren't Muggles or Squibs, but most people didn't practice. They'd never learned."

"I've never heard of a place like this," Remus says.

"Yeah, well, have you ever left the country?"

"Point taken. Please proceed."

He isn't sure he wants to admit this next part. He's not sure what's holding him back from doing so, when all the evidence suggests that he knows alchemy anyway. Truth be told, there are multiple people who suspect quite strongly that he is knowledgeable in alchemy and actively uses it.

But a small part of him feels like giving up alchemy, even in the most general way possible, is like giving up a little too much of his identity.

Alchemy has been both the problem and solution in almost every instance of his life since the first day he learned to activate an array.

It's deeply personal now, even though he wields it so gaudily when he's the Fullmetal Alchemist.

Alchemy is the one thing that cannot be explained away here. Here and now, he can talk about Al and he can say his mother is dead and he can explain that he grew up in a small, rural town and he can even discuss his automail as a form of non-magical prosthetic, but he cannot tell a wizard that he can create something out of seemingly nothing with a mere clap of his hands.

"And the few of us who did know magic…," he trails off.

How could he, when wizards are mostly incapable of channeling their magical power without the assistance of a wand. Would they even be able to comprehend the science of alchemy, the exact formulas and arrays and symbols required to alter the physical makeup of the earth's resources?

Remus stays quiet, giving him the space to work out exactly what he wants to say.

"The few of us who did," Ed says at last, "learned alchemy."

Nothing happens.

The world doesn't end, Truth doesn't yank him out of this universe, and he doesn't lose anything by actually admitting it, not the way he thought he might when he first woke up on the Hogwarts Express last year.

There's something miserable about that — that nothing's changed even though his acknowledgement has turned his alchemy into something real here.

But there's something freeing about it, too.

"And this is the alchemy that appeared with your boggart."

"Yeah," Ed says.

Talking about his alchemy in a world without it would be like describing color to the blind. It won't ever mean as much to anyone here as it does to him.

Remus leans back, bringing a hand up to his face as he contemplates what he's learned.

"Who else knows about the alchemy?"

"Technically," Ed says, drawing out the word, "no one. I've denied it furiously to anyone who's mentioned it to me. Realistically? You, Dumbledore, Olivander. Kreacher, I think. Probably Luna, too. Oh, and the twins, but I don't think they really know it's alchemy."

"They've actually seen you do it?"

Ed rolls his eyes. "Don't be so surprised. It's not a big deal."

"Quite frankly, it is a big deal. As you've said yourself, you've denied it to anyone who ever mentioned such a thing to you. You were clearly barely willing to admit it to me, and I would think knowing about your metal limbs would be an even bigger secret than your knowing alchemy. Outdated though it is, it's not unheard of."

But it is unheard of. You just wouldn't understand that unless you saw it.

"What can I say, my priorities are all over the place."

Remus gives him a level stare. "You know that's not what I meant," he says, gently. "I'm happy to hear you're opening up. You've changed a lot in a very short amount of time, but I feel like you're happier for it. Less burdened by whatever was haunting you a year ago."

Strange, the passage of time.

A year ago, Ed would have been outraged at the suggestion that he was happier now, isolated in a universe apart from his brother and the world as he knew it.

Now, he doesn't let it bother him. He knows what Remus is referring to, knows that making the best of a frankly shit situation doesn't mean he's betraying anyone or giving up on any of the promises he'd made before this time. And most of all, he knows that having the relationships he does in this reality does not detract from the relationships he has back home.

"Well, you see, a bunch of well-meaning people basically threatened me with care and attention so I was forced," Ed says, because he's a contrary bastard, too.

Remus finally laughs and Ed can't stop from cracking a grin as well.

* * * * *

Before Ed leaves, Remus makes a point of assuring him he's not going to share any information without Ed's explicit say-so, which makes Ed realize he wasn't ever truly worried about Remus reporting to Dumbledore in the first place.

"I trust you," Ed says, shrugging, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You going to hunt down my enemies for me?"

"Perhaps not 'hunt'," Remus snorts, "but I'm planning to look into it as I do some digging on Harry's circumstances. I'll be talking to Sirius though."

There's an unspoken question there.

"Yeah, of course. You can tell him. Despite how I act, you know how I feel about him."

"That I do," Remus muses.

When the werewolf falls silent, Ed speaks up. "What is it?"

"What was, what was actually the purpose of that alchemy circle?"

Ed knows instantly which one Remus is referring to. It is the only array that's been shown to any of the wizards in this reality.

He smiles, bitter and fragile.

"A mistake," he says bluntly. "Don't ask me about it anymore. Please."

"Alright," Remus replies softly. "I'm sorry."

"You didn't know," Ed says.

No one does.

He's already made up his mind that there's no point in making his background in alchemy common knowledge, even if he's admitted it to Remus. Perhaps he'll be less weirdly secretive about it, since it's obviously just making him seem suspicious to the wizards, but he has no plans to freely volunteer the information. He'll agree to it if someone asks, but they don't ever need to know the specifics.

They don't, after all, know exactly what his alchemy entails.

And he resolves to keep it that way.

* * * * *

There is an article published in The Prophet two days before the term begins, written by none other than Rita Skeeter.

It's an intentionally "scandalous" rendition of the genetic history of one Rubeus Hagrid and it elicits the desired result from the majority of the Hogwarts student body, barring one Edward Elric.

The reaction inspired by the article is everything Ed despises about this universe, filled with seemingly endless possibilities yet so incredibly limited by its own ideals. The majority of students can't stop themselves from gossiping about it — and who even knows how the rest of the wizarding world are taking it.

What's happening to Hagrid's reputation simply because his mother was a giant is appalling, but it's nothing new.

That same attitude was evident in the way Remus would by no means have a place at Hogwarts if parents and students were aware of his being a werewolf.

And in the way Winky would have struggled for employment and her general quality of life would have suffered just because one asshole decided to fire her.

Or the way Kreacher wouldn't be allowed to live in his own home if Sirius were enough of a dick to end his contract.

Just. What the fuck.

"Can you believe this garbage?" Ed rants, to pretty much anyone who will listen. "She's still employed, how is that even possible!"

"You're not surprised by the whole half-giant thing?" Ginny asks, more out of curiosity than any ill will.

"Are you?" Ed says back. "The man literally towers over everyone, your brother included."

(Ron is notoriously tall, even for a fourteen year old. Ed's certainly not bitter about that.)

"You've got a point," Ginny replies. "And no, I can't say I'm surprised by it."

"How the fuck did she even get this kind of information? No one even talks to her on the school grounds anymore," Ed continues, clenching The Prophet article so tightly in his hand that it tears.

"Maybe she snuck in?" Neville suggests.

"That's impossible," Fred says.

"Yeah," George nods, "there are only so many ways to come inside undetected and as far as we know, there aren't many people who know about them."

Blaise has been noticeably quiet for the duration of Ed's ranting, staying out of the conversation as much as possible. And that's an elephant in the room, so to speak, since all of them know why he's choosing to make himself scarce in conversations like these.

No one really knows how to talk about it. Ed knows how he'd prefer to call Blaise and his potential prejudices out, but like he's told Hermione before, there's a certain amount of skill and delicacy required in changing people's mindsets. It's easy enough to preach at someone, but most of the time, it just makes them resentful and defensive about their own beliefs.

So, he hasn't said anything to drag Blaise into saying something about the matter.

In due time, he'll do it.

He needs to do that with all of the Slytherins, but he doesn't think they'd listen to him even now, when the other Slytherins are almost friendly with him.

It's fine.

He has enough time to prevent a war, doesn't he?

He's gotten three of the Horcruxes, although he's not exactly sure how many more he needs to find. He also has one of the so-called Hallows and he knows where the other two are, but can't really do much about that right now. And Tom Riddle, wherever his soul is now, hasn't been directly active since Harry Potter expelled him from that professor almost three years ago.

Everything will go according to plan.

Even if it doesn't, he's rather experienced in the art of bulldozing his fucking way through any conflict.

He's sure that'll be good for something, should the occasion arise.

* * * * *

Following the Yule Ball, Remus gains notoriety amongst the student body as the husband of Sirius Black.

"We're not married," Remus says awkwardly, when a Ravenclaw asks him how they met.

"Yet," Ed mutters to himself.

Remus shoots him a look.

There's a sudden murmur as Ed's fellow classmates speculate about what had just transpired between them. Ed slouches in his seat and scowls at Remus, who's visibly holding back a put upon frown.

While no one had directly heard the interaction between Remus, Sirius, and the book club members at the Yule Ball, it's not like anyone had missed the fact that the pair had gone out of their way to greet Ed and his friends specifically.

There's been a wild number of rumors suggesting everything from Remus being one of Neville's distant, by-marriage-and-not-blood uncles to Sirius knowing Amara Zabini and therefore maintaining (or in this case, rebuilding) his reputation as a pureblood. Pretty much everything under the fake sun in the Great Hall sky has been suggested since the Ball, except for the idea that Sirius and Remus are Ed's responsible adults.

He'd like to keep it that way, but he doubts it will. It feels like his entire life is being exposed slowly, the longer he spends time in this reality, like a photograph being developed for everyone to see.

The truth will out, or so they say.

Maybe it's inevitable.

Maybe Truth is inevitable.

He'd certainly thought he'd keep to himself until this little "favor" was over, just focus on completing his at-the-time simple tasks and remain as uninvolved as possible in the affairs of this world.

Yet look at him now, giving away bits of himself left and right. Willingly, too.

And he is happier for it, like Remus said.

It's easier to breathe, for lack of better explanation. Like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders and he's not one person trying to hold up the entire world by himself.

He wonders for the first time if he'll be markedly different in Al's eyes when he returns and he doesn't know how he'll recognize who he was with who he's becoming.

The thought terrifies him.

* * * * *

Hagrid doesn't show up for the first Care of Magical Creatures class of the term.

Ed would say he's surprised, but he's not and he's always been terrible at hiding his feelings. He's furious from the very moment Professor Grubbyplank starts class as if she's always been there and he's radiating anger from every pore as he stands with the rest of his peers.

He's not sure who to be upset with.

Wizarding society, clearly, but it's pointless to waste energy on hating the age-old ideals of an entire society.

Hogwarts, for allowing Hagrid to feel so small and vulnerable that he's avoiding class.

Rita Skeeter, but he's already made plans to ruin her life whenever convenient for him.

He's seething as he gets to work and everyone in the vicinity gives him a wide berth.

It's Blaise who joins his angry little group of one, silently preparing his own notes for the rest of class.

"Terrible, isn't it," he says simply.

Ed whirls around to face him, somewhat surprised. "What is?"

He makes a face like he's questioning Ed's intelligence. "What's happened to Hagrid, obviously."

Blaise has been one of Ed's friends for a while now, but Ed knows exactly what topics the Slytherin won't ever discuss. He hasn't yet pressed the issue, because that's just not how you get people to reflect on their own beliefs.

In this moment, Ed can't say for sure if Blaise is saying so for his sake, rather than for Hagrid's.

"It is terrible," he agrees, turning the thought over and over in his head. "If I'm being honest, I didn't think you would care. Actually, to be real fucking frank, I thought you'd be a prejudiced asshole about this."

Blaise actually smiles at that. "Yes, I can see why you'd think so."

He pauses, idly flipping through his textbook.

"A year ago I wouldn't have," he admits softly. "Even now… I'm still trying to educate myself. To let go of the idea that certain people are inherently better than others. The book club, us reading about those Muggle inventions, that's certainly helped."

Ed wonders if this is how a proud parent feels.

"Even just thinking about how you Muggles have pens and we're still using quills," Blaise adds wryly, to which Ed can't help letting out a disbelieving laugh.

"It's that easy? Just like that."

Blaise snorts and the sound is entirely undignified. "No, you fucking idiot —" Ed chokes, since Blaise knows exactly what he's saying now "— it's not easy at all. It's possibly the hardest thing I've ever tried to do." He shakes his head slightly. "To admit that I'm wrong — no, actually, to admit we were, are wrong. It's not easy. It won't ever be easy, but they say we're ambitious for a reason." With that said, Blaise has had enough introspection. "Now, are you going to help me or are you going to be useless for the rest of class?"

"Fuck you, Zabini," Ed grins.

Blaise discreetly rolls his eyes, but Ed catches the smile on his face before he turns away.

* * * * *

Hermione, somewhat surprisingly, chases Ed down shortly after being dismissed by Grubbyplank.

"Ed!" she says, gaining attention from not only her intended target, but also the busybody students wandering the halls at the same time.

Ed stops in his tracks and eyes her curiously, if not a tad warily. "You need something?"

Hermione comes to a stop before him and hesitates, only for a moment. "I wanted to talk about Hagrid."

Weird. She's not the type to be prejudiced.

"What about him," Ed says, narrowing his eyes.

She scowls. "I'm not—, I mean, you can't possibly be thick enough to think I have a problem with him?"

"You never know," Ed replies, relaxing as he does, "sometimes people can surprise you in the worst of ways."

And there's that calculating gaze, the thoughtful wrinkle between her brows as she turns the words over in her head.

"I suppose," she replies, "but they can also surprise you in a good way, can't they?"

"Rarely," Ed admits begrudgingly. "Anyways. Hagrid?"

"Oh, right," she says, almost sheepishly. "Would you be interested in reforming SPEW with me?"

"What the hell does that have to do with Hagrid?"

Hermione frowns. "That's what I need help with. You were right, of course. No one's willing to listen to me about SPEW and the more research I do, the more things I want to change. I need help and no one else has expressed even the slightest interest in doing so. Except you."

Ed rubs a hand over his face as he exhales sharply. "You haven't asked Harry or Ron?"

She looks tired. "They heard me talking, but weren't actually listening. They think SPEW is embarrassing, they just don't say it to my face, but I can tell."

"You know, I'm not the easiest person to work with," Ed points out. "You good with that?"

Hermione smirks slightly. "I'm sure I can handle yet another troublemaker, I already have three years of experience."

"Whatever," Ed rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I'll help you. I've got some ideas."

"Perfect," Hermione says, perking up instantly. "When would you like to plan meetings? I'd like to set an itinerary and an agenda, so we can be as productive as possible. I know you're probably busy, since the next task is coming up, but I'm positive you'll make time, seeing as you've agreed. Right?" She grins and Ed doesn't know what made him think Hermione isn't a manipulative troublemaker herself.

"Right," he says.

Truth help him, what did he just sign up for?

* * * * *

It's mentioned in conversation by nearly everyone who talks to him these days, ranging from loose references to blunt questions.

"Have you figured out the egg yet?" Neville asks.

"Nope," Ed replies, still abnormally confident for a person who has no clue what they're doing. (Although, to be fair, Ed hasn't fully known what he's doing long before he was dropped into this universe.) "Why're you asking?"

"Because you should be concerned," Neville answers, that familiar wrinkle of worry showing up between his brows. "The next task is not that far off."

Ed shrugs. "What could be worse than dragons, Nev. What other bullshit could they possibly have planned after their first move was literal dragons."

"I dunno," Fred interjects, "maybe you'll be in a wizard duel to the death."

"Are you stupid," Ginny says, smacking her brother across the back of the head. "They're obviously not about to do that."

"You never know! We didn't think the first one would be dragons." Fred scowls, rubbing his head.

"He's right," George and Luna say in unison.

"Okay, I get the idea," Ed grumbles. "I don't see why I can't just sit this one out too. 'S not like I made an effort with the dragons either."

"And you could've been killed for it," George points out.

"You're lucky to be here at all," Blaise says. "We all thought you weren't going to make it. Draco was quite concerned."

Huh. Didn't know Draco thought about me as a person.

"How nice of him," Ed says, only a little sarcastic. "Has he got any suggestions for not dying moving forward?"

Blaise shrugs. "You can ask him sometime. He has… ideas."

"Obviously not any good ones if you're going to say it like that," Ginny says.

"I didn't say anything," Blaise replies.

"Exactly," Ginny says, "and your silence says everything for you."

"Has anyone else learned about their egg?" Luna asks Ed.

He shrugs. "Haven't really talked to anyone since the ball. Even if they did, there's no reason that they have to tell me."

"Well, you did blab about the dragons to all of them. Don't you think they'd return the favor?" Fred says.

"Eh, maybe? It's not like I'm in this to win and I doubt Harry is either. Fleur and Krum are, so I'm not really sure if they're going to say anything, even if they do figure this stupid thing out."

* * * * *

He's wrong, because the universe (or perhaps just Truth) loves to spite him.

* * * * *

Viktor is the first to come find him.

"The egg," he says and then hands him a piece of parchment where he'd scribbled down what looks to be a poem.

"What?" Ed says, bemused.

"The egg," Viktor repeats and taps the poem. "It sings this song."

"Oh," Ed responds, glancing down at it. "Thanks. Uh, why'd you tell me, though?"

Viktor shrugs. "It is what you would have done, no?"

He smiles, pats Ed on the head twice like he doesn't know what else to do with his hands, and waves goodbye as he trots away.

"What the fuck just happened," Ed says aloud, bringing a hand up to the top of his head.

* * * * *

It just keeps getting weirder.

"Have you done anything with your egg?" Fleur asks him, a few hours after Viktor's approach.

"Not particularly," he says, thinking about the poem he'd put away for another time. "I'm not too worried about it."

She eyes him and sighs. "You should listen to it underwater. It has a message about the next task."

"Oh," he says, taken aback. "Thanks. Thank you, I'll try that."

Fleur wiggles her fingers and is gone with a flip of her hair.

* * * * *

He figures he'll tell Harry about it, in case the youngest champion is struggling with preparations for the next task, but Harry seeks him out first.

"You've got to take a bath," Harry blurts out.

"Are you trying to tell me something about how I smell?"

"No!" Harry groans. "Just, the egg. In the bath. Trust me."

"How'd you figure that one out?" Ed asks, curious if they're all just working together without admitting it outright.

"Bagman," Harry says, a frown on his face. "He seems to really want me to win or something. I don't even know, the man is relentless. And I was running out of ideas. And time."

"Well," Ed says, thinking about Bagman as he does, "thanks for the tip. I'll try it out."

"Good." Harry nods enthusiastically. "Okay, I've got to run. I'm going to be late."

Ed watches him run down the hallway to what he imagines is the other boy's next class.

What exactly did Bagman want from Harry?

* * * * *

Even with the transcribed song in hand, courtesy of Viktor, Ed decides he's going to procrastinate, because he has better things to do with his time than worry about the Triwizard Tournament.

He's completing his schoolwork, attending class, spending time with his friends, keeping in touch with both Sirius and Remus on a regular basis, and still researching and planning for his Horcrux hunt and subsequent confrontation with Riddle.

On top of that, he's been roped into weekly meetings with Hermione, who's fastidious and obsessive and downright terrifying when she wants to get things done. (And she's not above breaking a couple laws to get her way, which Ed respects in a person.)

Not to mention the unspeakable amount of time he's been trying to spend on subtly poking at the superiority complex a lot of the pureblood Slytherins have.

He doesn't read Viktor's note until the end of January.

"Come seek us where our voices sound," Ed mutters, furrowing his brow, "we cannot sing above the ground."

He skims the rest of it and understands that he's supposed to find something within an hour, with an ominous promise that whatever it is he's looking for, it'll be lost when his time is up.

But what is he to make of that first part?

He brings the note to one of the book club meetings and his friends are eager to assist him.

"Who's 'us'?" Neville asks.

"If it's not above ground, perhaps it's underground," Luna says. "Mole people? But I've heard they're not very good at singing."

"Everyone said the egg had to be held underwater," George thinks aloud. "Wouldn't that mean the next task is underwater?"

"Mermaids," Luna says. "There are mermaids in the lake. And their songs are beautiful."

Ed blinks. "You mean I have to swim?"

"Most likely," Blaise answers. "Why? Do you know how to swim?"

He can't focus on the conversation, because he's too busy losing his shit internally.

The twins exchange glances, as they realize what the problem potentially is.

Everyone else assumes his silence refers to his inability to swim.

"What's the big deal? Ed can't swim, it's fine. He's got time to learn," Ginny points out. "It only takes, what, a day or two to figure it out? The actual issue here would be that you'd have to figure out how to breathe underwater or something."

If it were a matter of Ed simply not knowing how to swim, everything Ginny had just said would make perfect sense.

Ginny, Blaise, Luna, and Neville stare at Ed, waiting for some kind of response.

Ed knows how to swim.

Fred openly gapes at Ed.

George sums it up perfectly.

"Fuck."

Ed doesn't even have it in him to rebuke him.

* * * * *

Right then and there, he can't quite bring himself to tell the rest of the book club about his automail. Honestly, it shouldn't be a big deal, just as Ginny pointed out, especially now that it's not a complete secret. Several of the adults in his life now know, Fred and George know, and he wouldn't be surprised if Luna knew and hadn't mentioned it to him directly.

Why the hell is he like this sometimes?

It's not a big deal — it won't be a big deal to them either, beyond the initial shock.

But for some reason, he just can't open his mouth and say he's approximately 12% metal and that he'll sink like a stone. And who knows if there's magic available that could remedy that or if magic is even compatible with automail — would it be compatible now that it's made by a goblin?

When he continues to not say anything, George is the one to step in and make excuses for him.

"Maybe Ed's, he's, he could be nervous."

"Nervous," Blaise repeats, an eyebrow raised ever so slightly in a look of disbelief.

Fred bristles on Ed's behalf. "Hey, we can't all be like you!"

"That's true," Blaise replies, "none of you could be this poised."

Ginny snorts. "You realize calling yourself poised makes you seem stuck up and pathetic."

The Slytherin rolls his eyes. "Back to the matter at hand," he says, conveniently ignoring Ginny's argument, "do you need swimming lessons, dear?"

"No," Ed says, forcing himself to speak. "I know how to swim."

"Then why didn't you just say something!" Ginny demands. "You had us thinking this was going to be like the dragons all over again. This task seems arguably easier. Just get in, get the thing, and then get out."

"Aren't mermaids territorial?" Neville points out. "And the song said an hour. How's Ed supposed to breathe underwater for an hour?"

"I just won't," Ed decides, right then and there.

They all look at him with varying degrees of confusion.

"I didn't fight the dragon, I'm not going to swim," he explains, crossing his arms. "I refuse."

"Well," Ginny says, stretching the word out. "It's not a good plan by any means, but it's very you."

"Are you afraid of water?" Blaise asks innocently.

Ed winces. "No."

I'm not afraid of water, I'm concerned about what'll be revealed by it.

He can't go swimming in a sweater and leather trousers and boots laced up his calf. Even without automail, he'd drown.

"Don't you want to at least have some sort of a back up plan, in case everything goes, you know —" vague gestures in the air "— wrong?"

"I'd rather die," he says stubbornly.

"You're being worse about this than the dragons," Ginny says, standing up as she does. "And frankly, I don't like the idea of watching you die just because you won't talk about your problems. We're trying to help you, Ed, and you're making it terribly difficult right now to be a good friend."

She leaves without another word.

They all watch her go.

"She's got a point." Neville blinks slowly as he turns to face Ed. "I'd rather not have a repeat of the dragons."

"I would agree on that front," Blaise adds.

He still can't bring himself to say it.

"Take some time," Luna suggests. "Think about it. We'd like to help you though. And if you happen to decide you're ready to share, we'll be ready to listen."

She gives his left hand a squeeze.

"Just think about it, okay?"

"Alright," he rasps. "I will."

* * * * *

Ed and the twins linger behind after the book club meeting comes to a stilted end.

"Are you going to tell them?" George asks, nonchalant.

"I don't know," Ed answers, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

"You don't have to," George points out. "They'd understand."

"I know."

"Maybe you can get an exemption or something from the headmasters or from, I dunno, Crouch," Fred rambles. "They can't make you swim."

"I guess," Ed sighs, closing his eyes.

His head is throbbing. He's been trying to figure out why he's being so tight-lipped about everything, when it's not like he hasn't already told some people.

There's something exhausting about revealing myself for judgment, over and over and over again.

Maybe it's that he's tired of making himself vulnerable when he usually isn't.

Not that anyone's abused the information he's given them or that he's given away anything that incriminates him as a reality-traveling outsider — he's not sure that kind of information would be believable, no matter how much anyone here trusts him.

If it hadn't happened to him, he wouldn't believe it either.

The automail isn't important. It really, truly isn't, in the grand scheme of things.

And yet he's still completely reluctant to reveal it.

* * * * *

He goes to see Madame Pomfrey the very next day and informs her that he's in need of suggestions.

She becomes deathly still as he talks, although he can very much feel the waves of outrage radiating from her.

"They're expecting you to swim," she repeats, each word cutting.

Ed knows she's not angry with him, specifically because she's been furious with him many times before, but that doesn't stop him from wincing slightly at her glare.

"Will you?"

"Uh. Well. I'm not sure," Ed admits and it's his first time feeling uncertain in a long time. "Technically, I'd sink. But, uh, if you think it'll be okay, then I'll swim. As a last resort."

"I'm presuming, you're planning on sitting this one out, as well?"

Ed nods. "I'd like to be involved with this tournament as little as possible."

She glares. "And what good does that do when it brings you back to my hospital wing, burned to the point of limping?"

He was hoping she'd forgotten about that by now. Then again, he thinks if he didn't have people like Ginny or Poppy Pomfrey in his life to call him out on his bullshit, he'd probably actually be dead by now.

"Well, I didn't die?"

She looks just about ready to kill him right then and there, so he wisely decides to keep his mouth shut.

"I wouldn't recommend it," she says, at last. "I don't know what kind of spellwork you'd need to keep your limbs in good condition while under the water for that long of a time. I'm also unsure what kind of reaction a combination of spells will have with your limbs when considering they're goblin-made."

She looks him over.

"Have you spoken with any of the Tournament officials or the headmaster?"

"No," Ed says, "I didn't really want to tell them about my personal issues relating to the upcoming task."

"I'll have a word with them," Madame Pince says, stern. "In the meantime, I suggest you look into some durable feather-light charms and waterproofing spells."

"Do you think it'll do anything?"

She purses her lips. "It will be better than if you do nothing. Now, off you go."

And she shoos him out the door.

* * * * *

Ed goes back and forth about the pros and cons of telling the rest of his friends about his automail.

On one hand, it'd be nice to have (almost) everything out in the open. No more secrets (somewhat), no more hiding for the sake of hiding. It'd be great to show them he meant it when he said he trusts them and appreciates their friendship.

On the other (automail) hand, he's not sure what kind of reaction the automail will inspire in the others. Given enough time, he doesn't think it'll bother them, but he knows how well-meaning Sirius and Remus had been when they'd discussed it with him and even the twins, who had been fascinated by the novel idea, had been appalled at the idea of having his prosthetic bolted into his flesh.

Because apparently, that's barbaric, but growing bones out of nothing and replacing limbs with liquid magic isn't.

He can tell them and it'll be simple and freeing.

And it'll be like he's actually letting them know him, just like Luna had said months ago.

Part of him thinks he's only hanging onto the secrecy because revealing such big things about himself like the automail or the alchemy after being incredibly unforthcoming feels dishonest, like he'd been withholding the information from people so they wouldn't hate him.

That's what had driven him to provide some version of the truth to Sirius.

If he didn't feel so damn guilty, he'd probably keep these things to himself forever.

He's a coward when it comes to himself and his personal relationships.

What's stopping him now, other than his own fear?

* * * * *

He gives it all of two days before he makes up his mind and bites the bullet.

"You're probably wondering why I've gathered you here today," Ed says, trying to start off on the right foot. (Ironically, he's only got a right foot. The left one is currently property of a figureless asshole.)

They're in the kitchens again and it's late, far later than students are typically allowed to be out of bed.

Ed is inadvertently encouraging his friends to become active rulebreakers and they're all just going along with it like they have nothing better to do — aside from the twins, who were active rulebreakers to start with.

It's almost midnight.

"Not really," Ginny says.

"Great," Ed says. "This is off to a great start."

The rest of the book club exchange glances.

"What did you want to talk about, Fullmetal?" Luna asks, patiently.

"About the next task… I guess I just wanted to explain myself."

Fred and George stiffen at that, trying to communicate with Ed wordlessly over Blaise and Neville's heads. He ignores them, because he doesn't want to lose his nerve.

"Do you have an irrational fear of deep water?" Ginny asks. "Because I totally get that. No one knows what's in there! And it's dark! What if something eats you or something?"

Ed snorts. "That's not the problem. And I know how to swim, too."

"Alright," Neville says, nodding along. "So, the problem is?"

Take a deep breath, Fullmetal.

"I've got auto–, I mean, I've got prosthetic limbs," he blurts out.

Fred's eyes are huge and look almost at risk of popping out of their sockets.

There's not really a discernible reaction amongst his friends who were in the dark, but George makes a little motion, as if to say, go on.

"They look… different, from maybe what you're used to."

Luna's expression softens and Neville gives him an encouraging smile.

"Wait… limbs, as in multiple?" Ginny says, after a moment, blunt as ever.

"Ginny," George hisses between his teeth.

"What? I'm just saying, he said limbs, as in multiple, they, as in multiple!"

"It's fine," Ed says to George. "And yeah, a couple. Arm and a leg."

Ginny's lips form an O. "Is this what you meant about your fucked up hand?"

Fred lets out an unintelligible groan and George looks just about ready to step on his sister's toes.

Ed smiles a little bit at their protectiveness.

"Remembered that, did you?" He promptly takes off his gloves — the left one first — much to the shock of his friends and wiggles his automail fingers.

"So. This, this is me," he says, rolling up his sleeve slightly as well. "And I don't really want to broadcast this for everyone to see. Which, yeah. That's why swimming is a no for me."

Blaise, Ginny, and Neville are too focused on the movement of his automail to pay attention to what he's saying.

"I mean," Neville says carefully, "I really appreciate you letting us know about it, but it doesn't look too different? Like it's visibly your arm. So, maybe swimming would be possible?"

"I'm not sure yet," Ed admits. "I've talked to Pomfrey about it and she said she'd say something to the officials and let me know. So now it's just a waiting game." He bites on the inside of his cheek. "And it's not really the arm itself that looks different."

He tugs on the collar of his sweater, exposing the scarred, raw flesh beneath the bolts of his automail port.

This, at least, elicits a more familiar reaction from Neville, whose face instantly drains of blood. Blaise exhales sharply between his teeth and Ginny yelps at the sight of it.

Luna takes it in quietly, her eyes tracing the visible skin without any judgment.

"Leg's the same above the knee," Ed says quietly. "It's not really something I can hide if I'm stripping to jump into the lake. Also, it's heavy."

"If you don't, don't mind me asking," Neville starts, "what happened?"

It's a fair question, now that Ed's shown them.

"Childhood accident," he says. "It was, uh, pretty bad. I was trying to do a, a spell, that I knew I shouldn't have. And um, yeah. This is the direct result."

There really is only one type of magic that could backfire so horribly: dark magic.

He knows they know that and he lets them soak in the information — he knows it's a lot to take in and he's lived it.

Fred and George sidle closer to Ed.

"It'll be okay," Fred says, somewhat gentle in his demeanor. It's out of character for Fred, Ed notes, but he appreciates the gesture.

"They love you, you know that?" George murmurs. "We all do. We want you to be happy. We want to be worth your trust. Everything will be okay."

Blaise clears his throat and Ed looks up from his hands.

"This doesn't change anything," he says. "You're still Ed. You're still the most ridiculous Hufflepuff I've ever heard of."

"Exactly," Neville agrees. "You're still Ed."

Ginny smiles tightly and reminds him that shit happens, but it doesn't make you who you are, unless you allow it to do so.

"No matter what anyone tries to suggest," she says.

He exhales shakily, a little disbelieving of how well everything's been going lately. Not just with this conversation, but with the tournament and with Remus and Sirius, too.

"Why'd you want to do the spell?" Luna asks quietly.

"I thought I could see someone again," he admits. "I was eleven."

Luna looks straight into his eyes and he thinks if he asks, she'd know just what kind of a spell could reanimate the dead.

"I'm glad you're here," she says instead, and he can hear what she isn't saying.

I'm glad you're still alive.

"Me too, Loony."

She gets up and pulls him into a hug. Not too long after, Fred grabs him tightly, and George is right behind. Neville quickly join in and Ginny motions for Blaise to join the group hug. When Ed attempts to wriggle his way out after a few minutes of him not knowing what to do with himself, everyone protests and he just sighs.

"We love you," Luna says firmly. "I insist you let it happen."

He does.

* * * * *

It's now so late at night that it's technically early morning.

They've been having another one of their impromptu all-nighters, mostly to continue to solidify their friendship while subtly reassuring Ed that he's still very much the same Edward Elric they've known all along.

"You know," Ginny starts, "this isn't really what I thought you were gathering us for."

"Yeah, also I thought you guys planned this." Neville looks towards the twins.

"Us?" Fred says. "I thought it was you!"

"I thought it was Luna," George shrugs.

Luna smiles. "I knew it was Ed."

"Good to know none of you thought I planned this," Blaise says. "You think of me so highly."

"You know that isn't the point," Ginny huffs.

Ed has no idea they were all conspiring behind his back. "What did you think was going to happen?"

They all continue to give him that same incredulous stare.

"Happy birthday, Fullmetal," Luna finally says, smiling as she does.

"Happy birthday, Ed!" the Gryffindors cheer.

Blaise smiles. "Congratulations on turning a year older and not growing a single centimeter."

He'd forgotten.

Actually, he'd forgotten the year before, too, because usually it's Al that mentions it and otherwise, he almost never notices. His birthday is just another day in the year to him, another day he's going to spend working to get Al's body back.

In this reality, his birthday means even less.

Or at least, it used to.

"Thank you, guys," he says. "It means a lot."