Ed can smell the smoke in the air long before he exits the tent and right before he ventures out, he starts to hear a series of screams not too far off in the distance.
The world is steadily growing on fire outside, hellish orange flames eating away at the edges of the campground.
He runs back inside, yelling at the top of his lungs.
"Get up!" he shouts, shaking a few of the Weasleys as he goes. "We need to go now!"
"Wha–? Ed?" Fred squints at him in the dim light of the tent.
"Bloody hell, whad'ya talkin' 'bout?" Ron mumbles, turning over in his bedroll.
"Something bad's going on outside, everything's on fire, and people are screaming, so get the fuck up, we NEED TO RUN!" Ed shouts.
Mr. Weasley is quick to check outside the tent and confirm Ed's words.
"We're leaving immediately," he says, pulling on his coat. "Leave everything."
Mr. Weasley directs the not quite seventeen-year-olds to run away from the approaching madness, while taking Percy along with him as he rushes towards it.
"We need to help if we can," he says grimly. "Head for the forest, it'll be safer there."
Ed is fully prepared to protect the civilians inexperienced wizards and guide them to safety before running off and doing his own thing, because there is no fucking way, alternate reality or not, that the Fullmetal Alchemist is going to sit on his ass and let people get hurt just because he's not of legal age here.
He's never cared for laws before and he has no intention of starting the habit now.
"You heard him," Ed says impatiently. "Let's go."
"We're not listening to you," Hermione says, scandalized by the very thought.
Ed presses his hands to his eyes, the stress building up as pressure against his skull. "Then fucking listen to Mr. Weasley and start running like your god damn life depends on it, because for all we fucking know, it DOES," he snaps.
Hermione pales slightly, before scowling and opening her mouth to argue again, when Ron grips her by the shoulder and shakes his head.
"Prick's right," he says.
"Oi, you lot, hurry up!" Fred yells, a few steps ahead of them. "You can fight about this petty shite later!"
"Language," Ed hisses, but he's already grabbing for his wand and shoving the rest of the underaged wizards towards the trees. "Run!"
They're fully into the forest when Ginny shouts at them, grabbing the twins by the arms. "Where's the rest of them?"
Ed is going to strangle the Chosen One with his bare hands. How the fuck did that particular trio manage to get lost when they were literally all running together?
"Fuck, why the fuck does this always happen!" Ed mutters, trying to think out the best plan. He doesn't want to drag the other civilians underaged wizards back into the mess they just left behind, but he can't in good conscience leave those three idiots to fend for themselves, whatever they got themselves into this time.
"Ugh, alright, fuck. We're going to look for them, but we are sticking together."
Fred and George nod, grim.
"Let's go," Ginny says, face twisted in concern.
They start to run back towards the clearing.
Whatever is going on in the campgrounds is getting significantly worse, seeing as Ed spots a number of hauntingly still bodies float up into the air when they break from the treeline.
"Death Eaters," George breathes, halting suddenly as his eyes turn wide and horrified. "They, that can, oh Merlin, they must, there must be Death Eaters."
The other three turn quickly to see what George is staring at and are confronted with the scene of three masked wizards hexing a person who is clearly a Muggle, easily recognized by attire alone.
The Muggle screams, writhes, then goes unnaturally limp as they sail upward.
Ed's blood boils.
He hasn't felt so angry in so long, instantly outraged at the sheer audacity of weak-minded fools to torment and gang up on an innocent person, hidden behind a mask of all things.
He hasn't seen such cowardice in years.
"Hey, assholes!"
Ed's off and running before any of his friends can stop him, sprinting with purpose towards the Death Eaters, who turn towards the sound of his voice.
* * * * *
Here's the thing about wizards that Ed, Muggle-born wizards, Muggles, and anyone with even two brain cells would notice about magic-based fights: wizards are basically one-trick ponies.
Is magic incredibly broad in its application? Fuck yeah, there are things made possible that Ed honestly considers a violation of natural laws, no matter how normal it is to a wizard. Magic is only as limited as the imagination of the person who wields it.
But do wizards also get stuck thinking their wand is enough to deal with any given situation? Hell yeah.
With that piece of information in mind, this is Edward Elric's Step-By-Step Guide to Beating Up a Death Eater.
Step 1: break their wand.
Step 2: any fucking thing you want because now they're utterly helpless and at your mercy.
* * * * *
Death Eater #1 raises their wand as if to send a spell Ed's way, but he's quicker to the punch — literally.
He raises his left arm to block their wand arm, using enough force to elicit a strangled shout from them, while simultaneously pulling back his right arm and punching the wizard directly in the center of their mask.
His automail doesn't get any sensation, but Ed can hear the audible crunch of the Death Eater's nose where his fist collides with their face.
Spotting movement in his peripheral vision, Ed automatically ducks down and sweeps his leg out to the side, making contact with Death Eater #2's shins. Their wand goes flying out of their hand and Ed barely has time to process that Death Eater #1 is bent over, both hands clasped over the cracked mask, blood spilling freely between their fingers, before Death Eater #3 shoots a series of angry red sparks at him.
"You fuck!" Ed shouts, leaping off to the side and rolling back to his feet.
He charges at the last Death Eater, ignoring their two comrades struggling back up to their feet.
Clearly, none of these idiots have ever had someone attempt a physical counterattack — actually, it seems like they've never met someone willing to attempt one at all.
Ed dodges several other spells, the pressure of magic behind them shoving past him as he tries to get closer to the Death Eater.
He gets in close, to the alarm of the wizard (who shrieks, mind you), and jabs directly into their kidney. They immediately hunch over with a wheeze, dropping their wand as they do.
Wow.
Not that Ed thought this through in any way, shape, or form, but he'd anticipated being somewhat rusty in the physical confrontation area of his skill set, considering the last time he'd thrown a punch had been at Draco, and that'd been one with very different intentions from his current ones.
But as Ed raises his fists to his face in a hasty fighting stance, he stops abruptly as he realizes that all but one of the Death Eaters have lost their grips on their wands and are frantically searching the grass for any sign of their stupid little sticks.
And that's really what it is, isn't it? A stupid little stick that makes them think they're so much better than a non-magical person.
Death Eater #2, who still has their wand, shouts, "Accio wands!", bringing Ed right back into the thick of things. He lunges as one of the wands whizz by his face, just barely managing to snatch it out of the air.
The other wand ends up in Death Eater #2's extended hand and #2 grabs their helpless comrades and apparates before Ed can reach them.
"FUCK!" Ed yells. "WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!"
He clenches his fists and the foreign wand in his hand splinters. He tosses it off to the side.
"Good fucking riddance," he mutters.
The floating Muggle suddenly collapses and Ed lunges to catch them, with assistance from his friends, who rush over to his side.
The man is portly and not much taller than Ed, which is convenient as he directs George to help him carry the man to safety.
"Were—, bloody hell, were you actually a Muggle Death Eater?" Fred asks weakly.
Ed scowls. "A what?"
"Now's not the time, Fred," Ginny says.
The Weasleys look freaked out. They're paler than usual and their faces are eerily lit up by the flickering orange light of the surrounding fires.
"It'll be okay," Ed says, ignoring Fred's question for now. "We'll be okay."
He's not sure that's as reassuring as he means it to be when there's blood drying on his gloves — at least it's not his blood this time around.
Fuck, I forgot they were here.
This isn't exactly the same as Ed's previous fights, but it's not an unfamiliar sight: rampaging fires, assholes acting like they can do whatever they want to whoever they want without any consequences, screaming and pandemonium as civilians run for cover.
Cue the Fullmetal Alchemist.
Taking down belligerent weaklings with a single swing of his fist is a natural instinct and having an audience in the form of bystanders isn't out of the norm.
The problem lies in the fact that Ed hadn't ever known the bystanders before.
And he hadn't ever been hiding his identity from them either. He'd always been proud to be an alchemist when it meant he could be helping people, even if most of them thought Al was the actual Fullmetal Alchemist.
He pulls himself back to the present and focuses on supporting the man hanging off of him and George, especially as he does his best to ignore the way Fred is babbling nervously behind him.
"I mean, I know you're Muggle-raised, but that was, well, that was bloody. As in, actual bodily fluids blood, bloody. Blood inside people, inside us, kind of bloody—"
"We can talk about it later, I swear, but Fred, this is literally the worst time for this," Ed says evenly, despite the multitude of things running through his brain at the moment.
There's the click of Fred's teeth from how fast he shuts his jaw.
The sudden lack of conversation only emphasizes the sound of screams and shouts surrounding them, growing exponentially louder.
George falters, turning to look as if on instinct.
"Don't look," Ed grits out between clenched teeth, tugging him by the shirt sleeve. "You can't–, no, we can't do anything right now. There's too many of them."
He pulls, a little harder this time, before George fully turns and starts to walk once more, but not without digging his nails into Ed's arm and grimacing all the while. Fred and Ginny hover around them as they move, all four of them now intently focusing on returning to the forest with the man in tow.
Ed feels utterly helpless in a way he hasn't felt in a long time.
Not because he can't deal with the Death Eaters, because he's pretty certain he could decimate them without relying on alchemy at all.
No, he feels helpless because he's never been controlled by social constraints relating to his perceived identity. Even now, he's fully capable of storming the clearing as a one-man army and fighting off the Death Eaters and protecting the vulnerable from further harm.
There are no alchemists here.
There is no expectation that Ed, as an underage wizard, can do much of anything in such a situation.
But he is an alchemist; whether other people know it or not, he knows it.
He lives it.
Be thou for the people.
If he's standing around, watching things turn to shit at the hands of a few masked criminals, he can't deign to call himself an alchemist anymore.
But if he uses alchemy, would that lead to more questions from his friends, from bystanders, from the Ministry, if things get that far?
Is it selfish to want to protect his identity as a displaced existence, when he knows he's capable of using his abilities for good?
Immovable rock, meet unstoppable force.
He struggles with the clashing sentiments in silence, wondering if Al would be ashamed of his actions. Would Winry?
There's a blast of magic from nearby.
"Oh," Fred says quietly. He's terrified, that much is clear, as he raises a trembling hand towards the sky.
Ed follows Fred's fingers and discovers the spell that went off casts an ominous green glow to the entirety of the campground.
"Dark mark," Ed mutters, scowling at the skull and snake circling the sky. "But who cast it?"
* * * * *
Ed has probably never met a person who has worse timing than Harry fucking Potter.
Despite Ed's earlier insistence that they run for cover, the usual suspects had run away from the forest and ended up in the midst of the chaos, appearing in the same clearing that the Dark Mark could be traced back to.
And whose wand should have been found to cast the spell other than Harry. Fucking. Potter.
(Granted, his wand had somehow ended up in the hands of Bartemius Crouch's house elf, but regardless, Harry fucking Potter has horrible timing.)
The only person dumber than Potter are the adult wizards accusing him of casting the spell at all, as if the Boy Who Lived would actually consider joining Riddle's forces. Said wizards are apparently members of the Ministry, which doesn't soothe Ed's concerns about the strength of the local wizarding government at all.
"It's your wand!" Crouch shouts.
"I told you, I lost it somewhere!" Harry says back, frustration all too clear. "I didn't cast that spell! I didn't even know what spell it was!"
"Idiot," Ed mutters, unsure if he's talking about Harry or Crouch at the moment. Either person works in this scenario anyway.
Ron and Hermione are standing protectively next to Harry, while Mr. Weasley is attempting to mediate a civil conversation between a fourteen-year-old boy and a high-ranking Ministry official.
Percy is busy at Crouch's side, fulfilling his role as Crouch's assistant.
Ed and the rest of the Weasleys linger on the edge of the clearing. The Muggle Ed and George had carried into the forest had been left with one of the emergency mediwizards who'd been rushed into the scene.
According to what Ed's overheard so far, the Death Eaters had apparated away at the first sign of the insignia scorched into the night sky, meaning they aren't the ones to put it there in the first place. But if you aren't a Death Eater to start with, why the hell would you care to shoot off a giant signal declaring you're one of Riddle's brainwashed minions?
"Do you really think the Boy Who Lived would be the one to conjure the Dark Mark?" Mr. Weasley asks earnestly.
Bartemius Crouch frowns deeply, as if the question offends him somehow. "But it's his wand."
Ed has had more logical arguments as a child than Crouch has now as a senior official and that's just pathetic.
Eventually, Crouch concedes, but not without causing further harm.
"Winky, you are dismissed."
The house elf sobs, begs at the feet of the man who cast her aside, while everyone else can't help but look on.
Hermione, in particular, appears outraged, her eyebrows furrowed in anger and the corner of her mouth turning down sharply.
The rest of the Ministry wizards begin preparations for a more official search of the clearing as Mr. Weasley ushers Harry, Ron, and Hermione over to join the rest of them. Percy doesn't come back, still standing at attention by Crouch's side.
"We should head back to the tent," Mr. Weasley explains. "I'll be just a moment, wait here, will you?" He leaves to exchange words with a different Ministry official.
Hermione bites her lip. "What about Winky?"
Ron shrugs. "What about her? Crouch sacked her, I'm sure she'll be able to get better work elsewhere."
"But she's… she seems so upset."
"Let's just ask her to come with us then," Ed interrupts them, earning a startled shriek from Ron. "Hey! You!"
The Ministry wizards scattered around look up at Ed with confused and irritated expressions.
"Ed, wait, don't—," Ginny whisper-yells, grasping at his sleeve.
Ed ignores her. "Not you, you!" He gestures towards Winky, who squints at him through her tears. "I want to ask you something!"
"Who is you?" Winky hiccups. She's still squinting at him and big, fat tears stream down her thin face as she talks.
"No one important," Ed responds hastily. "Just wondering. You got a place to go?"
"I is—, was—, hic, was supposed to be going home to Master Crouch," she says, breathing unevenly. She holds her breath.
"I'm going to take that as a no, then." Ed runs his tongue across the front of his teeth. He knows who he should call, but he doesn't exactly know if doing so reveals too much information to the wrong people.
Winky starts to sob again, muffling the sound of her own crying with her hands.
Fuck it, Ed hasn't been able to do nearly as much as he'd like tonight, so the least he can do is this.
"Kreacher?" he calls out, only slightly unsure of himself.
There's a loud crack and the house elf is standing in front of him, glancing about his surroundings before addressing Ed.
"Is Ed needing help?" Kreacher asks, hopeful.
"Uh, kind of? This is Winky," Ed explains, gesturing towards the distraught elf. "I think she might need a place to stay, for now. Uh, that is, if, uh…, if he is alright with it. You know what I mean?"
Kreacher scowls slightly at the loose reference to Sirius, but quickly nods at Ed and reaches out to Winky. "You is coming with Kreacher, alright? We is going now."
Winky is still an inconsolable mess, but she obediently takes Kreacher's open hand and together, the house elves apparate out of sight. Ed watches them go and figures Sirius and Remus probably won't mind. After all, they took him in — maybe they're fans of taking in strays.
He recalls the number of times Al had begged him to take in the hordes of stray cats that he'd find on the streets and remembers the way he'd shut Al down every single time.
Maybe he'd been too harsh.
It's only when Hermione edges closer to him that he starts paying attention to the "real" world again.
"You have a house elf?" Hermione asks, suspicious as always.
"No, I don't have one," Ed replies, "I just know one." He thinks about Walburga Black's severed elf heads, before adding, "I don't really think anyone should have them anyways."
She looks mildly surprised by his answer, pausing for a moment to scan his face before leaving him to join Harry and Ron.
Mr. Weasley eventually herds them back to their tent, which is miraculously still standing.
"Unfortunately, we'll have to wait to take the portkey tomorrow morning, as scheduled," he says. "Try to get some sleep — I know it's been a long day."
They settle in for the next few hours; within a few minutes, Ed can clearly hear the heavy breathing and snores of multiple people sleeping.
Lucky them.
* * * * *
It's early in the morning when Mr. Weasley wakes them up to depart.
Ed had had a restless night, unable to close his eyes in fear of having some kind of uncontrollable nightmare and startling everyone else awake.
Judging by the purple bruises beneath Harry's eyes, the other boy hadn't gotten much sleep either.
Everyone is subdued as they pack up their belongings and head out to the portkey, which is an old, rusty bucket this time around.
Ed is barely able to keep himself from vomiting when he finds himself suddenly sprawled out on the field outside the Burrow.
Mrs. Weasley rushes out to meet them, flanked on either side by two unfamiliar redheads.
"Bill and Charlie," George murmurs to Ed, who nods gratefully.
He'd heard of the oldest Weasley siblings, but had yet to meet them. He'd thought they'd be attending the World Cup as well, but Fred had explained they weren't able to return to England in time to do so.
"But they'll be visiting soon," he'd said.
"Oh, I was so worried!" Mrs. Weasley cries, grabbing the twins and pulling them close. "I'd thought, oh, what if the last thing I'd been able to say was–, was about your O.W.L.s!"
"That's why you've got to be nicer to us, Mum," Fred says, his voice muffled by his mother's shoulder.
George simply wraps his arm around her and squeezes. "Mum, we're alright."
They break apart from the hug and Mrs. Weasley glances over everyone, her brow marred with worry lines. "Is everyone alright? Where's Percy?"
Mr. Weasley sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "He got caught up with work again after last night. I figured he'd know best whether he was needed for longer or not."
Mrs. Weasley frowns slightly, before shaking her head slightly and turning her attention to Harry.
"That's strange," a voice comments. "Never seen you come 'round before."
Ed realizes one of the older Weasleys is talking to him.
He's stocky and thick, rather than rail-thin like Ron, and is a fair amount shorter than the twins. But he shares their mischievous smile and expressive eyes and of course, sports fiery red hair that's been haphazardly groomed into a mullet.
"I'm… new, I guess," Ed says. He sticks out his hand. "I'm Ed."
"Charlie."
Charlie glances at Ed's hand before jerking back in surprise. "Woah! Are you alright?"
Ed had also withdrawn his hand at Charlie's exclamation. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine?"
Charlie reaches out to grab Ed's right hand, turning it over and revealing the alarming amount of dried blood on his glove.
Oh shit.
"You're bleeding," Charlie points out.
"That's not his," the twins say, just as Ed says, "That's not mine."
The three of them exchange glances before looking to Ginny for help.
"It's not blood, it's face paint," Ginny lies. "From the game. Got everywhere, remember?"
"Right," Charlie says, stretching out the word. "I'll take your word for it, Gin." He faces Ed again. "Pleasure to meet you. Heard some things about you over Christmas, but I've got to say you're much shorter than I was imagining."
Fred, George, and Ginny simultaneously bite their tongues as Ed grouches. "I'm not that short," he says through clenched teeth. "I'm of average height."
Charlie's face splits into a wide grin as he laughs goodnaturedly. "Alright, alright, I get it. I'm not so tall myself and these two shot up in the last year or so and now, it looks as if Ron's probably going to be taller than all of us, so I understand the feeling, mate. I really do." He sighs. "Should've drank more milk when I was still growing, but—"
"Milk is disgusting," Ed says, which startles another laugh out of Charlie.
"That it is," he says, nodding in agreement. "Finally! Someone who gets it."
"Someone who gets what?"
"Someonewho understands how terrible milk actually is," Charlie responds.
This must be Bill then. The first thing Ed notices is how long and shiny Bill's ponytail is and the second is that he sports a number of tattoos on his arms and hands that move.
"How does it do that?" Ed says, thinking out loud.
"Do what?" Bill asks, tilting his head slightly.
"Oh, uh, it's nothing," he answers. "I was just talking to myself."
Charlie smiles again, while Bill extends a hand.
"I'm Bill," he says, "and you must be Ed. We've heard a lot about you."
"So I've been told," Ed replies, shooting a glare at the twins, who raise their shoulders in feigned nonchalance.
Bill laughs. "Don't worry, Fred and George haven't stopped singing your praises since last December. They've already made quite an impression for you, before you ever got here."
"I'd be less concerned if I knew they were good at singing," Ed replies dryly.
Both of the older Weasleys bark out a laugh as Fred interjects to explain that he, in fact, does have a beautiful singing voice.
They make small talk, with Fred, George, and Ginny eagerly supplying stories about Ed's antics during school, much to his embarrassment.
"How old are you?" Charlie asks at one point, sizing Ed up as he does.
"Sixteen," Ed says, wondering if he's about to make another comment about his height.
"Drat," Charlie says, turning to Bill. "Didn't you think he'd be a good fit? Based on the stories, I mean."
"A good fit for what?" The twins ask in tandem, leaning forward in interest.
"Like we said before, you'll find out soon!" Charlie grins, looking back towards Ed. "And if you're turning seventeen in the next month or so, I think you might be interested as well."
"That's totally not vague," Ed mutters.
"Are you staying too?" Bill asks.
Harry and Hermione were planning on remaining at the Burrow until the term started up again, but Ed had been adamant on leaving the day they returned from the World Cup.
"I couldn't possibly intrude," he'd said to Mrs. and Mr. Weasley, while the rest of the kids had made faces and poked fun of his manners in the background.
But now, less than twenty-four hours since Ed had disarmed three Death Eaters in front of his friends, he's not sure how easily he can escape.
"Oh, I've got to get going," he says apologetically, "but it was nice to meet you both."
Bill smiles and Charlie waves.
"It was nice to finally meet you," Charlie says. "Keep Freddie and Georgie out of trouble, would you?"
He smiles politely. "I make no promises."
They laugh again.
Ed interrupts Mrs. and Mr. Weasley's conversation to thank them profusely for taking him along and reassuring them that he'll be safe to return home for the time being. He knows the twins are hovering just behind him as he says his goodbyes, but tries to act like nothing is out of the ordinary.
He walks into the Burrow, trying to get to the Floo in the kitchen when the twins throw themselves in his path, effectively blocking his exit route.
"We need to talk," George says, unusually serious.
"Are we breaking up," Ed deadpans.
Fred splutters. "What! Were you two, you, like that, and you didn't tell me?! —" he turns towards his brother "— GEORGE!"
"Fred," George says, bringing a hand to rub his temple as he does. "Just… what."
George glowers at Fred and then grimaces, scrunching his nose up.
Fred responds in kind, with a panicked gesture towards Ed.
George looks from Fred to Ed, back to Fred and then tilts his head with a slight frown.
Whatever conversation they're having telepathically, Ed isn't sure. Something complicated, probably.
"Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" he asks, even though he already knows the answer.
"Let's talk in our room," Fred suggests, already grabbing Ed by the shoulders and steering him upstairs.
The twins' shared room is an organized mess, filled with what looks like science experiments, books, and complicated diagrams of what looks to be candy and toys. Scraps of parchment have been tacked onto every available surface, with only the occasional decoration or photo left out in plain sight.
Ed lets out a low whistle. "Is this how you make your pranks?"
Fred shrugs. "It's always been like this. We run the tests outside now, though."
"Mum said we caused one too many explosions," George laughs.
"I see," Ed says, taking in the room as he does. "I'm impressed."
And he is. He'd known the twins were creative and inventive, but he hadn't given a lot of thought to the process by which they were able to actually create and invent.
"So, er, Ed. We wanted to talk?" Fred says.
"Yeah, I remember. What about?"
"Er, it's, it's about…," Fred starts, then abruptly turns to George, who sighs, and continues for him.
"It's about the, the fighting," he says, while Fred nods enthusiastically next to him.
Ed tries to embody what he imagines to be the picture of innocence. Wide eyes, slight shock. That should work, right?
"What about the fighting?" he asks.
"Just, we were wondering if we should be more worried about how you spend your free time over the summer holidays," George says casually.
"Why? You're not my mother," Ed points out.
"Because we're your friends and we just watched you deck several Death Eaters like some kind of old-fashioned Muggle dueler," Fred blurts out.
"You didn't just watch me, technically that was yesterday," Ed says, just to be petty and to hopefully delay having this conversation at all. "And Muggles don't duel."
Fred shoves him on instinct. "Get out of here with your technicalities."
Ginny opens the door while knocking. "Are we talking about Ed's Muggle-fighting skills now?"
"Ginny, there's no point in knocking if you open the door while you're doing it," George sighs.
"Well, don't start having important conversations without me and I won't need to open doors while knocking on them," she responds as she settles down on Fred's bed. "Anyways, Ed, I think some explanations are in order."
"Do I have to?" he asks, squeezing his automail into a tight fist.
"I mean, no one's going to force you," Fred says. "We just think, er, maybe… I guess it's like we don't know you very well."
Letting other people see who we are and giving them the chance to make their own opinions about us, rather than trying to force them to consume a front we present… I think that's when you know it's out of love, rather than reciprocal consideration.
"It's not like you don't know me," Ed says, defensive.
"Right," George reassures him, "we're not saying we don't."
"We're worried, more than anything else, mate. As in, is it, is it a typical Muggle thing to fight like that? Or know how to fight like that, that's more accurate…" Fred trails off.
"You guys don't need to worry about me."
Ginny rolls her eyes. "No one needs anyone to worry about them, but you've made us care about you and now you suffer the consequences. So, the fighting?"
"I just get into a lot of fights, it's not my fault," he says dully.
"What kind of fights are you getting into?" George asks.
"Not with anyone who doesn't deserve it." Ed scowls, thinking of all the small-time criminals he'd fought up to now.
"I don't doubt that," Ginny says wryly. "We've all heard about Malfoy."
"Who hasn't heard about Malfoy," Ed mutters.
"Even Bill and Charlie know about Malfoy," Ginny adds.
Ed turns on the twins. "You told them?"
And my knuckles were bloody the first time I met them. That's perfect, Fullmetal, you're giving them a great first impression.
"It's not like it's a bad thing!" Fred says, glancing at George.
"You were looking out for Neville," George says. "And loads of people thought it was brave of you. A bit rough, the way you chose to do it, but the intentions were good."
Ah, the dangers of good intentions. Like a boy who thought he could bring his mother back or an alchemist who thought he could make a more intelligent chimera.
"Good intentions aren't everything," Ed says. He's standing rigidly against one of the desks in the room, his fist pressed knuckles down on the table's surface.
The Weasleys exchange a look.
"Well, I suppose not, but it's the thought that counts," Ginny tries.
"Sometimes, the thought is just the thought. In the end, isn't it your actions that matter most?"
"In that case," George says, "you've done a lot of good, too. You've helped Neville a lot, when you stood up for him. And you helped the Muggle yesterday."
Ed scoffs. "In both of those situations, the way I chose to 'help' was 'a bit rough', as you said."
"We didn't bring up the fighting to make you feel bad," Fred says. "We're just worried."
"You keep saying that, but what are you worried about? That I'm going to go out and pick random fights with strangers and beat them senseless? Is that what this is?" Ed snaps.
"We're worried about the reason you know how to fight at all," George says.
This conversation is not going at all like Ed thought it would. He furrows his brow. "I don't get it, what do you mean?"
"Are, er… are you getting, erm, picked on, Ed?" Fred asks, wincing.
"What?" Ed's stunned.
Where did that come from?
"No, I'm not—, no one's trying to... I'm not getting bullied."
Quite the opposite, Truth be told.
Fred, George, and Ginny visibly relax, almost to the point of sagging in their seats.
"Oh, that's good then," Ginny says brightly.
It's touching that his friends are concerned about his reasons for knowing how to navigate a fight in the first place, because it's not something he'd ever think would matter to anyone back home, who accepted the fighting as an anticipated requirement for fulfilling his role as a state alchemist.
To think they thought he learned to fight in order to fight back — well, they aren't wrong. It's just that he's never been a helpless kid in the situations in which he learned.
"You guys aren't worried that I'm some kind of fist-fighting delinquent?"
"We already know you're a fist-fighting delinquent," George says.
"Yeah, we just want to know if you're a happy one that's doing it because he wants to," Fred jokes. "And not because he has to," he adds after some thought.
"You don't find it odd, in any way?"
"Do you want us to?" Fred shrugs.
"It's not like we think you're going out of your way to antagonize people who don't deserve it. Or lord over people who can't fight back," George elaborates. "We'd like to say we know you better than that."
We know you better than that.
Ed can feel it in his chest, a soft murmur that beats in sync with his heart.
They trust me.
"We just thought maybe more was going on, and maybe you needed some help," Ginny says. "Because Ron's told us about Harry and Hermione and how they grew up before, and knowing to fight like you did, it didn't seem like something you should know at your age."
The conversation is teetering into "where are you from, how were you raised" territory, which instinctively raises Ed's hackles. He forces himself to calm down and take a single deep breath.
"It's… not the most normal," Ed admits. "It'd be stupid to lie about that. But I… I just had a lot going on growing up. And sometimes that means learning to throw a well-timed punch to the face." He goes for a lighthearted tone, but he can tell it falls flat, based on the way the Weasleys look at him.
It's weird to think his friends are practically upset that he knows how to fight. He thought they'd be upset with him for actively causing harm, not because he'd had the skill set to begin with.
"Are you okay now, though? Like are you in a–, a safer place now?" George asks slowly, carefully choosing each word.
"I'm okay now," Ed says quietly. "Thanks. For worrying about me. That's… I wasn't really expecting that."
He's never had someone react negatively to his ability to protect, to fight for them — it's usually the only thing he can offer in times of need: his willingness to put his body on the line for their sake.
Ginny interrupts his thoughts. "Wait, you thought we were going to give you an intervention about your acts of rage?"
"Sort of?" Ed says, still getting over the shock somewhat. "It'd be the normal thing to do."
"Lucky all your friends are mad then," Ginny supplies helpfully. "We just want to make sure you're taking care of yourself too. And maybe tell you that running after Death Eaters is not a smart idea, experience fighting or not."
"I know it's not," Ed says, frowning, "because it's a great idea. It's not like I didn't think I wasn't capable."
"Yeah, but still, maybe don't do that next time," George says. "You gave us a scare. I thought you were about to get…" He glances around, as if someone might be listening. "Unforgiveables, you know? Death Eaters don't exactly care about using those on people."
"I know." Ed fidgets, unsure how to tell his concerned friends that the threat of torture or death isn't one that means much to him. He decides not to bring it up.
"I'll be more careful. No more fighting Death Eaters. Promise," he lies.
"We're holding you to that," Ginny responds.
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Ed says. He shifts awkwardly from one foot to the other. "So, uh, can I go home now?"
* * * * *
Ed isn't expecting to be bombarded the minute he gets home, but with the widespread news of the Death Eater attack at the World Cup, it shouldn't be quite the surprise that it is.
"ARE YOU ALL IN ONE PIECE!" Sirius shouts two inches from Ed's face as he gives him a once over, gripping Ed's shoulders as he does.
"No," Ed says dryly, "not one piece."
"YOU'RE HURT, DID YOU GO TO ST. MUNGO'S, DID A MEDIWIZARD CHECK YOU OVER?"
"No."
"THEN WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU WAITING FOR, PERMISSION? WHERE ARE YOU HURT? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?"
"Plenty of things, but I'm not hurt, you don't need to shout in my ear."
"BUT! But, you, I just, you said you're hurt!"
"I didn't actually," Ed says. "You asked if I was all in one piece, and technically, I'm a three piece person," Ed explains, waving his automail as he does. "Remember?"
Sirius gapes, his mouth wide open like a fish out of water.
"I'll bloody murder you, brat," he snaps as he scowls. "I thought my head was going to explode, I was so worried! This wasn't the time for a joke like that—, you, I, er, we'd thought you'd died, or worse!"
"Worse than dead?" Ed repeats absentmindedly, momentarily thinking of blank white and wide grins.
"You know what I mean. We thought—, well, we didn't know how we'd contact you if something had happened. Oh, and then, then, Kreacher shows up with another house elf and just said you needed help! Which is completely vague and we got more worried!"
Now that Sirius keeps mentioning it. "Where's Remus?"
"He's been out trying to get more information on what happened and see if he could contact you, since that'd be, well, better than me trying, you know."
They're still careful about Sirius going out in public, since his status as a free man is still relatively new.
"You really had us worried," Sirius says again, stern and anxious and all too serious for Ed's liking. It's not like the man to be this concerned.
"I'm sorry," Ed says, as genuine as he can make it.
"Don't do it again," Sirius says gruffly. There's a flush to the back of his neck and he is very obviously making a point of not looking directly at him.
"I'll try," he answers. "I—, I'll try."
"Good," Sirius says, his voice soft. "That's—, yeah. Good."
* * * * *
In the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup, Ed realizes he needs to adjust his original plan to complete Truth's errands as discreetly as possible, because if Death Eaters are still pulling this kind of crap in Riddle's absence — well, that's not something Ed can let slide. In any reality.
So he needs to know where he's willing to draw a line.
Fortunately, no one had died during the attack, otherwise Ed really wouldn't be able to live with himself. Not that he's unrealistic enough to imagine he could save everyone, everywhere from dying all the time. But if he's there and able to stop it from happening, like during the Death Eater attack, but didn't do anything, he wouldn't really be the Edward Elric he thought he was.
He probably wouldn't be the Edward Elric anyone thought he was.
"Am I going to risk everything to protect people I'll never see again?"
There are memories that he passes by on this particular train of thought: the way Ranklebury's smells when there's fresh baked bread, the sound of the twins' gleeful laughter whenever they perfectly execute a prank, the taste of Luna's homemade blend of tea.
Listening to Neville talk about herbology, watching Blaise struggle through Amestrian pronunciation, laughing at Ginny's jokes.
Eating meals with Sirius and Remus, playing stupid little games where no one dies and nothing matters.
"Fuck me," he groans.
When the time comes, he knows exactly what choice he's going to make.
* * * * *
The day before the term starts up again, Sirius starts to mope.
"I can't believe you're both leaving me behind," he complains from his spot on the kitchen floor. He's laying splayed out on the floorboards like a starfish, with a smattering of biscuits within arm's reach.
"Stop eating on the floor," Remus chides.
"And stop eating lying down," Ed adds.
"You're both awful," Sirius complains once more, while cramming yet another biscuit into his mouth.
"Don't all of the professors have Floos in their offices anyways? You'll probably see Remus all the time," Ed says.
"It's not the same," Sirius pouts. "What am I supposed to do for the entire day before Moony comes home?"
"Read a book," Remus suggests.
"Maybe learn to read first," Ed snorts and promptly gets a biscuit thrown at his head. "Hey!"
Sirius grins, lifting his head up to see the crumbs in Ed's hair. "You deserve it and you know it." He flops back down. "Bored!"
"We're still here," Remus says. "Why are you bored now?"
"Because I'm thinking about being here alone starting tomorrow and I can already tell I'm going to be BORED!"
"You won't be alone, you have Kreacher and Winky to keep you company."
Winky has been a welcome addition to 12 Grimmauld Place, mostly because she seems to put Kreacher in a more tolerable mood and vice versa. She still cries every now and then, but it's become significantly better than her first night as a guest.
"It's complicated," Sirius explains, "to formally take in a house elf. I can technically do it, but I'd need to register with the Ministry and deal with even more paperwork and honestly, I'm not completely sure Crouch would appreciate the sentiment." He wrinkles his nose. "Better to just let Winky figure out what she'd like to do from here, now that she's free."
"Why would he care?" Ed asks. "He just fired her, for something that wasn't even her fault. He's an idiot."
"Yes, but he's a rather important idiot," Remus says. "Poor treatment of house elves has caused a few scandals in the last few decades and there's been an increase in support for proper rights for them, seeing as they didn't have many before."
Ed makes a face. "Well, what do they even get from working for wizards in the first place?"
"Their magic," Remus replies. "Not that they don't have magic of their own, but it's much stronger when they have formal ties to a magical place. So, for example, an old established wizarding family most likely lives in a manor or family home that's been passed down from century to century, and those buildings carry a lot of residual magic, from ages ago. The older the magic, the stronger the elf."
"What about people like Crouch, who're assholes? Won't they just take advantage of them?"
"House elves are contracted laborers, in that they are formally employed through contracts that detail what they can and cannot be asked to do for a given household. Each elf has their own limits and demands, but unfortunately, it's only the wizarding family who gets to decide when the contract ends and most of the time, the contracts extend to bloodline, not specific wizards." Remus grimaces. "It's common practice to punish elves, mostly because wizards realized most contracts don't account for the human potential to be cruel, since they were made long before such practices became the norm."
"That's—, what! That should be a crime."
Sirius laughs, not out of humor. "Kid, there are so many things that should be a crime in wizarding society that are not. The people in power want to stay in power, and most of the time, that means appeasing the old-fashioned purebloods who don't want things to change at all."
"They can't stay in power forever," Ed says, clenching a fist.
"That's the hope," Sirius says.
It's some time later, when Sirius is properly sitting at the kitchen table, that Ed realizes Kreacher could be freed too.
"Why don't you?" he asks, confused. Even though Sirius doesn't treat Kreacher unkindly, wouldn't the elf be happier free to do as he likes?
"Because this is his home, even if he doesn't like me," Sirius says. "He's not allowed to stay here if I end his contract, even if I want to let him. The house won't allow it."
"The house?" Ed repeats.
"The house," Sirius confirms. "It's a part of this mess too, whether I like it or not."
"This is unreal," Ed says with a scowl. "All of this is bullshit."
"It is," Remus says, surprising him. "But wizarding society has never been a progressive one."
Sometimes Ed forgets that Remus is a werewolf.
He just sees Remus, in his worn sweaters and constant scraps of parchment sticking out of his trouser pockets, who wouldn't hurt anyone if he could help it.
But most everyone else would see the werewolf in him, would whisper about his potential to hurt a person, would ponder the what-if's rather than the realities of his person.
And that's not right at all.
"Then it sounds like we'll have to change that."
Remus shakes his head.
"If only," he says.
"If only," Sirius repeats, wistfully.
* * * * *
Edward Elric has two three goals while stuck in this magical reality:
The destruction of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes
The collection of the Deathly Hallows
The downfall of the current Ministry of Magic and with it, the reform of magical laws that let wizards think they can look down on anyone or thing that isn't a wizard
Simple, right?
* * * * *
The train ride this year is far different from the one the year before.
Ed is happily crammed into a compartment with the rest of the book club — everyone is half-sitting on the person next to them, with Ginny giving up entirely on finding space on the seats and opting for the floor. Neville joins her shortly, Trevor resting on his knee while wearing a tiny knit vest.
"You look quite handsome," Luna says to the toad.
Trevor croaks.
"Wow, he technically responded," Fred says, slightly surprised.
"Why wouldn't he?" Luna blinks owlishly, entirely confused.
"I just–, it–, he's. He's just a toad!" Fred accuses, jabbing a finger at the little creature.
"He doesn't mean it like that," Neville stage-whispers to Trevor and then proceeds to pat him fondly on the head.
"So?" Luna asks. "Why does that matter?"
"It doesn't, I, it just took me by surprise, I guess."
Luna extends her open hand out to the toad, who crawls into it without hesitation, and then holds him right in front of Fred's nose.
"You should try asking him something!"
"Er, hi… I guess."
Trevor wriggles out of Luna's grip, whacks Fred's forehead with one slimy, webbed foot, and kicks off onto the compartment floor. Fred slaps a hand over his forehead with a tiny scowl.
"You've certainly met your match," Blaise comments, to which Ginny cackles wildly and George bites back a grin.
"You're a traitor," Fred says to his brother.
"It's hilarious and I enjoy your misery," George replies, snorting as he does.
The rest of the train ride is much the same, filled with amusing conversation and light-hearted recounts of the parts of summer holidays that others weren't around for; Blaise even volunteers information on how he and his mother eat supper together almost every single night.
"Oh, before I forget, I have something for you, Fullmetal," Luna says as she digs through her multiple pockets. "I know I put it somewhere, maybe in this one? Ah, here they are!"
She reveals a somewhat familiar object and Fred takes one look at the Spectrespecs before letting out a startled "WOAH!"
The pair Luna offers Ed are an even more bedazzled version of the ones she'd worn that first book club meeting and these ones are a startling shade of hot pink.
Ed's friends stare at the offending glasses, then stare at Ed.
He really can't help but start laughing when he notices how badly they hide their excitement — they clearly don't care if he takes them or not, they just want to see how he'll respond to them.
He laughs so hard his stomach hurts and his laughter does nothing but confuse his friends, who were probably anticipating an awkward refusal, knowing he's never been one to snap at Luna.
But not for long, because Ginny is quick to join in, followed shortly by Neville and the twins. Even Blaise laughs, instead of pretending he's too cool for things like that.
The only person who doesn't laugh is Luna, who smiles and holds out the pair for Ed to take.
He accepts them with a wide grin.
"Thanks, Loony, they're perfect."
* * * * *
The gifted Spectrespecs have caused quite the commotion since the train. Word spread about Ed's new "look" and he'd noticed everyone trying to catch a glimpse of him as he'd found a seat at the end of the Hufflepuff table before the Sorting started.
He can't tell if he likes the Spectrespecs because Luna gave them to him or because of the looks other people give him when he does. Probably both if he's being real honest and he doesn't see a reason why he shouldn't be.
The stocky boy to Ed's left grins at the sight of him. "Love your newest addition," he says, tapping the bridge of his nose. "Makes you seem more approachable."
"Oh, he wouldn't want that, though, would he?" Cedric teases. "Ed couldn't live like that, with everyone knowing his bark is far worse than his bite."
"You don't know me," Ed sniffs. "Maybe I like the attention."
That earns him a number of snorts and snickers from his fellow Housemates, who really do seem to have a better opinion of him just from the Spectrespecs alone.
"You're funnier than I thought you'd be," a girl comments to his right.
"Thanks," Ed says sarcastically. "That's not rude at all."
"What can I say," the girl responds with a shrug and a smirk, "badgers have claws."
They watch the Sorting then, and Ed can't help himself but to imagine setting the Sorting Hat on fire, just for his own pleasure. It makes him smile in a self-satisfied way, at least until Dumbledore stands up to share a few announcements.
"There will be no Quidditch this year," he states, to the dismay of most of Hogwarts.
There's a chorus of shouts, outrage really, that makes Ed roll his eyes.
"You people and your Quidditch," he grumbles, to which Cedric frowns.
"It's important!" he tries to insist.
Ed's cut off from retorting by Dumbledore continuing on with his announcement.
"Instead, we will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament!"
The students begin to whisper amongst themselves.
"What is that," they ask one another. "What does that mean?"
Dumbledore is happy to explain. Two other schools would be joining them for the remainder of the school year, with the tournament beginning on Halloween, when each school would call forth a single champion to compete in three trials of varying hardships.
The winner would get a thousand Galleons.
And that's what gets everyone's attention.
"It is with great excitement that we are able to reinstate the Triwizard Tournament this year, and it is a great honor that we are able to hold the event here. However, that comes with new practices and new measures to ensure the safety of our participants. But more on that later!"
Dumbledore peers out towards the students, his eyes twinkling. "I look forward to welcoming our guests on Halloween. With that, let us continue to enjoy the good food and the good company."
This must be what Charlie and Bill were hinting at, just a few days ago.
"A good fit," Charlie had said.
Ed banishes the thought immediately.
Everyone's excited by the prospect of winning a thousand Galleons, but Ed knows better; if he knows wizards and he thinks he does, something is going to go horribly, terribly wrong.
He just knows it.