13 chapter 13

Ed breathes. He extends a shaking hand towards his brother. "How are you here?"

"Brother, why are you here? How could you just leave us?"

Ed involuntarily takes a step back. "I–, I didn't! I'm coming back, I swear, I didn't, I wouldn't just leave!" He scowls. "How could you think that!"

Al shakes his head, the screech of the helmet against the body of the armor deafening. "You weren't going to come back. I know you weren't. You're too busy with your new friends and your new family to be bothered with me anymore. Was I always just a burden to you, Brother?"

"No! Wh–, fuck, what! Why, no, how could you think that! Al, what's wrong with you, this isn't, you're not–, this isn't like you!"

"This isn't like you either," Al answers.

"Nothing's changed! I'm still — I'm still your brother!"

"Are you though? My brother wouldn't be wasting time like this. The Fullmetal Alchemist wouldn't bother with any of this wizard nonsense or play by any of their rules. He'd rush into things and be done with it already."

"Don't call me that," Ed says, his voice wavering. "Not you."

"You've forgotten, Brother," Al says, ignoring his words.

"I'm just, it's, this is for Nina," Ed tries instead.

He's somehow never noticed how menacing Al can be when he's seven feet of hulking metal armor or how ominous the faint light of his eyes are, hidden in the shadow of the helmet.

"That's a bold lie, Brother. This" — he gestures around them —" is all for you."

A wave of anger crashes into Ed, reminding him of every guilty moment where he thought of what more he could have done, of every time he thought of Al waiting for him while he was stuck, frustrated, and alone.

"This isn't my fucking choice and this isn't what I fucking wanted either! H–, how could I, shit! How could I fucking forget anything, when I haven't even gotten our bodies back!"

Al takes a step towards him and he takes a step back, stumbling over an uneven floorboard and finding himself with his ass on the floor, staring up at the silhouette of his brother before him.

"Listen," Al says, towering over Ed where he lays. "Can you say you haven't forgotten when you're not even speaking Amestrian anymore?"

Ed opens his mouth to argue when he realizes they've been speaking English far longer than they'd been speaking Amestrian.

Al doesn't speak English.

"You really have moved on," the boggart adds, cutting off any excuse Ed has to offer. "You've forgotten what you've done to me, you've forgotten what you've done to yourself, and you've forgotten everything that's important to us."

It's not fucking real, Fullmetal.

He tries to recover his grip on his wand.

"You're not Al," he says, mustering up his courage.

"Does it matter? You're happy to be rid of him regardless," the armor says matter-of-fact. "You're all too happy to forget."

This isn't real.

"I haven't forgotten," Ed spits out, "I'd never do that to Al."

"Oh, you've already done enough to Al, don't you think?" The armor leans down, as if to grab Ed by the neck. "You've ruined his life once already, what makes you think he'll let you do it again?"

A blur crashes into the armor.

Ed watches, momentarily stunned, as Sirius wrestles it to the ground before it shifts, shiny steel melting into grey flesh as he witnesses the boggart turn into a sickly pale figure.

"Padfoot…," it says, clutching at the front of Sirius' shirt, "where's Harry?"

"Oh, fuck!"

Sirius scrambles off of the presumably late James Potter as if burned. The boggart reaches out for him, panicked cries growing louder.

"Where's Harry? What's happened to him?" it asks desperately. "Sirius, why didn't you do something?!"

Sirius staggers back. "I'm sorry, James. I, I didn't, I tried to—"

"It wasn't enough!" The boggart shouts. "You should've tried harder!"

Ed curls his fingers against his wand.

You can do this, you can do this.

The boggart turns to face him, flickering momentarily into an image of Al.

I can't do this.

And suddenly all Ed can see is the horrified, despondent look in Sirius' eyes, reminiscent of the way he'd looked when he used to talk about Azkaban and dementors.

Do it for Sirius.

"Riddikulus," Ed stammers.

The boggart is morphing, but not as a result of Ed's spell.

It begins to combine James Potter's disheveled hair and gaping mouth with Al's glowing red eyes and silvery sheen.

"Fucking hell, riddikulus!" Ed shouts, desperately thinking of anything but Al.

The ungodly union of Sirius and Ed's fears suddenly dons a pair of roller skates. Unable to keep its balance, the boggart slips and explodes into a shower of confetti, startling a disbelieving laugh out of the pair.

Ed can only imagine what kind of face Sirius is making when he utters, "What the bloody hell just happened."

* * * * *

Ed and Sirius are sitting at the kitchen table which is set with cups full of tea that's been steeped for far too long.

"So, uh…, I, er, I guess…," Sirius trails off for the seventh time.

"Let's just not talk about it," Ed says, sitting rigidly in his seat.

This is somehow far worse than the kids at Hogwarts getting an eyeful of a bloody mangled heap sitting in the middle of a human transmutation circle — at least that conversation had stayed in Amestrian.

This, however, did not.

And there's no way Sirius didn't hear the very end of the conversation, if not more.

"That seems to be your go-to coping method, brat. And it's not very healthy." The man actually scowls at him, like Ed should care about how unhealthy his coping mechanisms actually are.

(And Sirius is one to talk.)

It speaks volumes that he misses the way the military used to treat him — callously, like he's nothing but a number on another piece of paperwork to them.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

"That's not the point now, is it?"

"Maybe being alive is enough," Ed grumbles.

He reaches out to drink his tea and stops short when he notices how badly his hand is still trembling. If he grabs the tea cup like this, it'll rattle when he lifts it off the saucer and Sirius will surely hear it.

He puts his hand back down on his lap.

"There's more to living than existing," Sirius says at last.

He already knows that, of course. That's why he became a State Alchemist, right? If he had already resigned himself to an existence rather than a life when everything went to shit years ago, he wouldn't even be here to start with — he'd be sitting in a wheelchair at Granny's house.

And Al would be stuck in that armor permanently.

"I'm living just fine."

Sirius lets out a groan. "Must talking to you be like pulling teeth each and every time we do this?"

"Yes," Ed says stubbornly. "Or we could just not talk about this like I already suggested."

"I thought we were past all this 'bottling up my feelings and trying to deal with my problems alone' stuff."

"Apparently not."

The conversation dies and even Sirius, for all he loves to talk, seems to be at a loss for words.

Ed debates the likelihood of Sirius pursuing him if he leaves the kitchen when the man in question starts up again.

"Moony's going to ask what happened, you realize?"

"Remus, he's, uh, already seen my boggart." Ed shrugs, as if the thought doesn't bother him in the slightest. "Defense."

"...and it looked like that then?"

"No," Ed replies in a tight voice. "No, it didn't."

They both fall silent again.

Ed figures if it's a matter of waiting Sirius out, the man has pretty good odds of beating him, seeing as he did spend over a decade waiting for a chance at revenge and Ed's only been alive for a few years longer than that.

Wow, he's been through a lot at fifteen.

Or is he sixteen now?

Technically, his actual date of birth has passed and he should be a year older, but it's not like Truth took the time of year into consideration when they dropped him into a different reality. It must've been nearing his sixteenth birthday in his original reality before he spent almost another year in this one.

How old would he be when he returns?

More importantly, how old will he feel when he returns?

If I return.

He shakes the thought from his head.

When. When I return, he thinks firmly.

"Wasn't… is–, isn't your brother called Al?"

"Yes," Ed replies, ignoring the switch in tense and deliberately not using it either. He can't bring himself to talk about Al like he's in the past, when that's not entirely true. It'd be too much like proving the boggart right.

Sirius is shaking his leg under the table, jostling it ever so slightly. "And, er… did he–, does… does what happened have anything to do with the… the armor?"

"What happened" has everything to do with the armor.

Ed doesn't respond, because it doesn't matter — he's certain Sirius already knows that answer for himself and is asking more to politely, but firmly tread into the depths of Ed's traumatic past rather than plunging in.

"I don't want to talk about Al," he says bluntly. "Especially not him."

"The armor?" Sirius asks hesitantly.

There is no explanation for the armor that wouldn't appall Sirius. In fact, there is no explanation for the armor that wouldn't appall any sane person in any reality.

"I don't want to talk about that either."

"I get it," Sirius nods, closing his eyes as he slouches in his chair. "I'm going to have nightmares for months."

Tell me about it, Ed wants to say.

He doesn't.

He doesn't really want to think about it either, but he can't help but remember the boggart's words once more.

"He looked like that, that night."

Ed turns to look. "Who?"

"Prongs," Sirius says, eyes still closed. "That night, he looked like that. Same boring sweater, same messy hair, same cr—" his voice breaks slightly "—cracked glasses." He clenches his hand into a fist. "I think if he'd been alive when I finally got there, that's what he'd have said to me."

He takes a few deep breaths, before continuing. "I dream sometimes, or maybe it's better to call it a nightmare… regardless, I see him sometimes when I sleep. And I imagine that if I'd even been a minute faster, I'd have been there in time to at least do something, instead of showing up late and—"

He stops talking abruptly.

"I shouldn't be telling you this," he mumbles, as if suddenly registering he's unloading all of his crap onto a teenager.

"It's too late for that now," Ed points out.

Perhaps it's human nature to think the worst of yourself when reflecting on every blunder you could even slightly be blamed for.

Sirius' line of thinking is depressingly similar to Ed's own train of thought following each of his failures, particularly his biggest one, where he not only let down his brother and killed his mother, but also disappointed Granny and scared Winry in one go.

He sure knows how to make a mess of things.

Which leads Ed into ruminating on the boggart's choice words again.

It's not like he could ever forget Al or anyone else back home, but the only reason he's been able to make friends here at all is because he didn't tell anyone he destroyed his brother's existence single-handedly.

Isn't it some sort of lie that he hasn't told anyone in this reality how much of an actual garbage human being he is?

They all seem to like him for some reason or other and maybe being surrounded by people who don't know a thing about him has convinced him he's somehow a good person.

But would they still think that if they knew the truth?

Is keeping the truth from them even worse than lying?

The clock is ticking loudly from the foyer.

He takes a deep breath.

"I told you that one time, my mistakes don't hurt me as much as they hurt the people around me," he says slowly.

Sirius makes a sound to indicate he's listening.

"You already know about Al. My brother, he's the best, literally the best god-damn person I've ever known. When we were younger, Mom died and my fath–, no, that bastard walked out on us even before then. So, Al is all I have. Was all I have."

He grimaces at the correction.

I'm not letting myself forget. Al is still here, just not… here.

"We did everything together," Ed continues. "Everything, I swear. Him not being here, it's, it's my fault. My arm and my leg — where I'm from, it wasn't a huge secret, because the, uh, accident I lost them in was so big and the town was so small, everyone knew about it and it was completely my fault. Mine. I'm the one who told Al we should do the–, do what we did, and I'm the one who set everything up and started it. And everyone knew that in that same, that same accident… I ruined my brother's life."

At those words, Sirius opens his eyes and starts to protest. "I'm sure it's not like that—"

"Don't," Ed cuts him off harshly. He scowls. "I know you must've heard something, during the, the conversation. With the boggart. And it's not like people didn't know back home and say all the same things you're about to say to me right now, all while thinking it was my fault and blaming me behind my back. I'm not an idiot, I know what I've done." He clenches his automail into a tight fist. "And Al knows it too."

"You're being too hard on yourself," Sirius tries again.

"And you aren't?"

That shuts him up for a moment.

"Life can be fucking awful," Ed adds, "even when you tried to do everything that you possibly could have done. Because god is just a giant fucking asshole who's waiting to laugh at you when you fuck shit up."

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "You actually buy into that Muggle myth?"

If Truth were a myth, Ed's life is an urban legend.

"Wish I could say otherwise, but I can't."

It's not so much that Ed's "bought" into the idea of a higher power as it is that he tried to play by his own rules and came out on the losing side with only half his limbs and his brother's soul.

Maybe he should really count himself lucky that Truth is enough of a sadist to let him live at all.

"I'm kind of surprised you told me anything," Sirius mentions.

It's a valid point. Ed's been aggressively tight-lipped about most personal information and he's certain Sirius has heard stories about his detentions with Remus throughout summer.

"It's what the boggart said that changed my mind," Ed admits reluctantly. "I think me not wanting to talk about myself or what happened… it was part of me trying to be selfish. Like always. Or thinking I'm doing the right thing when I'm really just thinking about myself."

"I find that incredibly hard to believe."

"You don't have to believe it for it to be true," Ed shrugs. "And I'm tired of pretending I'm keeping quiet for anyone's sake but my own. Tired of doing a lot of things honestly."

Like pretending his life hasn't been hard before all of this wizard crap blew up in his face less than a year ago.

Or acting like he hasn't royally fucked up at least once in the brief amount of time he's been alive.

They say the Truth will out.

The clock keeps ticking.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

But it looks like Ed's run out of time.

"I don't think—"

"'You've already done enough to Al, don't you think?'" Ed repeats.

Sirius winces.

Ed wets his lips. "The boggart was right. I've already done enough to Al and I get scared thinking he would hate me for it. Resent me for my mistake, like he definitely should. Not even an actual mistake, it was willful ignorance on my part."

Teacher told us not to and I'm the one who didn't listen.

I'm the one who told Al it would be fine.

"Sometimes trying to, to live, when he's not around, it feels like I'm letting myself forget what I've done or that I'm fooling myself into thinking I could maybe deserve something normal for once, when that's not a possibility for Al. Because of me."

Finally admitting the Truth is like a weight off his shoulders, if only momentarily to readjust his coat.

"Me not telling anyone about my biggest fuck up is just me trying to protect myself from losing things I shouldn't've had in the first place."

"Were you trying to kill him?"

It makes sense that that's what Sirius assumes had happened.

It may as well be the truth.

Ed shakes his head. "It doesn't matter though, does it? Right now, right here, the result is the same. Al can't live the life he deserves, and I'm living a life I don't deserve at all."

He braces himself for the inevitable rejection, for any indication that Sirius finally understands the kind of person he is and kicks him out once and for all.

What he's not expecting is for the man to launch himself from his chair onto Ed, knocking him out of his seat and wrapping him in the most ferocious hug Ed's ever received.

"Wha—"

"Even if it was your fault, you get to be happy," Sirius says. "Did you hear me, brat? You get to be happy too."

It's permission Ed didn't realize he needed.

He knows that he shouldn't need it, that Sirius or any other person saying it to him doesn't change anything.

But it somehow does changes everything.

Just knowing Sirius has seen what he has and learned what he did and still thinks Ed is allowed any amount of happiness… it makes everything so much better than it could've been.

It makes Ed think his other friends might be so accepting.

How is it that the most complicated problems end up having incredibly simple solutions?

"As many times as you need to hear it, I'll say it. You get to be happy too."

When Ed finally pulls out of the hug, Sirius musses up his hair ferociously, until his braid is coming undone.

"Hey, watch it!"

He's trying to comb his fingers through his hair while Sirius smiles fondly.

"I'm glad you're starting to let your hair down," he says.

"Not by choice," Ed says, grouchy.

"Not your real hair, brat. Just… I'm happy you're starting to open up."

He is significantly less uptight and intense after months of living like a regular teenager.

(Well, mostly regular, given the circumstances.)

"Still can't believe you've actually told me anything about yourself," Sirius teases, treating Ed like nothing's changed at all. "You've been all 'mysterious origins' on me since you first kidnapped me."

Ed snorts. "At your age, it was hardly a kidnapping."

"Not the point, brat, but also, don't be rude to your elders."

"Which is it, are you a kid or are you an elder?"

The man smiles wryly. "I'm Sirius."

"I hate you."

"I'm sure," he laughs while tugging on Ed's now neat and tidy braid. "Just like you hate Moony, and your friends, and using magic, right?"

"Right," Ed says, fighting the tiniest of smiles. "Just like that."

* * * * *

Book club, despite being something Ed normally looks forward to, feels like a chore following so soon after the boggart. Not because he doesn't like his friends or teaching them about Muggle inventions, but because they all too easily read his emotions even when he wishes they wouldn't, or that they'd at least be rude enough to not care about.

Damn their consideration.

There's something about being treated with kindness that feels inherently wrong to a person like Ed, whose life hasn't been kind to him — many of the people in it haven't been either. Receiving looks of worry and being handled with care makes Ed feel oddly vulnerable and unsettled, like he's anticipating the sucker punch that's surely to come when his guard is down.

It's why he has a hard time talking about anything in the first place, even if he's convinced himself he's mostly over the boggart encounter.

Still, it's unrealistic to think his friends, who are largely normal teenagers besides their access to magic, would think to torture him with mind games.

But he also can't stop the intrusive thought from slipping in when he sees their concern.

Sirius hadn't acted like Ed needed kid gloves after the admission of his guilt, nor did he act like anything had changed between the two of them, which had helped immensely in Ed letting go of the boggart's words.

But it's not like Sirius could so easily fix everything with such a simple solution.

Ed hasn't been sleeping well and he catches himself lingering on the idea that Al could never forgive him after all.

His friends probably wouldn't either.

Would they?

"You alright, Ed? You're looking a bit pale," Neville comments.

"Fine," Ed says, as neutrally as he can. "Didn't sleep a lot, that's probably why. Maybe it's the weather. Yeah, maybe the weather. Uh, did you guys finish the next few chapters?"

They let him change the subject, because none of them ever really press the issue and certainly not in front of other people — that's their kindness again, helping him horde his dirty laundry out of sight.

Ginny, who's known him the least amount of time, pretends like nothing is out of the ordinary, which acts as something of a buffer between the floodgates of Ed's overthinking and the well-meaning concern of his friends.

"I didn't finish anything," she says, "since I figured we'd be talking about it anyhow."

Ed grumbles. "What's the point of a book club without the reading?"

"Some things are just meant to be fun, instead of just work." She crinkles her nose.

"If you're doing things right, you shouldn't need to work at all."

"Blaise gets it!"

The conversation flows more easily then, with Ginny adding excessive social lubricant to gloss over the fact that Ed's dark circles are the worst they've been in months and that the rest of the club keeps lingering over them as if they're moments away from asking about it.

He honestly considers just talking about it so they can learn the truth about him and move on with their lives. Sirius might not have changed his mind after vaguely learning about his childhood, but that doesn't mean other people wouldn't.

Sirius hasn't really had a typical upbringing either, now that Ed thinks about it. That probably played a role in his easy acceptance of Ed's fucked up past.

He really should just admit his guilt and cut his losses now.

But he vividly recalls all the times in the past year where he's felt younger than he ever has and freer than he's ever been and he can't bring himself to do it.

The boggart's clearly done its job; he's never felt so afraid and indecisive in his life, not even when he'd woken up to find himself missing a leg and a brother.

Is this the kind of crap normal people are worrying about?

When the book club is over and his friends reluctantly bid him farewell, Luna approaches him with a small smile.

"Do you have time for a chat?"

"'Course, Loony. You need something?"

She shakes her head. "Not particularly. Walk with me though?"

He doesn't bother answering her, just holds out his arm and lets Luna lead him towards a public floo station.

It's only once they're stepping out of the Lovegood's fireplace that she starts talking again.

"You know, you've never did ask about Fullmetal."

That throws him for a loop.

"Why would I ask about my own name?"

"Why didn't you ever ask how I knew about it?"

"I did ask—" he stops short.

He never asked.

Why haven't I asked?

It's been months since she's first called him Fullmetal and somehow, some way, he'd managed to forget he hadn't been the one to tell her about it in the first place.

"Wh–, wait. How could you possibly…"

He thinks it might be the first time she's ever refused to meet his eyes.

"Fullmetal, have you ever heard of legilimency?"

All this time, he'd been worried about the people who might ask questions, but he'd forgotten there'd been one who'd somehow known the answers.

"Fuck. Fuck. No, no fucking way."

She knows.

She already knows.

In this moment, his world might be ending.

This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper.

* * * * *

Ed has been in a lot of fights over the last few years where he's been at a significant disadvantage.

Early on, it had always been because of his age and size and lack of experience and stubborn attitude.

Nowadays, it's just his stubborn attitude that keeps him fighting when he should probably run for it.

This is the singular instance Ed's first instinct is to flee rather than fight.

"Have you heard of legilimency?" Luna repeats when she has yet to receive an answer.

He hesitates and tries to swallow to alieve his dry throat. "I have… why?"

She busies herself with preparing tea. "I told you," she says, opening a cupboard as she does, "you think too loud."

It's true that she'd said that the first time, but he hadn't thought to take it literally.

Everything is simultaneously falling apart and coming together. Missing pieces are starting to fill in, but this isn't how he wanted to have this conversation — he didn't ever think anyone would get to know so much without his consent.

His fear morphs into anger, a hot rage that he can feel as pressure at the base of his throat when he tries to speak.

"How much have you seen?" he demands, emotion leaking into his voice.

"Not much," she replies calmly. She pulls out two cups and sets a full kettle atop the stove.

"That's–, that's too vague, and, and I need answers, Luna. Real answers. You can't just–, shit! You can't just look into my head whenever you want!"

"I don't do it because I want to see anything, Ed. I don't really have much of a say in the matter."

He tries to swallow again. "What do you mean?"

"Some people are much better at legilimency than others. For some, it even comes naturally." Her expression is carefully neutral. "I understand your worry, but I can pinky swear that I really haven't seen anything concrete. I never look more than I naturally do."

He instantly deflates and the guilt of yelling moments prior fully settles in, because it feels awful to be angry with Luna, especially if she's not even doing it intentionally. "I'm sorry," he says quietly, tensely. "I just, I don't… no, I can't stand the idea of someone looking in my head without my permission."

"I know," she says, "I'd feel the same way. I haven't bothered to mention it to people anymore because I've learned it's a fast way to lose friends." She laughs at herself. "Maybe I should say 'a faster way'."

"You shouldn't talk about yourself like that."

"Why not? I think it's a splendid idea to laugh at yourself from time to time. Makes you take things less seriously."

If Ed were like the average teenager, he'd be inclined to agree with her. But if anything, Ed is coming from circumstances more like that of Harry Potter, and he can imagine just how intense the other boy must be in his day-to-day life.

He changes the subject — there's no good way to explain a difference of opinion that arises from their incompatible circumstances.

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

She shrugs. "I thought you'd ask sooner."

It's a fair point. He'd gotten too comfortable perhaps, and let some things go as being quirks of a young teenage witch rather than questioning it with the skepticism of a State Alchemist.

"So, how, how much do you know?"

She hums thoughtfully. "I know Fullmetal is a title you've been given for a job of some sort and that you call yourself that when your thoughts are particularly loud. I know you had a variety of hardships growing up, although I can't describe what they are. And I know wherever you're from isn't anywhere around here."

Luna takes the time to look over his face and fully take in his dark circles and abnormally pale skin.

"But most of the time, I just get a sense of how people around me are feeling, and I know something particularly awful must have happened recently because you're in a rather concerning mood."

"Concerning how? There's nothing to be concerned about."

"You're spiraling, Ed, and I'd rather have this conversation than watch you convince yourself you aren't allowed friends or whatever else you've managed to come up with," she says.

"I'm fine," he says dismissively. "See?" He grins weakly. "Fine."

"You don't need to lie to me. It's not good to keep all these things locked up in your head or your heart… it'll attract the Rakke."

"Rakke?"

"They feed on bad thoughts and make them worse," she explains. "I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he says again.

How many times do I have to lie for it to be convincing?

"Is it about your family?"

Right, she'd known about that too somewhat, back when she'd been helping him sort out his own feelings that first time around.

"How'd you know I lost people, uh, during school, when we, when we had our first 'chat'?" he asks.

"I don't need legilimency for that," she replies, understanding what he's trying to imply, "I just know the look."

She doesn't press the issue any more than that, instead taking the time to pour him more tea and waiting patiently while watching him with kind eyes.

He lets himself imagine how Pandora Lovegood might look standing in the kitchen and thinks of the things people owe to one another.

"It's not technically about my family."

"Ah," she says with a nod, "it's about us."

"Us" is a vague way of putting it, but considering she doesn't — or shouldn't — know about Sirius and Remus, it's the best way to sum up who he's thinking about.

"Yeah," he agrees. "It's about you. And everyone else."

"Is it something you want to share?"

"I don't… I don't think I can," he admits. "I'm not. I don't think–, I'm not ready."

"That's alright," she says. "Will it hurt us?"

"It might."

"I see why you're having trouble then." She cups her hands around her tea. "How are you doing, Fullmetal?"

He's thrown off by the non sequitur; he'd fully expected some kind of knowledgeable and reasonable piece of advice about his current problems.

"I've been better," he says eventually.

She smiles. "I know. It comes and it goes." She notices the confusion on his face. "The good things in life, I mean. Being happy, feeling loved, and all the other things besides."

"Seems like it never lasts," Ed says quietly.

"Maybe you're focusing too much on the bad things."

"It's hard not to," he admits. "Things have been… rough, at times. A lot of times. Okay, honestly, most of the time."

"I'm grateful you're telling me," Luna says, "I imagine it's hard for you to do."

"It is."

"It's not your fault," she says. "It's difficult to let others get to know you. Really know you."

"Yeah," Ed agrees. "Talking isn't my strong suit either."

She laughs slightly. "I can't argue that, Fullmetal."

"I wasn't expecting you to."

She regards him with a faint smile. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything, but I think it'd be nice if you knew we're all ready to lend an ear should you need one." She traces a random shape onto the wood of the table with the tip of her finger. "It's hard to let people come too close, because that's how you can be hurt the most. But the unfortunate reality is that loving someone and asking to be loved comes with the price of being perceived by others, rather than presenting ourselves to them."

Luna reaches over his automail to hold his left hand and squeezes tightly. He startles, thinking maybe she knows about that too.

"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."

She gives his hand one last squeeze.

"No one will be upset with you for taking your time, we just want you to know we're excited to know you when you're ready."

He's said it before, and he'll say it again: Luna is the best.

* * * * *

Ed had agreed from the very beginning to let Sirius do the honors of freeing 12 Grimmauld Place from Walburga Black's wrath and vitriol, so although they'd said the first thing to go would be the wall she'd permanently adhered herself to, in reality, they only rid themselves of her the day Sirius receives his wand.

Ed and Remus watch a giddy Sirius demolish an entire wall with a single wave of his new wand.

"I've missed this," Sirius sighs dreamily. "This is the best feeling ever."

"Are you referring to the magic or to the destruction?" Remus jokes.

"Both, Moony! Why not both!"

The house renovations are coming to a close, especially after Sirius and Remus make quick work of boggart hunting through the rest of the building.

Ed feels like he's once again running away from his problems by letting them handle the boggart, but both men insist Ed stay out of it and focus on the rest of the house.

"You could deal with the boiler room for me," Sirius says, making a face. "Kreacher lives down there and I'd much rather deal with a boggart than him."

So, he finds the door leading down to the cellar in a back corner. It's pretty obvious no one human has been down to the basement in long over a decade, because the bricks in the walls are stained black and everything else seems to be covered with a thick layer of grime.

It's not how disgusting the place is that catches Ed's notice though.

There's something wrong with the boiler room and it's not the weird hovel Kreacher's built for himself with junk from over the years — there's something wrong with the air.

All of the hairs on the back of Ed's neck stand up straight and he can sense that unforgettable evil pressure throbbing about him.

A Horcrux.

Inside the very building he's been living in for weeks now.

What are the odds?

It's not difficult to follow the physical malice that lingers where the Horcrux must be to what is most likely Kreacher's bed. Ed digs through the scraps of fabric and broken furniture to discover an ornate, gold locket hidden within the rags.

An "S" is outlined on the front in glittering green stones.

"Slytherin," Ed mutters, not yet attempting to touch the Horcrux.

An obnoxious crack echoes around the room as Kreacher appears, teeth bared and nostrils flaring.

"DO NOT TOUCH THAT!"

"Why do you have this?" Ed asks, gesturing towards the piece of jewelry. "Do you even know what this is?"

"It belongs to Master Regulus!" the house elf snarls. "And it is NOT meant for HANDS like friend's of filthy traitor!"

"Where the fuck did he get this?"

"I do not answer to you," Kreacher snaps. "Leave!"

Ed recalls the way Sirius had described Regulus that one time and connects the dots that Regulus Black was likely a Death Eater.

"Did he get this from Ri–, from Voldemort?"

"That is not business for nosy friend of filthy traitor to know!"

"If Regulus was a fucking Death Eater, it is my business," he retorts. "I'm taking this."

He hesitates, debating who would be more furious with him should his new automail fall apart so soon after he'd received it: Remus and Sirius, Madam Pomfrey, or Drentier.

Actually, it's pretty clear who'd be more pissed.

Drentier's going to murder me.

He hesitates one moment longer.

Fuck it.

Using his automail, Ed grabs the locket by its chain and braces for any evil side effects waiting to curse him.

He breathes a sigh of relief when nothing happens and the sinister pulse of energy coming off of the Horcrux is subdued by the metal of his limb, although he can imagine how adversely his flesh might react to it.

Kreacher lets out a cry and charges at him, but Ed's learned over the years to be quick on his feet and dodges easily. The elf trips over the edge of his own nest and into his bed while Ed prepares himself for a potential fight (albeit, not a high-stakes one).

"Return what belongs to Master at once!" Kreacher shouts.

"You can't keep this!" Ed yells back.

An image flashes in front of his eyes: his hands gripping the elf's skinny neck and wringing it, Kreacher with huge, unblinking eyes and a broken neck.

He drops the necklace immediately.

Despite his job description, Ed isn't inclined towards violence.

Sure, he actively uses it to get his way with awful people and get rid of pests, but he's never used senseless violence on people who were weaker than him or incapable of holding their own in a fight, even when they're the ones starting it.

He's a soldier, but he knows better than to be a bully.

Whatever that thought was, it wasn't him.

(He swears to himself it can't be.)

Ed drops his protective stance and furrows his brow. "Kreacher, how long have you had this?"

The house elf is completely thrown off by Ed's sudden change in demeanor. "You are giving it back?"

"Not that," Ed says impatiently. "How long has this just been sitting in your bed?"

"Sixteen years," Kreacher answers with a scowl. "Master Regulus gave to Kreacher for safe-keeping sixteen years ago."

"That would explain the running murderous commentary," Ed mutters as he glances back down at the locket.

Kreacher makes no move to snatch it off the ground. If anything, he eyes it warily, with a glare that is full of mistrust and anger more than anything else.

"Okay, better question," Ed announces, looking back at Kreacher. "Why are you holding onto this?"

"Because Master Regulus trusted Kreacher to de–, to keep it," Kreacher answers, fumbling over his words. He scowls, narrowing his eyes at Ed. "Friend of filthy traitor is asking too many questions."

"You were about to say 'destroy it', weren't you?"

The scowl turns into another snarl. "It is no business of friend of filthy traitor!"

Ed sighs out of exasperation. "Kreacher, it'd be so much faster if you just called me Ed — that way you could insult me at about twice the speed you are now."

"Stupid Ed," Kreacher spits out. "Nosy Ed. Ugly, short Ed. Ed needs to leave!"

"You know what? That was entirely on me," Ed says, trying to get a grip on his rising irritation.

The locket is still on the ground between them.

He decides to try a different route. "Hard to destroy, isn't it?"

Kreacher blinks.

"I bet you've tried a bunch of crap over the last sixteen years. Didn't leave a dent, not even a scratch on it, from what I can see." He pauses, glancing at the elf from the corner of his eye. "Can't imagine Regulus would be too happy about that."

Kreacher's lip quivers and Ed almost feels bad, but he keeps pushing.

"He asked you to destroy it for him and here it is, in perfect condition, so many years later—"

"Kreacher has tried," the house elf interrupts. "Kreacher would never disobey an order from Master."

"But it didn't work," Ed says.

"Nothing worked," Kreacher mumbles, covering his face with his bony fingers. "Kreacher deserves to die."

"Woah, woah, no. No. Absolutely not, don't say that!" Ed snaps. "Is that something Regulus said to you?"

Kreacher instantly looks angry. "Master was kind to Kreacher. Master was good. Stupid Ed does not get to speak of Master that way!"

Ed throws his hands up. "Alright, god, I get it. You worship the ground he walked on and all that bullshit, even when he was a fucking Death Eater."

"MASTER REGULUS WAS NOT!" Kreacher shouts.

"Are you sure? Because this—" he points at the locket "— is definitely one of Voldemort's. Probably pretty important to him too, so unless Regulus was considerably good friends with Voldy, there's no other way he'd have been able to get his hands on this."

Kreacher snaps back. "Master Regulus took it from the Dark Lord. He told Kreacher to destroy it. He was no friend of the Dark Lord!"

That's surprising information, considering what Sirius has mentioned of his younger brother and his loyalty to "pureblood" culture.

"What happened exactly?" Ed demands.

Kreacher could not be making an angrier scowl. "Why should Kreacher tell stupid, ugly Ed?"

Maybe he should have let Kreacher keep calling him "friend of filthy traitor" after all — that's a problem for later.

"Because I can destroy it, Kreacher."

The change in demeanor is instantaneous; Kreacher's eyes go wide and Ed's never seen the house elf without the permanent frown on his face before.

"Ed can destroy Master's necklace?"

"I'll destroy it, Kreacher," Ed promises. "Let me have it and I'll let you watch it happen."

"How will Kreacher know Ed is telling the truth?"

The grin spreading on Ed's face is vicious. "Can you keep a secret?"

* * * * *

When Sirius and Remus finish up their part of the renovations and head to the kitchen for dinner, they're stunned to see an eager Kreacher assisting Ed with the cooking.

"Wh–, what the hell happened?" Sirius asks, staring at the smile (that looks like a ferocious show of teeth) on Kreacher's wrinkled face.

"What do you mean?" Ed asks, feigning innocence.

"I suppose Sirius is talking about the change to Kreacher's, er, current… attitude?" Remus says diplomatically.

"I dunno, you should probably ask him," Ed shrugs.

"What?" Sirius furrows his brow. "He wouldn't answer that."

Ed rolls his eyes. "Kreacher!" he calls out.

The house elf rushes to his side in an instant.

"How can Kreacher help Ed?"

He can't help but snort at the look on the two men's faces.

"You wanna tell Sirius and Remus why you're in a good mood?"

"Oh, yes," Kreacher says, almost excitedly. "Ed helped Kreacher."

The house elf leaves without elaborating on anything and Ed shrugs again.

"Maybe he's just happy."

"I thought he'd be properly angry by the fact I just turned my mother's portrait to rubble earlier," Sirius says, still confused.

"He called you by your name," Remus says, stunned.

"Yeah, and you do too?"

"Why are you acting like this isn't weird!" Sirius demands.

Ed hides a laugh behind a cough. "What's weird? Everything's exactly the same as always."

Sirius begins to have a mental breakdown trying to figure out what could've caused the change in Kreacher while Remus just sighs.

"You really do know how to drive people insane," he says.

"Thanks," Ed says with a shit-eating grin.

* * * * *

"I'm thinking of formally adopting Harry, now that I've got my wand and everything," Sirius announces one evening at dinner.

The Daily Prophet had recently published an entire spread about the Ministry falsely accusing Sirius Black twelve years ago for the deaths of twelve Muggles and Peter Pettigrew, who was recently discovered to be alive. It's quickly become some of the biggest news of the decade, only narrowly missing first place by the fact that the Boy Who Lived started his wizarding education three years ago.

Not only is Sirius publicly a free man once more, but the house is also coming together quite nicely.

All of the marble and wrought-metal furniture had been replaced with second-hand armchairs and overstuffed cushions and warm-colored wood. The walls are now painted a deep crimson and Sirius proudly displays a number of Gryffindor memorabilia around the house.

(When Remus tacks on a Hufflepuff banner for Ed's sake, Sirius scowls and complains about "the longest, least funny prank he's endured since his joke of a prison sentence".

Shortly after, Ed accurately calls him dramatic and he is somehow offended by it.)

It is a house that feels lived in and welcoming rather than cold and unforgiving as it had been before — it'd be a good place for an orphaned teenage boy to find a home.

Remus lights up at the prospect. "I'm sure he'll be thrilled to leave the Dursley household."

"Oh, definitely. I've been getting bits and pieces about them through his letters and they sound like absolute pricks. I've already told him to say I will threaten bodily harm if they keep it up."

Ed hides a grimace by ducking his head as the men start discussing the formalities of Sirius actually fulfilling his role as a godfather.

The last thing he'd ever talked about with the boy who lived was how and why he'd been involved with said godfather.

He gets the impression Harry wouldn't take kindly to Ed living with the pair before he had had the chance to do so.

"So? What do you think?" Sirius turns expectantly towards Ed, pulling him back into the conversation.

"I don't really know him," Ed responds carefully. "It's your house."

"Yeah, and I'm asking you what you think," Sirius says expectantly. "You live here too, you know."

He snorts. "Gee, thanks, I wouldn't've known otherwise."

"You know what I meant! Why do you always—" he turns to face Remus "—why does he always do this?"

Remus sighs. "And why do you always turn to me whenever Ed's being Ed? I've already tried everything for an entire school year, I have no solution to offer you."

"He just wants you to tell me to shut up since he knows I won't say it back to you," Ed grins.

"Shut up," Sirius says.

"You shut up," Ed retorts.

"See?" They say in unison, turning to face Remus, who's rubbing his temples slowly.

"Oh, I definitely see," he answers, trying very hard not to look at either of them.

"Honestly, I don't think he likes me all too much after the whole shit-show at the end of the term," Ed says at last. "Not sure how he'll react to me living here."

"He already knows," Sirius points out. "I complain about you in my letters."

Ah. Well, that would explain the increase in Ron's nosiness and angry frowns whenever Ed's at the Burrow.

"Rude, you don't complain about Remus?"

"Oh, I bitch about him too."

Remus snorts. "I'll be sure to thank Harry for putting up with you in letter format."

"Why don't you ever thank me for putting up with him in physical person format?"

"Because you never thank me," Remus replies.

"Sometimes I hate you both so much," Sirius announces, as if either of them would seriously believe that.

"Sure," Ed says dismissively.

Remus ignores Sirius in favor of taking a bite of salad and promptly gagging.

The rest of dinner is spent laughing at Remus' failed attempt to act cool.

* * * * *

There are nine words that perfectly explains why Harry Potter doesn't move into 12 Grimmauld Place the very next day: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore is a control freak.

The man insists Sirius wait for an undetermined length of time for some reason or other before offering Harry the option of moving in. It's some complicated bureaucratic bullshit, just like all the paperwork with Sirius' reinstatement into society.

"It's grown up stuff," Sirius says, mostly as a joke, while trying to ruffle Ed's hair.

It'd be rude to admit aloud, but Ed is honestly relieved. He doesn't think he could deal with Harry breathing down his neck at every turn — he already gets enough of that from Ron at the Burrow.

"Hopefully it works out," he offers as a platitude.

"Hopefully," the man replies with a bittersweet smile.

* * * * *

Neville's birthday is on the 30th of July, meaning the remaining members of the book club plan a casual get-together for the day before, seeing as Neville's grandmother has some official dinner party intended for the actual day of his birth.

They meet, as always, at Ranklebury's, where they treat Neville to his favorite blueberry-lavender cake and sing him an off-key rendition of the birthday song, much to his embarrassment. When they're all done eating and chatting about Neville's birthday plans, they offer him a variety of odds and ends in the way of presents, including Blaise, which seems to surprise everyone.

Ed, Blaise, and Ginny give Neville plant-related tools and books while Luna offers him a number of handmade outfits for Trevor. Fred and George outdo themselves by presenting him with an assortment of sweets in a decorated box, claiming they're all homemade and "surprise" flavors.

"It's part of our new business venture," George explains. "We're planning on selling them once the term starts."

"I wouldn't eat them," Ginny warns.

"You should absolutely eat them," Fred insists, "or give them to someone and watch them eat it. Ginny just doesn't have a sense of humor."

She scoffs. "I have one, actually."

"Not a good one," George amends.

"Better than yours," Blaise counters, politely, to which George immediately gasps.

"Are you actually making a joke?" he asks.

"Don't take her side!" Fred shouts. "She's not that funny!"

"My apologies," Blaise says innocently, turning to face Fred. "Perhaps not as funny as George, but more funny than you?"

"Someone needs to get Fred a mediwizard, because that one had to have hurt," Ginny grins.

Fred sticks out his tongue. "Don't be mean, I'm, like, sensitive."

Most of them laugh at that, although Blaise just smiles like he always does and Ed snorts while rolling his eyes.

It's a good deal later that Neville gets around to asking, "Come to think of it, when's your birthday, Ed?"

"Mm?" He's still reading one last paragraph about Muggle car engines in his latest book.

"Birthday, Ed. When's your birthday?" Fred repeats.

"Third of February, eigh–" He cuts himself off. Wrong year for this reality.

Luna stares at him, but the rest of the book club begin to give him grief for not mentioning it earlier.

"We could have sent another Howler," Fred complains. "You've robbed us of the opportunity."

"Considering what you sent for Easter, you don't get to complain."

After Christmas, the twins had taken to sending him Howlers on every holiday, even the ones they were physically present for. It always made Luna laugh and Ed scowl in the way that meant he was somewhat amused, which only served to encourage them.

"Can't believe you already turned fourteen then."

Ed's confused. "What?"

Neville is equally confused. "What?"

"Wait, what?" Fred says this time.

"Did you just turn thirteen?" Ginny asks curiously.

"Are you implying I'm short for my age?!"

"That depends on your age," Ginny answers reasonably and to which Ed responds with an unreasonable noise.

"I'm sixteen," he says defiantly.

"What!" The twins both shout. "We're sixteen!"

No one needs to point out that Ed is considerably shorter than the majority of the book club members, with Ginny being the shortest, and he only has one or two inches on her anyways.

"If Ed's birthday is in February, he's actually older than you two," Ginny says.

"No way," Fred says, gaping.

"Maybe this is a dream," George adds.

Everyone stares at Ed and then the twins, and then back at Ed.

His face heats up. "Fuck you guys, it's not that big of a deal!"

"It… kind of is?" Neville speaks up. "You're a fourth year now and you're already sixteen?"

"I was homeschooled before this," Ed points out. "Maybe Dumbledore thought I needed remedial lessons."

"But you don't need any," Blaise says slowly. "You understand everything perfectly. Now I don't understand."

Ginny says what they're all thinking, but are too nervous to say. "Do you think Dumbledore put you two years behind because you're so short and he got confused?"

His long-winded rant about his height doesn't even scare them anymore — they just bite back their laughs to be considerate of his feelings.

(Ed finds that he doesn't mind it as much as he normally would.)

* * * * *

He knows what he agreed to, but somehow Ed didn't fully realize how awful seeing the entirety of the Golden Trio again would be until he shows up at the Burrow bright and early the day of the Quidditch World Cup.

Although, to be fair, their glares are partially obscured by an overly enthusiastic Fred and Ginny.

"It's the World Cup," Ginny points out when she accurately interprets Ed's neutral expression as surprise. "Who wouldn't be excited?"

"Ed, clearly," George snorts.

"Clearly, Ed is super thrilled to be here," he deadpans.

Fred flicks his forehead. "Shut up, we know we basically dragged you into coming and you're a horrible actor, but will you lighten up and try to pretend this isn't torture? It'll be loads of fun."

"Where are we even going? I thought the World Cup was pretty far from here."

They're trekking through the forest early in the morning, with Mr. Weasley heading the group.

"We're going to walk all the way there," Fred jokes.

"We've got to take a Portkey," Ginny says, rolling her eyes at her brother's antics.

The four of them start bickering about how long it'd take to walk there and what the actual best means of transportation is — while the Golden Trio are still glaring —when they run into Cedric and his father.

Cedric is as kind and polite as ever, while his father radiates an energy that oozes Extremely Proud Parent with every word.

"I'm really sorry about him," he says sheepishly when Amos Diggory will not let up on his spiel about Cedric's unmatched Quidditch skills to anyone who will give him even a second of attention.

"You should be," Fred mutters. "Gryffindor should've won."

"Don't be," Ed says over him. He snorts at the look on the twins' and Ginny's faces. "I've been told it's important to have House pride."

That starts another round of bickering that Cedric is all too polite and mature to be involved in, but not polite or mature enough to not laugh at or stop altogether.

* * * * *

It's kind of crazy how much can happen in so little time.

Ed learns that portkeys are basically touch-based, forced apparition and instantly loathes the idea of traveling back to the Burrow by the same means of transportation — he swears to the twins and to Ginny that he'd rather walk back barefoot over hot coals.

The twins bet the entirety of their personal savings on the outcome of the game and subsequently, Ed manages to pay for every single thing he, Fred, George, and Ginny do, with the lame excuse that it's to compensate for the cost of the ticket.

("Marry him faster, will you?" Ginny stage-whispers to Fred.

"I will push you off the stands," Fred threatens with pink cheeks.

George, wisely, says nothing.)

There's pre-game entertainment in the form of some kind of dancing and magical fireworks and then all of a sudden, the match is in full swing.

Ed stands by his first impression of the sport and swears Quidditch is, by far, one of the biggest wastes of energy a person could commit themselves to using at all (although that's just his personal opinion on any organized sport). Ginny and the twins can see it written all over his face a few minutes into the match, but Mr. Weasley doesn't and continuously tries to get Ed to join in cheering for the Irish team.

There aren't enough words in English and Amestrian combined to explain how much Ed hates the idea of cheering for anything, let alone a team sport.

Somehow, the least surprising thing is that the match ends with Ireland winning the game, but Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian seeker, catching the Snitch, just as Fred and George had predicted.

Greasy food, nice weather, and good company — even Ed can begrudgingly admit the World Cup had been a good time, aside from the actual Quidditch.

He and his friends talk late into the night in the Weasley's magically expanded tent and when they fall asleep, Ed lays in his bedroll, trying to commit his first time attending a "fun" event to memory.

But everything changes when the Death Eaters attack.