Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Edward Elric was done.

He did it. He stopped Father from killing the entire country. He got his arm back. And most importantly, he fulfilled the one promise that held more importance than his life. Al would've strongly disagreed with that last one but that doesn't matter. He got his brother's body back and all was right in the world.

Edward barely found a time when he wasn't grinning or bouncing a leg even a month after Promised Day. Mustang was an annoying bastard after the fact, making him do some stupid reports and making him sleep when he could be watching Al, but in the end, hanging with the colonel bastard was bearable as Al rediscovered the world. Ecstatic was an understatement when he helped his brother take his first steps, eat his first slice of Winry apple pie, and write his first shaky letters on paper. A little pang of longing struck through his heart as Al drew a transmutation circle beforehand, but he quickly punted that feeling away at the smile his brother had on his face. It would always be worth that smile. He would've sacrificed a hundred Gates or more to have his brother whole as he is now.

He didn't deny that he missed alchemy, though. He could think of all kinds of arrays, always theorizing inside his head new and improved methods that the State Alchemists could use to rebuild Amestris. And sure, he did write many of them down to pass on, but it was different from doing it. Sometimes when he woke up, stretching his recovering arm, he does a small clap. Just for memory's sake, of course, but the once striking power he always felt before that snaked inside his arms just... wasn't there. It was like reaching into a bowl of water, knowing exactly how to cup your hands to scoop it out, but your hands don't exist anymore. Just like before when he was just a “kid”, it was a quiet and empty clap.

But one clap, one day, did something.

“Son of a—“

“Hello, little alchemist."

He was there. Again.

The one damned place in between places that showed nothing but white space, the fucking Gate, and the motherfucking Truth. Him, no—they, no— it, with that horrifyingly big smile with way too many teeth. It stood there with the same cocky grin, tilting its head as it watched Edward stand there silently fuming.

Edward Elric was done, but Truth was not done with him.

“I don't know what the fuck you want, but I sure as hell know thAT I DID NOT JUST CALL YOU AND THAT I'M FUCKING DONE WITH YOUR BULLSHIT!" He shouted.

"I know that you didn't call, little alchemist. I did."

Edward stared at the audacity of this bitch. Truth did not call. It answered.

With all the questions rapid firing through his mind, he settled with a simple spluttering, "W-Why?"

Truth stopped smiling and began to lower itself to the ground, "Sit. There is good reason why I called."

Edward wanted to do nothing but launch his metal foot right where the sun don't shine, but the sudden change of mood intrigued him more than anger him. He flopped to the floor, crossing his arms and scowled across the distance. Ed wasn't taking any bullshit this time.

"What do you want?" He growled.

"A favor."

Ed scoffed in disbelief, "After all the shit me and Al went through? Are you serious?"

"In return, I'll give back your Gate."

Ed's mouth shut with an audible click. This—this was something. No, this was suspicious .

"You'd give back my Gate? What could possibly be equivalent to my Gate? Wait—are you gonna TAKE BACK AL'S—"

Truth put on its stupid smile, "No, little alchemist. Your goal in this world is fulfilled. No need taking back what was fairly traded, after all."

Ed zoned in on one phrase, "This world. This world?"

"Yours is one of many, little alchemist. As my request stands, my favor requires your.... interference in one of them."

If brains were inert bases, Edward's would've defied the laws of physics by how blown it was. Multiple universe theory! It's true! Truth just spouted it out of its punchable face, but it doesn't lie. Holy shit, he needed to tell Al—

"If you refuse my favor, any memory of what happened here will disappear along with me."

Ed's wondrous expression changed to his most sourest glare, "Wh—Then what the hell do you want from me?!"

Truth's smile shrunk, "I need you to travel to another world, of course. There are items of power that come too close to cheating death and I need you to destroy them along with someone attempting to slight my authority without cost to him. Particularly, he's reaching for immortality and power far above himself with the death of other lives."

"Urgh, what's with people wanting to be immortal?" Ed growled, "Father and Hohenheim were both fucked over by that in different ways. One was a crazy fucking asshole and the other was Father."

"There are always those who try to gain what they can't have. Isn't that right, little alchemist?"

Edward held down a string of curses he wanted to yell at Truth but he knew that it was very right. It said it in the most dickish way, but it struck home. His grip in his folded arms tightened. He wasn’t going to agree or disagree until he knew everything. Whether the effort was worth it to have his passion back was entirely up to what he could face this time.

"I'm not deciding yet but," He sighed, "who's the asshole and what's the stuff?"

"A one Tom Marvolo Riddle and a set of three items named the Deathly Hallows."

The guy sounded like a fantasy character and the stuff seemed just as ridiculous. He shouldn't judge though, as he chased around Philosophers stones, homunculi, and chimeras. Guess crazier shit can happen in another world.

"Weird ass start with some weird ass names, then. How will I find them?"

Truth grinned, "I will grant you a way to track and destroy them. Your Gate will also be returned for extra insurance. Finally, I will give you a way to be... discreet. I can’t allow you to give awareness to them that you are not from their world. If you get caught, you must not tell anyone."

"So I'll avoid questions about my past. Big deal. S'not like I’ve done that millions of times before."

"Hm."

Ed squinted at it, suspicious, "Hm?"

"We'll see."

"What the fuck does that me—"

"Only a thought. By the way, if you accomplish their destruction, I'll return you back to the second after you clapped with your Gate. No time will have passed since and your body would be the same. An even exchange for what you might face there."

Ed breathed a sigh of relief at that clarity. It would suck if he had to explain an indefinite amount time away from Al, the colonel, and especially Winry. He'd get a wrench to the head for everyday he was absent not to mention a few snaps of fire to the face. His heart dropped at the thought. No matter what skepticisms tried to cut through his mind, in his soul he already decided. There was no way he was going to stand aside when another megalomaniac is taking lives. Not while he can stop it. One last question...

"What happens if I die?"

"Then you die. Your dead soul will follow the rules of their world and you won't return."

Edward grimaced, chewing on a fingernail in intense thought. No matter what he thought, he imagined Al there, terrified in the shadow of a faceless evil. Shit...

Truth grinned that annoying ass grin that knew what he was thinking, "Will you do this?"

Edward restrained the urge to punch it again, "I will."

There wasn't even a moment of pause when Truth stood up with the biggest fucking smile and the Gate behind it opened with a bang. Air seemed to want to suck him through it with familiar long black hands reaching for him from its depths. Edward started, shouting obscenities and scooting away in shock. His back hit a solid wall, no wait— his once missing Gate! Halfway between elation and fear, he no time to think as his Gate pushed him towards the wide open one. He did, however, have enough thought to flip off Truth on the way out.

"Make sure you learn how to breathe fire, little alchemist!" It yelled.

"WHAT—"

The Gate closed around him with an ominous boom.

Chapter Text

There was one question on Edwards mind and it was "why me?".

He wanted to kick his own head or maybe bash it against a wall. The one question he forgot to ask Truth, "why me?".

Was it the work experience? He did beat up what was literally a god.

Was it his heroics? He didn't become the People's Alchemist for no reason.

Was it his charming personality? Oh hell no.

Edward internally raged, throwing all sorts of insults concerning Truth and its ass as he was currently captive on all sides by Truth-knows-what, not to mention it was uncomfortably wet in there. His one remaining leg was folded all the way into his chest, making it hard to breathe. His arms pinned under it as he thrashed around in the fetal position. His back felt strangely bigger and wider as it was crushed against some sorta wall. Ed tried to open his mouth to scream, only to find what dank ass liquid was in there soaking his tongue. It tasted like rotten raw egg and milk and that’s the point where Edward Elric drew the fucking line.

If there was one annoying redeeming quality Alphonse had found, it was that his brother had a head smarter than a college blowhard and harder than concrete.

He smashed whatever the hell was in front of him with the force of a thousand rages. Hearing nothing but a hollow reply, he grinned and continued head-butting, chipping away at the wall with all he had. Luckily, it helped that with every pound against his forehead, he called Truth a variety of insults and crafty analogies, but this was going to take a while...

He didn't know how much time had past but it had been at least a few hours until he heard something new.

Bonk, bonk, bonk, crack!

Ed yelled triumphantly with his mouth firmly closed. He can see it now! A jagged crack formed right above his head. Just one more headache-inducing smash and he's outta here!

Using what little grip he had in the smooth cage, he launched himself at the sliver of light. Cold, dry air immediately met his senses as he tumbled out into freedom. He would've laid there grinning from ear to ear in victory if it weren't for the damned  slope.

Ed yelped, rolling head over heels as he slid down Truth-knows-what. Holding his head in his now free arms, he hit a matter of painful things. He grunted as something rough brushed his knee. A gasp as something sharp dug into his back. Finally, he sighed in relief as he slid to a stop on something plush and refreshingly comfortable. Ed was dizzy, pissed, and way too fucking tired to deal with this bullshit. And so, he passed out cold, wet, and helpless.

————————

A shudder ran through the phoenix, distracting him from his dinner. It was almost imperceptible, the way his feathers puffed on end, and yet Albus Dumbledore sent a questioning look towards his familiar. Fawkes stared back, warm amber eyes meeting twinkling blues.

"Is there something wrong, Fawkes?" The Headmaster asked, setting down his quill.

Fawkes ignored the remnants of the chicken he hunted and instead turned to look out of the tower window behind his perch. A clear night's sky twinkled back, reflecting off the property lake in cool hues. Even through the window, he could smell the dew of a new day. If he took a night flight with the owls, he would soar on the coming autumn breeze signaling another school year in Hogwarts.

Dumbledore softly stepped behind him, also admiring the picturesque scene. No matter how many decades he spent up in his office, he would never tire of this view.

Fawkes pointedly looked up at the sky and hummed, his partner following the gaze to a rather strange sight. He might be seeing things or maybe needs a refresher from Madam Sinistra, but it couldn’t possibly be.

A new star glittered next to the crescent moon, angrily dazzling through the sky. Both human and familiar squinted at the discovery, Fawkes clicking his beak in thought. Dumbledore was tempted to shield his eyes from it, a strange urge to have from just one star.

Fawkes tilted his head as if asking a question.

Dumbledore answered, "I don't know, old friend. I'm afraid I’ll have to ask Ms. Trelawney or perhaps our neighboring centaurs."

The phoenix hummed again as he continued staring at the sky.

"An omen, indeed..."

————————

Edward woke up with the worst migraine he ever had, which said something after the massive woo-we-saved-the-world party he had at Central with all the alcohol he could down. And he wasn’t even legal age at that. Colonel bastard looked the other way, Hawkeye just sighed and took the super hard stuff, and all the others made bets on how much he could drink. Nobody won as Ed passed out sooner than expected after two bottles of beer and the fifth shot of sake. But hey, it wasn’t as if they didn’t know Fullmetal tended to exceed and/or disappoint expectations. He had always done things to spite people with a bang and a few choice words.

Ed groaned, pulling an arm over his pounding head, vaguely noticing that he had dried off at some point. Small dots of black and white danced in his vision as rubbed his eyes in slow easy circles. Opening a single one, he gazed around what seemed to be a large dark room full of piled junk. Chairs, taxidermy animals, clocks, strange clothes, bricks, cabinets, and anything weird and common was in sight. Currently, he laid on a threadbare cushion, it was an uncomfortably bright yellow, but he wouldn’t complain after the landing it took from him. A thick book atop a pile of junk drew his attention as he finished the short inspection, just calling to be read.

'Read me, Fullmetal! Turn my pages, hot stuff! Read meeeeee!'

After his head stopped spinning for a damn second, he'd answer that weirdly seductive call.

"Fucking Truth," He chittered, "I'll kick your face in if I see you again, asshole."

Ed stopped rubbing his head. What came out of his mouth wasn't Amestrian. It didn’t even sound like human language.

"What the fuck?"

He slapped a hand over his mouth—no, his clawed hands over his snout.

"What the fuck?"

He stared unbelieving at his arms and—his chest! He turned his head on his long neck every which way in growing disbelief, gawking at what was— is his body.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

Edward has never felt such a combination of incredulousness, anger, and freaked out in his life. Even when he met Truth and the Gate, this was just every single kind of wrong and for another time in his life, he had no idea whether to be sick or go into a rage.

He settled for rage.

Ed screeched to the stone ceiling, "IS THIS WHAT YOU MEAN BY ‘LEARN TO BREATHE FIRE'? ARE YOU FUCKING SHITTING ME?!"

Edward Elric, Amestris State Major Fullmetal Alchemist, and Alchemist of the People found himself in the body of a motherfucking dragon .

"IS THIS WHAT YOU MEAN BY DISCREET, YOU BASTARD?! I'M A FUCKING ANIMAL!!!"

What little torch light lit the room reflected softly off his golden scales. What seemed to be— oh Truth— leathery wings sat folded on his back. He shocked himself as he opened one, startled to feel like it was an extra set of arms, light and sensitive to the cold air. His open maw practically fell to the floor as he appeared to have a tail , smooth and longer than his own body length. And his body!

He couldn't help but grudgingly admit that the shape Truth put him in wasn't bad on the eyes, tentatively walking on all threes to properly look.

Ed was like a cross between the Eastern and Western imagery of dragons he used to see on expeditions. He was long and nearly sinuous as he also kept muscle around his chest and rump. A mirror nearby helped him look at his snaking neck and face, revealing a narrow West-style head and— holy shit are those horns?

Finding himself much more impressed than he was freaked out, Ed touched his new set of three cool ass horns. Golden still, were two horns spiraling backwards past his ears as the one growing right in the middle of his head looked akin to his old 'hair antenna' lying the same way. He would’ve preferred them black, but their existence is awesome enough by itself.

"Discreet! I'm shiny as all hell!" He still spat, "Let's make you a mythical creature for style points, Fullmetal! I'm sure you can murder a bitch like THIS!"

Ed would've called himself quite the handsome dragon if he wasn’t fuming at his new form. He continued staring back at his reflection, inspecting where his automail leg was supposed to be with bared teeth. Only a scarred stump was left with no signs of a port, and more importantly, a leg.

He snuffed, "Of course you leave out the leg. Can't make things any easier for me, can you?"

Predictably, Edward heard no reply, only the crackle of torch fire. The sound brought him back to the state of the room. Not everyday he saw a such a chaotic collection of weird shit even if he had been inside Gluttony's gross subspace. He limped towards the book that had his attention before, getting a feel for his new stride and weight on his back. It was easier than being one-legged with crutches which was a small comfort. He sure as hell did not want to deal with finding a leg so early in the game.

Ed climbed the pile with a few experimental hops, grumbling as he passed a taxidermy cat that had the audacity to be larger than him.  He had to flare out a wing or two to correct his jumps, on instinct to his surprise. Muttering to himself, he found that he had excellent balance compared to the human experience.

His clawed hands (paws?) brushed against something light as a familiar smell wafted into his nose. Looking down at the offending thing, he found what seemed to be a pitch black shard of something. Against his first instinct to avoid potentially knocking himself via stink, he lowered his snout to sniff it, smelling the same dank egg scent he was first introduced to. A few more pieces like it caught his eye upwards and his gaze followed the trail to a large empty eggshell sitting atop the pile, dark as night and almost as ominous.

"Well shit," Ed wondered, "Guess I had to arrive here somehow. Hatching out of a fucking egg was uncalled for, though."

He shook himself and spooked by a sudden chiming. He stared wildly around the room for a minute before folding his unknowingly flared wings. Squinting at his body in suspicion, he shook again. His scales made that sound, acting like metallic jewels sliding over each other.

Edward was quickly getting over this dragon shit.

He reached the book and plopped down on a weird pointed hat. If there was one thing that was constant, it was knowledge and found that he could conveniently read whatever the heck was on the leather-bound cover.

Still, no thanks to Truth.

"Hogwarts: A History," He read, "Eh, I read weirder."

Opening the book proved easy enough, though one look at the pages was enough to make him feel outraged. Whoever had this beautiful book nearly tore it apart by the spine, what appeared to be a drink spill bled through the pages, and there was evidence of—

"Dog ears?! This is an old ass bo—who the hell would—I'm going to riot ." Ed growled as he always does when looking at a poorly treated book.

How dare they! It's a perfectly good book! It's not that hard to take care of the damn things and yet here was evidence of some shit treatment. How the hell is he going to read it now? He'd just get distracted by the stains and his own anger. Maybe he could fix it up a bit with thread and fold back the pages but a full fix would only be possible with—

"ALCHEMY!"

Edward the Fullmetal Dragon scrambled to grab what he could. The hat he sat on had thread, there was a stack of paper just above him, and a bottle of ink sat conveniently along the way. He fumbled around to the items, dragging what papers he had with his tail and grabbing the ink with his jaws. His wings had a work out as he gathered the stuff along, fixing his balancing act, but he didn’t care. He was going to do some goddamn alchemy!

Ed slid down the hill of junk with glee, setting the items carefully around the book like a holy ritual. He almost considered it to be as he sat upright with a serious expression, thinking up with the familiar arrays concerning restoration. He had done this before, Truth said it gave back his Gate, and by thunder he was going to do something . Taking in a deep breath, Edward held his hands up and clapped in silent prayer.

Arcs of bright blue electricity danced in front of his eyes and his heart soared. Power once again flowed within his arms, thrumming with life and direction, its familiar blue light glowing comfortably between his hands. His draconian face lit up in the best smile it could show. If he had paid attention to his appearance at that moment, he would've been awed by the sight of his alchemic electricity zapping between his horns, but alas, he wouldn't even cared about that if he did see. He had his passion again and the Fullmetal Alchemist back in business!

"Hello again." He whispered reverently.

Pressing his hands onto the book, he watched with an elated gaze as his array repaired the pages, the stone room lighting up in blue and shadows dancing along the walls. A sliver of the hat's thread disappeared into its straightening spine, a few papers melded with the book, and the ink drained into its old fading letters. He clapped once more to feel his alchemy again and to pull away what he could from the stains. Ed at least remembered to be careful about this particular control in his happiness. Arrays couldn’t fix every damage as the trace elements he was manipulating could easily destroy the valuable pages. No, he would just have to settle for damage control.

Or he would if he wasn't such a goddamned genius.

Edward laughed maniacally as he threw his home-brewed arrays at it like a madman, a truly strange sight to behold as a small golden reptile cackled while restoring a book almost bigger than itself. When the array was done with its final repair, the triumphant alchemist now sat next to a brand new book. He might've thrown in a little gold from a now-missing chain of jewelry into its engravings just for the hell of it, but this was now a palatable read to his eyes and mind.

And so, a miniatu—ahem, normal-sized dragon sat with his repaired possession atop what he claimed to now be his hoard, reading without a care in the world and a heart shining as much as his scales.

Chapter Text

Edward looked down at his flexing claws in thought, the repaired book sitting closed after an all-nighter of reading, or at least what he thought was night. The various clocks in the room showed vastly different times and sometimes no numbers at all as words saying ‘tea time’ and ‘wash the laundry’ were nonsensically written on the faces. In fact, the hoard of stuff he scrounged through was extra weird like that. The clothes he found piled were all robes and pointed hats, dyed in fantastical colors and patterns. There was an abundance of quills, parchment, and ink with no other writing alternative, some he could swear were moving on their own. And whatever the hell kind of armoire sitting crushed under one pile of junk gave him almost the same feeling the Gate did.

What he thought as some fantasy nonsense he read from the book began to ring true with what he found and the alchemist in him did not like it one bit.

"It isn't possible. It defies the laws of everything! Of Truth!" He stared back at the book, "Potions, charms, transfigura-shit-fuck, flying broom sports—that asshole must be pulling my last leg."

Ed stopped himself before he truly denied it.

Truth sent him into a whole other world and the laws could be entirely different. But that couldn’t be right. He immediately proved otherwise, using alchemy as he has done before and the arrays worked like a dream. There was no sign of rebound, changed variables, or weird voodoo bullshit. Alchemy works. The laws are the same. Perhaps there was a way to circumvent them here. An unknown energy source to pull magic from?

"Fuck, I need to find a library."

Ed knew that he forgot something important as his stomach gurgled in pain.

"Alright, food first then library."

Expertly sliding down from his book perch, he eyed the large wooden door a distance away. He knew that it was the only way out after a bit of exploring, but didn't leave the room since his hatching. Approaching the door, he already disliked how stupidly large it was compared to him, even to his old height. Ed snuffed, putting an ear against the wood. A few minutes of silence on the other side convinced him that it was probably safe. Though with his luck there might be dragon-eating homunculi on the other side just to spite him.

He bunted his nose against the door and pushed. It opened a lot easier than he thought it would as he nearly face-planted into the hall outside and instead ducked into a roll.

Ed immediately dashed for the shadow of a carved pillar as the door closed shut behind him. Seeing nothing but empty corridor in response, he relaxed as much as a trained soldier could and began taking in the surroundings.

The same old torches lit the area, casting a warm glow over the hallway. The walls, structural pillars, and arched ceiling just screamed medieval castle, artfully carved and pieced together. It was construction Fullmetal didn't at all dislike as he gave a few points to the builder for style and function. The fancy structures had a ton of good hiding spaces. Though, if he doesn't see any gargoyles at some point he'll make it easy for them by putting his own personal sculptures. Nothing else like the ol' Elric Touch.

He took a final look at the ceiling, estimating that he could fit even easier into rafters than before.

That little fact made him grumble, "At least this size does something for me."

The rafters brought up an idea that Ed never would've thought before leaving the junk room. He glanced back at his wings, mildly flicking them to feel the air. He only used them for balancing and helping his jumps, but never for their intended purpose.

This body was made to fly, right? He has a pair of wings so of course he fucking should.

Scrutinizing the ceiling, the alchemist tried to recall the actions he'd seen from flying bats. It should be the same principle. Scrunch up the body, jump as high as possible, and flap for it. Keep a steady rhythm and feel for body weight. Oh, wait.

Unease slid into his mind as he crouched on one hind leg, feeling his tail move to balance his backside.

His circumstances weren’t the same as a bat's and he has to account for the missing leg and a whole ass tail. Should his flaps be bigger? More frequent? Maybe replicate one of those fancy-tailed birds? No, he doesn’t have feathers, that's ridiculous. He should probably go practice in the room to be safe...

Ed's stomach growled at him.

"Ah fuck it."

He sprang, spreading his wings without conscious thought and flapped as hard as he could. Air rushed past his ears as he shot straight up. His nervousness disappearing as his excitement grew with a few more hard flaps against gravity. It's working! He was really doing it! Edward fucking Elric was flying!

Too little, too late when 'Edward fucking Elric' noticed that he forgot to think about landing.

"SHIT SHIT SHIT SHI—"

Thunk!

His vision spun as he rammed headfirst into the ceiling. Trying to right himself in the air, he crashed onto a rafter, knocking his breath out with a wheeze. In spite of himself, it was the one he aimed for.

"Ow."

Ed laid limp on the wooden beam to catch his breath, holding his head with a hand. He felt for any damage to his wings, stretching them for good measure. Was it just him or did he get another four wings? No, his eyes were just crossed.

As soon as the room stopped spinning, he was definitely going to find food. If two days without a meal made him hungry and cranky, now he was tired, hungry, and cranky.

Tirungky if you will. A terrible step up from crangry.

He got up with a loud groan at that nonsensical thought. It was not a good sign for his sanity once he began inventing new words.

Ed sniffed the air in search of a meal, slowly recovering his breath and sight. It was the one habit that paired well with his new body as a whiff of some sort of heavenly dish was easily caught by his nose. He immediately drooled. Following the scent as it flowed down the hall, he jumped rafter after rafter with a hop to his step.

Nothing was going to stop this dragon on the hunt.

—————————

Adjusting his new pair of neon green shorts, the free elf Dobby grinned from pointed ear to ear, admiring himself in the reflection of a large copper pot. The other, busier house elves turned up their noses as they bustled past. Many of them carrying baskets of vegetables, fruit, and wrapped meats to and fro in the kitchen, prepping for the coming feast the next day. Already the chefs began making pot roasts and stews to make them extra tender for the new and returning students. Start of the school year was one of the busiest days for all the house elves and yet here was Dobby, foolishly grooming in the middle of a delivery!

"Dobby!" An elderly she-elf dressed appropriately in Hogwarts uniform hobbled to him, "Stops blocking the floor and gets you a basket!"

He jumped out of a grumpily congested path of elves, "Dobby is sorry! He won't blocks floor now!"

"Yes, yes, but gets you to work! Master Dumbledore is p-p-pa-pay—let's you to work so Dobby must!"

"Dobby dids so, elder." He quietly replied, "Empties the flour, sugar, and spices into pantry like you saids."

The graying elf's spluttering stopped, "You dids all?"

"Yes, elder. Dobby gots up really early when first delivery comes and finishing at lunchtime. He's even puts them in order like yous like. Cinnamons next to sugars and corianders next to allspices, correct?"

The clattering and clanging of pots continued as the elder elf put down her waving arms, contemplating her new 'coworker'. A shame to all house elves, Dobby is, but a hard worker he proved he still was. She stared hard at the strangely-dressed elf as he fidgeted with the maroon scarf around his tiny shoulders. Strangely, she did not feel as much disappointment as she did before when looking at the walking rainbow now, but that won't stop her from making him work more. Better to make him as proper a house elf as she could.

She evenly ordered, "Is correct, Dobby. You still helps with professors' dinners now."

His green eyes lit up as he scurried away, "Yes, right aways!"

The elder shook her head as he tripped over his oversized shoes, leaving to check on the next lagging elf she could find.

Dobby ducked past a corner and let out a breath he'd been holding since the old elf stared him down. She was an intimidating lady, strict and crass like the other elves told him. Though she very much yelled at him and always gave him the hardest work, he had a strange feeling she let him off easy for a second. But that could just be the stove smoke addling his mind. A proper elder house elf changing their mind? More unlikely than being set free!

He giggled into his oven mitts, smelling past baked goods from the cloth.

Oh, that's a good idea. He could make sweet rolls for the professors!

The elf, dodging a coworker's turnabout and grabbing a large bowl, went to gather his ingredients from the pantry. Though it could hardly be called a pantry as it was a storage room twice the size of the school's great hall and almost as grand.

Nobody knew all the people who enchanted Hogwarts, but the elves greatly appreciated and took pride in the layered enchantments set on their pantry. It was always kept carefully chilled, made to get colder and colder the deeper one went. It was great for any ingredient, whether for perishable meat or leafy green. Even the few human chefs who knew of the place were envious of it, sometimes asking to inspect the enchantments every few years. But they never truly understood the pantry. That’s just how special it is.

Dobby pulled his scarf on tighter, walking through the elf-sized doors into the cold. Breath pluming into the air, he peered up to the stacks and stacks of metal shelves laden with crates of food. Elves in a hurry apparated onto the shelves, taking what they wanted from the boxes then disappearing with a crack. Personally, Dobby always liked to walk in the pantry, only apparating when he needed ingredients above a literal story or two. Ladders lined the shelves anyway so he might as well use them if he's not in a hurry. Leisurely work is where it's at, especially since he escaped employment under the Malfoys.

He found the flour and sugar right where he left it. Bottom shelf, two rows left, and past the salt. Fuddling the bowl in his arms, he opened the flour crate and expertly scooped a few cups into it. He moved on to the sugar without pause, spilling none of the flour as his bowl scooped. No need to measure when one knew exactly how to by heart.

Another elf rushed past him, basket topped with strawberries and raspberries in hand.

Dobby snapped his fingers at a new idea. The professors tended to eat sweet rolls with jam. He'll need to stop by the preserves to pick up a jar or two. The elf wished he had worn a thicker hat that day since they were a few sections back, but no need to worry for his poor ears. He planned to apparate.

He pulled his magic to his navel, wishing to be by the jams and jellies.

Crack!

He found himself a few shelves up next to a neat stack of preserves. However, that lasted for only a second as the tower of jars fell.

Dobby could only scream as hundreds of them crushed him to the floor and threw his bowl of future sweet rolls over the shelf. Pain burst wherever a jar hit him, one a heavy glass of grape jelly landing straight to the head. If he wasn’t out for the count then, he certainly was now as his vision faded to black.

The cacophony of breaking glass and spilling liquid echoed throughout the room, but the other elves however, weren't around to hear as they apparated as quick as a second. They never dillydallied when they had work and every single one of them was focused. If they ever did hear a crash, they would only assume that someone made a mess and was silently cleaning it up in shame.

How unfortunate for an elf in a real jam.

—————————

Edward tried his best to sneak as he dragged away the unconscious creature limp on his back. The pulpy jam that squelched between his toes did nothing to help, but he needed to save him and get the hell outta there.

It was too early to reveal himself like this, but Fullmetal couldn’t just leave him behind under the mountain of glass in that cold. After all, it was his stupid tail that accidentally knocked that shit over.

Ed swallowed as guilt welled up in his chest. He thought he had gotten used to the constant crack of instant tele-fuck-portation he'd been hearing since he tunneled there, but he clearly hadn't as it scared him enough to jump and knock out an elf as a result.

The crack of another elf stopped his walk of shame as only a crate blocked him from sight. If they stepped just to the left or right, he'd be caught sticky-handed. He slowly laid down, ears swiveling as he tracked the sound of footsteps. Fortunately, they walked away, but he didn’t move until the sound met up with the others. Ed chuckled bitterly to himself, finding his better hearing abilities all too handy in this situation.

He finally reached a stone wall that connected to the shelves, clapped his hands as best as he could, and opened up a prebuilt secret stashing tunnel. Quickly setting down his load inside, he clapped again to deconstruct what he could from the trail of blood and jam they left, and closed the entrance.

Lucky he decided to tunnel from the walls and not from the floor. That would've been a real pain in the ass.

A quiet moan made him rush back to the sticky victim. The elf was waking up dazed and confused, but Ed didn't want him awake or at least not until he was long gone.

He jokingly smiled and clapped, "Hope this doesn't fuck up your head too much, pal."

The alchemist hit the back of his head with a stone fist and watched him go under again. He didn't know whether to be more disturbed at intentionally knocking him out via alchemy or accidentally via hundreds of jelly jars, but he'll probably bring this up later with Al after a few stiff drinks.

Ed licked the remaining jam off his snout and got to work.

There were a lot of shards of glass sticking out of the poor elf. It was fortunate that nothing large was found where it shouldn’t be, so the damage control should be less difficult, but it was patching up the wounds that was the main problem. The elf could still lose a lot of blood if he took out everything at once. No, he would take out the more problematic ones and bandage them as best as he could before trying to hand him over to someone capable that didn’t have smal—reptile hands. There had to be someone who could take him since he's pretty sure that this place is the same fucking magic school he read about in his book.

Ed suddenly remembered a passage from it, talking about past medi-wizards and healers who took care of shit like freak accidents. Injury by falling jars should be nonsensical enough for wizards to deal with. He could just find one.

He cleaned and deconstructed what he could off the elf as he tried to recall the vague map the book had. The infirmary would be down the hall from the courtyard entrance, a whole floor up and a lot of rooms away from the pantry.

Ed could easily tunnel there, but then it'd take too much time to avoid other rooms and carry the injured.

He could try to find the actual healer, but he doesn't know if they are even at the castle, let alone know how to find them. Even if he did find them, could he even drop this guy off without making questions?

It'd be even worse if Ed tried to go for any run-of-the-mill wizard.

Tail lashing in growing anger, he tried to think. The elf's transmuted clothes held good as bandages but he was losing color fast.

One plan stood out in his mind despite his strong dislike of it. The best thing he could do was lead another elf to the fucked up jam and leave this injured one somewhere in it. No muss, no fuss, and no way of knowing about a third party intruder, especially a rogue dragon.

Fullmetal shook, scales chiming softly as jelly flew off his body.

He really did not look forward to digging into the pile of glass again.

—————————

It wasn't until a tiresome amount of time passed that another elf came by the preserves shelf, chasing a weird glint of gold in the pantry.

A rather tubby cook took his time apparating when a yellow glimmer caught his eye. He wasn't all too bothered by the little dinner rush of the day so he let his curiosity get the better of him.

The shiny thing danced between food crates, always flitting away when the elf waddled a bit too close. It annoyingly jumped a few floors up, making him apparate at one look at the ladders, but it was an interesting little thing. It was like a little game of chase the bored chef took play in, him welcoming a little distraction from the younger hubbub of the kitchen. And he nearly won a few times too as he almost caught up to the light.

With a little hop around a corner, however, it disappeared. But that wasn't his concern anymore when his wide eyes met the mother of all disasters dripping precious food down the shelves and cutting the air with sharp spikes of glass.

The cook's panicked face when he apparated back to share the horrid sight instantly heralded a succession of cracks as elves came to investigate. Many stood agape at the scene, so many broken jars and sweet sticky jam creating a mountain of a mess and underneath it all, a single oven mitt sticking out and unmoving.

They immediately did what they could, grabbing brooms and mops to swipe away the glass and tying dish towels to their feet to get to them. The lady elder soon arrived as they cleaned, barking out orders about where to tread carefully. A few noticed her near frantic voice and secretly couldn't help feeling the same way. The cold caused many shivers and sneezes yet it stopped no one from digging the poor elf out.

With a gentle tug and a few sweeps of a broom, the group uncovered the oven mitt with the unconscious Dobby attached to it.

To their surprise, he was miraculously alive and breathing, crudely wrapped with what seemed to be his scarf. Perhaps the hated article of clothing saved the free elf. Little nicks of glass still imbedded themselves into his limbs, but he was out of danger. Some potion and a good sleep would heal him up in a jiffy.

A collection of relieved sighs plumed mist into the air. The elves were quite glad once the elder confirmed his condition, rubbing their freezing hands and huddling close to see the injured. Unlike their disdainful nature towards Dobby, they had always valued another working hand whether paid or not. That, and they knew that once he woke up, he'd so clean up the record-breaking mess he made.

Chapter Text

"The emissary of truth approaches,

Born anew as the new star dies,

The Dark Lord and his equal will take heed of this,

Destroyer of hallowed death, ruler of the elements,

Bearing golden crown of beastly power,

The emissary of truth begins their hunt,

Born anew as the new star dies."

Dumbledore's slacked hand dumped a perfectly good cup of tea onto his lap. He'd regret it later as it stained one of his best periwinkle robes, but at the moment, he committed everything Sybill Trelawney had spewed out with wide eyes and whirling mind.

How rare that in one lifetime he had observed two prophecies in the making, not to mention both of them concerning the Dark Lord and his equal.

Trelawney's blank stare faded away as she appeared to almost faint, quickly sitting down from whatever had taken over her.

"Goodness," She brought a hand to her head, "My apologies Dumbledore. I seem to have dozed off again.”

He smiled back serenely, erasing all signs of his shock, "Perhaps we should end our little meeting, Ms. Trelawney. Tomorrow is beginning of the school year and it'd be best to get some extra rest beforehand."

The pale lady nodded absentmindedly, getting up with some assistance from Dumbledore, and quietly left him for her room. He watched her eccentric form for only a moment before rushing down her tower, tea-stained robes billowing in his stride. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of this revelation as the prophecy already had proof of being reality quite quicker than normal.

'Born anew as the new star dies...' Just the night before, both muggle and wizard kind witnessed the seeming appearance of a new star out of nowhere. However, further analysis found it to be not a star, but a dying one as it burst into supernova, it's death bright enough to reach the Earth's skies. 'Born anew', meaning that whoever the prophecy mentioned had just been born and or recreated in the sense of whatever 'anew' was.

Albus's heart twisted with dread at one line of the prophecy, 'the Dark Lord and his equal will take heed of this'. With the unfortunate signs of Tom's memory reviving last year, he could already feel the encroaching doom following Harry Potter. The child shouldn’t and couldn’t handle another actor on the stage for the future, the same with the wizarding world. With that unfortunately specific tidbit, many other lines drew a worried brow over his spectacles.

'Destroyer of hallowed death, ruler of the elements...' His fingers ran anxiously over his wand, one mentioned in stories and myths of deathly hallows. The particular word choice could mean that the hallows he and Grindelwald hunted down once upon a time were also in play. It was not a comforting thought as Voldemort also coveted the items that cheat death, but it was foretold all the same. In addition, 'ruler of the elements' was an unknown title yet a powerful descriptor, feeling that he would have to look for powerful wizards to match such a description.

Albus reached his office then, summoning another pot of tea to warm by the fireplace. Still in deep thought, he absentmindedly stroked Fawkes, the bird mildly trilling and gazing back with half-lidded eyes.

'Bearing golden crown of beastly power...' It was the line that puzzled Albus the most. Perhaps it was a physical description or one that suggested already possessed power. As if the prophesied 'emissary' wasn’t already powerful enough to be considered the ‘ruler of the elements', they were also tied to the description of beast . It truly painted an ominous picture for who it could be.

Finally, 'the emissary of truth approaches—the emissary of truth begins their hunt' Who is the 'emissary of truth'? What connotation is there connected to such an abstract idea? Most importantly, what are they hunting? Maybe who are they hunting? And why? Even without knowledge of prophecies, the ones mentioned in them still had motivations or agendas to complete their destiny. This one here would be no exception. He could try to speculate, but he couldn't truly think of a plausible answer with a prophecy this vague.

The whistling kettle of tea knocked Albus out of his spiraling mind, along with an annoyed peck from Fawkes. Seeing his familiar's tussled plumage, he quickly apologized, prepared his tea with a flick of the wand, and plopped by his desk with little dignity. The phoenix huffed, settling on his perch to preen back his fiery feathers, but it didn’t escape Dumbledore's notice that his partner was still looking at him with questions.

Unfortunately, he too had many questions, way too many to count these days. The confusing prophecy on top of the news of a particular escaped convict only served to make his head ache in worry. He knew the connection between Harry and his old student, but couldn't tell the boy in fear of the actions he could take. The Boy-Who-Lived proved that he wouldn't stand by many times to do what he thought was right, which Dumbledore had admired, but the situation was very delicate as it served to be a part of the boy's past.

Albus's eyes were drawn to the cupboard beside a table of gizmos, knowing that it contained his rarely touched collection of whiskeys and spirits. Even if he would earn a disapproving look from Fawkes, he might just tap into it a smidge after tea.

—————————

Edward the still-sticky dragon finished off his fifth messily-made ham and cheese sandwich with a flicking tongue and a satisfied sigh. Not that he noticed the snakey tongue bit, however, as a more pressing issue came into mind.

"Hogwarts contains the largest collection of magical tomes in all of Britain," He recited from memory, "Archived within the library are subjects spanning from basic charms and hexes to theoretical magics and obscure wand lore."

Ding ding ding! Theoretical magics practically screamed some explanations.

Ed clapped, both in readiness to get shit done and to activate an array to pull water from the air. His scales and wings stuck together in a whole new way of yuck that he somehow forgot in the face of food and he really wanted to wash off. The cold yet thankfully damp air of the tunnel grew more humid as he held his hands over a shoulder. Droplets formed as arcs of electricity zapped in between his fingers, raining down onto his wings. He ruffled them in relief, the cool rivulets of water pooling at his claws. It took some finagling to scrape the stickiness off with an active array between his hands, but he managed to get most of it decently gone.

But he needed to find a bathroom sometime to clean up or else he would really remodel the place as he'd like and that involved a lot of bomb ass statues with a king-sized jacuzzi. Or perhaps an Edward-sized one as he is now.

A cool new bathroom would have to wait as a library was up on the priority list, though. With the amount of reconstruction and shenanigans Ed put on the place, he could've been 'cursed' or caught by some magical bullshit for all he knew. If Truth was gonna drop him into another world with a whole new system of powerful tomfuckery, he was going to get some knowledge and research outta this whether dragonized or not.

He tapped a talon to his chin in thought, recalling the Hogwarts map once again. It was easy to remember as it was the first thing he hyper-focused on, locating the library on the first floor next to a place called the Training Grounds tower. It was a distance away, but it should be easy enough to get to.

Ed shook to get the chilling water off, his scales tinkling a beautiful echo down the tunnel.

He clapped again, pressed his hands against the wall, and opened an arch into a quiet hallway's rafters. Keeping the light and sound to a bare minimum, he stepped out and closed it behind him. Nothing came down the halls or made a sound as he slinked through the rafters, pausing every now and then at corners to listen.

His improved hearing worked wonders, letting him hear a plethora of sounds, but many of them he sorta wish he never heard. The weird ass sentient paintings that hung on the walls really snore up a storm, loud enough to startle him when he first past them. But their gossipy whispers were the worst of all.

Ed's scales nearly chimed as a shudder ran through him. He didn't know who the hell Beatrice the Third was or how she was a person before a painting, but he nearly fell off a beam as they mentioned her and her unmentionables.

He purged the rest of the recalled memory to his 'Fucked Up Yucks' mental folder, and instead, concentrated on jumping the rafters silently and swiftly. His wings opened now and again to assist in larger jumps as he still got used to using them, not to mention that he was too nervous to pull off another flight. After he got the hang of actually flying, though, he'd make some pretty good time traveling the place instead of by foot. Better to use what he has to the fullest even if Truth scrambled him up that way.

The whiff of something familiar past his nose then, the nostalgic smell hitting him like a train to memory lane. It was old book smell, with paper, ink, and an accent of upholstered furniture only found in one kind of beloved place. Ed hopped to a stop, looking down upon a large set of aged wooden doors, the scent wafting from behind it.

Bingo.

A toothy grin broke out on his face as he hung upside down from the rafter, looking down the torchlit corridors to see if anyone was coming. Nothing showed up predictably so Ed took that as a sign to hurry the fuck up and get inside the awaiting doors.

He shimmied to the wooden beam above the entrance, putting an ear against the doors. Once again, no sound, prompting him to push it testily. It was a lot harder to push than his hoard's door, but with a satisfyingly quiet creak, it swung open enough for him to slip through.

The sight for sore eyes the alchemist saw nearly made him cry tears of scientific happiness. Shelves upon shelves of leather-bound books towered below and above him in the cathedral-like room, casting long shadows on wine red carpet. The tall windows that cast the faint moonlight were tastefully stained, put together in depictions of mythical creatures and quaint scenery. The library itself seemed to be a labyrinth created solely out of shelves yet he could still see topics neatly labeled on them, pointing out subjects in the chaotic layout. Small areas devoid of shelves dotted through it, probably containing reading nooks for studying and research. And finally, it couldn’t be considered an alchemist's wet dream if there weren't a shit ton of books that had to be stored in multiple levels . Three whole floors—count 'em— three held more shelves than possibly the Capital's National Library had, it was that fucking huge.

It barely registered that he glided down onto what was probably the librarian's help desk, his mind too distracted by the beautiful sight.

"Is this what true love feels like?" He said, slack jawed, "It better be 'cause I don’t think I'll visit another library again."

He couldn't finish that thought as something else intruded on his inspection.

"Who's there?"

Ed shot off to the shadows as his heart jumped up to his throat, weaving through and up the shelves. People tended to not look up when searching for someone, but he didn't know what logic wizards had and could only hope as he carefully peeked down on one.

A thin vulturelike lady, or who he thinks is a lady, dressed in nothing but a dark nightgown, wielding a feather duster in one hand, and a stick in the other stepped out from behind a bookshelf. No, wait—a bookshelf acting as a door. He stuffed away his intrigue as the mystery lady silently closed the shelf behind her with a small click, continuing her squinty search through the dark.

Ed couldn’t help but notice that he saw suspiciously well in the dark compared to the first human he's seen, but couldn't think of much else as her stick suddenly blinded him like a stun grenade. He had to hold back a growl as spots danced in front of his eyes, ducking behind the shelf to hide.

"I know you're here, whoever you are!" The lady goaded, "Enchantments set on my doors don't activate by themselves!"

Ed cursed in is head at that revelation. Of course there'd be a magical alarm system, he shouldn’t even be surprised. He could practically hear colonel bastard laughing at him for tripping an obvious trap while drooling over books, also hearing Al sigh in his usual disappointed way at the situation. Gritting his teeth as a creeping feeling tried to claw up his throat, he stuffed away the sudden pang of loss that's gonna haunt him later, looking over the shelf once more to see her movements.

The lady held her somehow lit stick up as she reached what Ed now assumed was her desk, her gaze combing through the shelves and at the door. He thankfully left the door as he found it, closed and without a scratch, but she could probably know who the hell entered for all he knew. Hogwarts: A History mentioned security 'charms' so it was really possible.

He watched carefully as she scrutinized the door, waving her stick at it and mumbling under her breath. It was interesting to see her stick glow in multiple colors and send something like beams of light at the door, but nothing else besides the light show happened. Unluckily for him, she didn't seem to be mollified by the weird stick wiggling and glared back at the shelves. Ed needed to think quick as the lady looked ready to storm through the library.

A familiar array came in mind, pseudo-activated by the past thought of Al. While recovering in the hospital, his brother liked to doodle whatever array came to mind. It helped his physical therapy while being bedridden and made Ed have something else to think about besides fussing over him, so it was pretty memorable. A lot of them happened to be designed after moving animals...

It'd have to be smooth, fast, and believable for this to work or else he'd have to tunnel, leaving behind extremely damnable evidence in need for speed.

The alchemist touched his palms together as if in prayer, suppressing the alchemic discharge to a few sparks, and pressed them down on the ground.

It was almost unheard of to do distance arrays even if one was fully prepared and working with a pure composition, but this just didn't apply to a genius like Ed. Where others had to draw out a stupidly complicated array that had to be commanded to exclude a lot of the surrounding materials to the array's energy detriment, Ed could just ignore it all completely, taking a page from alkahestry. An alchemist who's seen the Gate, feels and comprehends everything at touch. He knows the truth. He is the array. So if he was going to do some balls-to-the-walls difficult shit, he was going to absolutely crush it.

The array zapped through the carpeted floor, activating a meter away from the suspicious lady and thumped against a bookshelf. Her head snapped towards the sound as she pointed her stick, watching a small lump skitter across the floor. Yelping at the sight, she pointed her stick this way and that, but the thing dived through her legs before you can say 'Oh shit! A rat!'.

Ed gave a mental high-five and a promise to treat Al to a buffet later, grinning at the stiff stone rat he sent sliding off into the shadows, made to deconstruct after turning a corner. The lady that gave chase tutted when she found nothing but a small smudge of dust behind a shelf, dropping her stick to her side.

"Rats! How are there rats in my library?!" Her sour features grew even more pinched, "Argus. I'll get him and his cat to clean the vermin out..."

The rest of her angry muttering faded away as the hidden dragon watched her go back behind the bookshelf door, nearly slamming the hidden entrance in her rage.

The golden dragon let out a tiny breath he'd been holding, unwilling to make a sound until the wrathful lady left. Still, he didn’t dare to move for ten minutes after, ears perked towards the disguised door in caution. His tail relaxed from its tight curl around him as she didn't seem to be stomping back anytime soon.

He gave a mental whoop for joy as he climbed atop of the shelves, eagerly searching the labels. All this knowledge was his for the night, reserved in relative peace by the unknowing vulture lady.

Let the research commence!

—————————

"What. the. fuck ."

Ed held his head in his hands, the culmination of frustration, confusion, and rage pounding angrily behind his forehead, a combo of feelings that's been scrabbling inside his head all too often now. Around him sat piles of books, all stacked neatly yet passing his height on the study table he found squished behind some dusty shelves. Some of them were open, making him glare at each page as if they'd insulted him. He started on reading basic terminology of magic and history before hitting the hard shit, the why's and how's of magic that should be there, but for some unholy stupid reason, they aren't .

"How do they not know where their magic comes from? It's basically pure fucking energy!" He started knocking his horned head on the table with a constant thunk, "They just magic-stick-wave without knowing where it's coming from? They just use that shit and what? It just fucking happens? Equivalent exchange? Hello ?"

The alchemist was beginning to regret not talking to Truth longer, but reigned it in at the thought of that bastard's cocky grin. Despite the fact that some prior magic knowledge would've helped a lot, he wasn't about to go back to ask the damn thing and be all 'oh woe is me, can you tell me how the fuck magic works and make me owe you again?' He'd eat his missing metal leg before owing that asshole anything.

He stopped hitting his head on the table and groaned. He didn't even start looking for his targets and this world was already burning up his brain cells. It also threatened to skewer his heart a couple more times as the bullshit books mentioned a fucking Philosopher's Stone.

Ed nearly bolted then and there when his eyes passed the frankly insulting magic version of alchemy earlier (which he needed to research more about later), it mentioning this Nicolas Flamel guy and the taboo thing he made, but luckily for this fucker and Ed's sanity, he read that it was destroyed just a few years before along with the guy. It at least made one less thing to destroy on the mental list.

"Fucking wizards ." He moved on to an unfinished pile.

—————————

An absurd amount of speed reading passed and his love for this library ran out quicker than a bucket of dumplings in the soldier mess hall and that was saying something as those caffeine-fueled bastards inhaled them at Mach speeds.

Ed sorely wanted to throw the final book under his claws, maybe out the window or deconstruct it into dust, but stopped at the comforting touch of paper and leather. He closed it gently, shaking his info-dumped head to settle the homicidal thoughts. No use trying to destroy a vessel of knowledge when it was the damn author's fault for writing in it.

"Nothing," He growled, "Who the hell is Tom fucking Riddle?"

A small streak of sunlight peaked through the window as if mocking him for the time he spent in this goddamn hellhole.

The first thing he did was spend hours searching through history books, scouring for the name of the cheater of Truth. They had to have recorded the bastard somewhere if he truly messed with the laws of death, yet the only ones that came close to the definition of 'oh, I'm against the laws of life and loving it' was an already imprisoned Gellert Grindelwald (that's one wack ass name) and an already dead Lord Voldemort, who was somehow killed by a baby. If this Tom guy was cheating the natural laws of the world, he sure as hell hid it well.

The megalomaniacs could be a potential lead, though. The one thing connected between the two wizard terrorists was an old man that fought them to a stand still, Albus Dumbledore, who also happened to be the current Headmaster of Hogwarts. He could possibly know who Riddle is as he was most likely a student at one point, most likely under his tutelage.

Figured Truth would send him after a spooky voodoo criminal since he dropped him in one of the most magical places recorded, according to the nut-job authors.

A picture of said Albus Dumbledore wore a colorful pointed hat with matching robes and white beard down to his knees, smiling genially up at him from another open book, moving like the hall paintings and rearranging his pose on the printed paper.

Ed was definitely researching magicked paintings and the Deathly Hallows after thinking of a plan as he wasn't enthused about potentially messing with a lawful yet powerful wizard, not until he figures this magic stuff out and how to defend himself from it. Riddle would definitely try to kick his ass when he came for him, whether he knew magic or not.

The hunt for the bad guy and the deathly shit was clearly going to be harder than Truth made it out to be. How simple the request was to simply destroy a man and a set of things, but it's proven to be one helluva challenge to even find one of them. It was the hardest thing in the world to get Al's body back along with trying to save the country from maniac-induced genocide and that was with the help of his amazingly awesome brother, kick-ass lets-overthrow-the-government team, and patient family waiting back in Resembool, but now... Ed's alone. There's no one to call, no one to send a strongly worded letter, and no one to stop him when he going to do something stupid. And he's going to do something exceedingly dumb, it's basically his schtick when he isn't a genius, but no one won't be there to help anymore.

Just him, an unfortunately small dragon, stuck in a whole other world.

His claws traced an embossed leather cover in fatigued thought, noticing the little wear and tear the book suffered from years of reading. A few nicks cut into the front, some string frayed at the spine, and pages crinkled almost haphazardly at the corners. He sighed, letting his rueful stare and mind wander the rest of his pile, all of them showing similar conditions. Bent spines, stained pages, and almost peeling covers towered his form. For some reason wholly unknown to Ed, they seemed sort of... tired, just like him—if books could ever look that way. He frowned which looked like a mulish pout on the snout of the dragon, not knowing whether he should be freaked out or exasperated at the thought of books being able to feel at this point.

But hey, the magic paintings were sentient in some form, why not books?

"I'm gonna fix you guys up a bit," He whispered, feeling a bit embarrassed the moment he spoke, but welcoming the distraction, "Ya' know, for putting up with my ranting."

The books did nothing and he expected nothing, but still gave a wry grin as he clapped his hands. Electric blue arcs fizzled comfortably from his fingers, sinking a simple reconstruction array through the book. The cover's cuts melded shut easily, the binding at its spine threading into the stitches, and the pages straightening its folds and corners. Finally, the embossed letters puffed up to size as the book was fully restored. He smiled, rubbing a hand over the now smooth cover. Perfect as always.

Little zaps of something shot up his arm, startling him away from the book. He stared at it with wide eyes, looking at the book and to his hands. That did not feel like leftover alchemic discharge.

"What the fuck—"

Ed nearly shit himself again as he the same zappy energy suddenly radiated in the air, feeling like a deep hum reverberating throughout his body. Particularly, it felt like the absurd hum rang in his head or stranger yet, his horns .

Before he thought of a pretty snarky joke about his 'antenna' head, he brought up a few attack arrays in mind, preparing to clap to face whatever the hell was happening. His eyes searched the dim shelves, stopping at shadows and corners, waiting for anything to happen. That sound was still going, but nothing showed up.

The hum wavered, lilting a not too unpleasant sound and for some goddamn, Truth-fucking, woo-magic-is-bullshit, he's-going-to-go-apeshit reason, Ed understood it.

The alchemist gawked at the books, maw hanging open in disbelief.

The books. The books . The fucking books wanted to be fixed and he knows that they want to. He doesn't know how or for some ungodly reason why, but he just comprehends they’re hopeful pleading. He feels the way their crooked spines feels like a stubborn neck crick, their pages as stained and sticky as he had been when jam washed. They dearly wanted him to patch them up.

He touched his horns, feeling the soft vibration he'd been hearing in his head, "Holy shit."

A particularly light hum brought his attention, making him look down at the book he just restored and he had the feeling that it was thanking him. The book was thanking him.

Though his eyes saw no visible change to the library, he swore he felt the books rattling in their shelves, their persistent humming pulsing in his head. If books could speak, they'd be pretty close to yelling and begging.

Unfortunately, they did, making Ed's head ache as the sound crescendoed and he was frankly done with what the hell was happening, "Alright! Shut the fuck up! I'll fix you! If I hear a goddamn peep out of you guys, I'm turning all of you into scrapbooks!"

The energetic hum greatly dimmed after the outburst, not completely disappearing, but enough for the dragon to hear his own thoughts again. The books clearly called his bluff, but they felt a bit sorry for making such a fuss.

They could wait. It's been decades and even centuries since someone who could fully restore them showed up. As much as they loved their protective librarians over the ages, none could truly fix what age and children have done to them, but now they did. They had this mysterious golden dragon with a tongue that would make mothers cry, a ravenous appetite for knowledge, and most importantly, a way to make them new again.

Ed got that tidbit with a just a few quiet hums, calming his annoyance somewhat. He could... understand that. Very much so.

He stretched, spreading his wings up and bowing like a cat as he peaked at the windows. Sunrise was almost there so he'd have to fix a few books before rushing to put them back.

The books understood that, sending Ed a patient hum.

They could wait.

—————————

Madam Pince poured a worrying amount of Beetle Berry whiskey into her tea, not caring for the mixture of sympathetic and judgmental stares from her fellow faculty. Start of the school year brought a plethora of different emotions within the teachers which ranged from excitement to undying hatred, understandably Pince being extremely close to the latter since the morning.

They all began to barely awaken when they heard her terribly loud complaints to Argus Filch of a rat in her library, commanding him to set Mrs. Norris the cat on guard inside it. A few subtly rolled their eyes, sitting at the head table as they listened to Argus uncharacteristically calming the wrathful lady.

"Miss Irma, as much as I'd love to get rid of the vermin, I can't have Mrs. Norris leave my side when the brats come in," He placated, "You know they pull all sorts of things on the first day. I need my partner for the next week."

Miss Irma seemed flattered by the use of her name and grudgingly understood the reasons, but still asked that afterwards he'd still patrol the library doors and have his cat ready. He agreed and left the Great Hall to polish his chains, but still left a rather annoyed and paranoid librarian to her alcoholic breakfast.

Flitwick, the ever polite Charms professor, piped up as she made to leave with her spiked tea, "I happen to know a swell Intruder Charm that pertains to animals if you’d li—"

"And disturb the centuries-old enchantments already set on my library? I thank you, Filius, but it would risk their effects and my pride." She huffed, walking out the tall frame of the Hall doors.

Madam Pince didn't have time to mess with charms when the rats could be chewing at her books at anytime, causing even more damage to the struggling tomes. Many can't handle anymore harm even with the countless Reparos she cast regularly, their very magic simply fading away with every irresponsible student. A paper-chewing rodent would mean their devastation.

Her hands squeezed around her warm mug anxiously as she rushed down the corridors, her brows scrunched in sudden worry. Never mind breakfast, she needed to protect her library immediately.

She flicked her wand as she arrived at the entrance, quickly opening the doors to reach the familiar sunlit collection of knowledge. The warm tang of alcoholic tea along with the scent of old paper settled her heart somewhat as she gazed around the shelves, but the warmth didn't faze her as she searched for anything amiss. A rat always left some sort of filth behind and she was going to find it.

But a tingling feeling buzzed through her wand, thoroughly stopping her in her tracks. Shock rolled into her mind, turning her eyes into wide saucers as her wand seemed to warm up in hand which made no sense as she hadn't cast a spell yet, but she knows this. She's even experienced it before and it so very rarely happened.

The strange tickle in her hand meant that a group of magically sentient objects were collectively feeling a strong emotion, pulsing magic around the area with their energy. As tools of magic, wands picked up on the powerful aura and shared in it, causing little zaps of magic to alert their users.

But this was not the regular ticklish feeling of fleeting annoyance or tiredness from her library, oh no. Her wand emanated a loud yet pleasant hum, warming her hand as much as the mug of tea did in her other.

The books were exceedingly happy.

The librarian fumbled her mug onto her desk, pointing her wand in every which direction to feel where the vibration strengthened and waned, a manic expression of confusion and glee crossed her face. A relieved smile finally settled in her squinted eyes as her wand led her to a shelf of history books, practically singing as she held it close to the spine of one of them. With firm yet gentle hands, she pulled it from its place and laid her amazed gaze on a beautiful book, its cover newly embossed and pages white and straight.

But that couldn't be. She swore that the tome was at least two centuries old and threatened to fall apart at the seams! How was this possible?

Her wand seemed to hum loudly in response, but she couldn't get its meaning. She couldn’t bring herself to care, though, finding the miracle too good to be true. After flipping through the clean pages in amazement, she put it back in its place and eagerly followed her wand as it sang. It led her to various shelves, pointing out book after book all miraculously restored and content. A pattern seemed to emerge with their content, their subjects pertaining to history, basics in magic, and strangely enough, a lot of magical theory. Curiously, one book in particular was majorly changed.

Madam Pince held in her hands an old basic alchemy book, one written by the famous alchemist Nicolas Flamel no less. It was bound in the same old leather and had its stitches renewed, but it had gold leaf pressed into its title and the edges of the pages, making the already beautiful book shine beside its neighbors. She knew it was actual gold after casting an identification spell, surprising her but one disgusting thing caught her attention from the gorgeous effects. There was writing within the first page, incensing the librarian from her previously good mood. She spluttered at the sight, making to lift the horrid scrawl off with a spell before her wand warmed to a near scalding touch and shook vigorously. Pausing at the surprising response, she noticed that her wand told her the book was unexpectedly fine with the writing, in fact, even wanting to protect it as a part of its content. The poor lady was beginning of look like a drowning fish as she looked back and forth between her wand and the stubborn book, not knowing whether to be more shocked at the sight of graffiti in a restored book or at the fact that it wanted to keep it. Lowering her wand in confusion, she finally took notice of the note and read it.

'"oH, We CaN't MaKe GoLd WiThOuT a PhIlOsOpHeR's StOnE!" Nicolas Flamel can roll in his grave and choke on a boot.'

Her eyes narrowed dangerously at the mocking tone and the insult to one of the greatest researchers of wizarding history. How could a person write such an atrocious note, never mind the book actually wanting to preserve it. It was almost paradoxical!

She sighed to herself, closing the book and putting it comfortably within its spot, her wand cooled down to a bearable warmth as it hummed a bit more quietly in hand. Whatever restored the tomes still had her deepest gratitude, fixing years of damaged within a single night. Who was she to judge if they so happened to leave a little mystery message behind. It was almost like a signature and a look into the unfortunately vulgar mind of whoever left it. If the book treasured the note, she must leave it.

Besides her normal prim and proper manners, she ran a gentle hand along the shelves as she walked back to her desk. Reaching it, she took a quiet sip of her tea, almost basking with eyes closed in the calm warmth the library emanated. The morning sun sent beams of colorful light through the stained windows, everything was organized and archived, she had a well brewed cup of tea, and the books were the happiest they've ever been.

Madam Pince forgot about the rat.

As such, what use was there to worry on such a wonderful day?

Chapter Text

"This one's for the Law of Conservation of Mass."

Zap!

"This one's for the Law of Conservation of Energy."

Zap!

"This one's for the Law of Natural Providence."

Zap!

"And this one's because fuck you."

Zap!

The leering stare of a classic Elric gargoyle looked down on the small golden dragon as if he were a toad under his nose.

Good. Better to make the fucking wizards feel like it for the nonsense Ed had to pick through.

He angrily muttered under his breath as he made another gargoyle along the castle eaves, gradually making them more and more rude by the array. The first one he plopped outside on a cool autumn evening just made a weird face, the fifth down the line picking its nose (features suspiciously like a certain colonel), and the one he was about to construct possibly making a rude hand gesture.

Zap! Make that a definite rude hand gesture.

Ed paused beforehand about the moral aspects of putting such a magnificent thing on a school , but quickly got over it as an owl gave him the side-eye as it flew by holding—he's never getting over this—fucking mail . He bared his teeth at it, making the bird speed up its flaps toward the owlery, a pretty decent stone tower with all the exits and entrances a dragon could slip through. Good thing that was there or else he might've had to risk tunneling a gaudy—ahem, obvious exit out of the school in his seething rage.

His claws flexed while his scales seemed to hackle down his back.

This world is a SHIT SHOW. Magic is BULLSHIT. Truth can EAT HIS ASS.

It was bad enough that he couldn't find anything about Riddle, but then he also found next to nothing about the Damned Hallows. The only thing remotely close to their mentioning was a fairy tale about brothers cheating death and then nothing. If it weren’t for the fact that Truth asked him to destroy the things, he would've believed that the impossible shit was as tall a tale as the children's book said.

Magic as a whole still confused and insulted the shit out of the alchemist. Here he was with techniques and know-how cultivated over centuries of scientific research, proven and replicated, and here were they who can apparently change the fucking form and the very elements of shit just because they're a similar shape. Matches to needles? First of fucking all, converting carbon to metal is impossible. Sure, alchemists can easily manipulate electrons and smack around a few protons, but it only converts elements into those of the same category for reasons entirely fair. A reactive nonmetal to a transition metal? It’s literally in the fucking names! The only way to bust the rule was the Fucklosopher's Stone and that shit was never worth it. Do they know they're breaking the Law of Natural Providence? Probably not since they don’t even study science!

Don't even get him started on live transfigurations. That shit could, would, and will cause a wizard's untimely destruction by his fury, mark his words.

To prevent himself from throwing a tantrum in the library and in turn pissing off the books, he practically hauled tail outside so he could finally get fresh air and a place to properly scream. It probably spooked some sort of magic animals as the nearby forest seemed to shudder at his enraged roar, but he paid it no attention as he finally had a good look at the castle and surroundings he mooched off of. Definitely was a bit of trouble climbing the stone and semi-flying to get a good look, but he had to admit that it was worth the risky trip. Even if wizards dressed in the most eye-bleeding styles and had fucked up powers, Ed grudgingly approved of their architecture.

Hogwarts was a truly impressive castle, walls and tall pointed towers made with smooth bricks of stone as many arched windows softened it's nearly oppressive nature. He noted with glee that a variety of fantastical statues perched near the huge main entrance and some visible eaves, skillfully carved and almost lifelike. A stone goblin scratching his nose for a second then freezing back into place made him bang his head against the wall as it proved him unfortunately right in that aspect, but Ed couldn’t compare the cursed thing to any other goblin statues because of the sheer size of the place. Hogwarts was stupidly huge, vast enough where he couldn't see the whole thing unless he actually flew which was definitely going to be a view after he stops face-planting into the ground. Seeing a suspiciously small amount of gargoyles, he obliged the place and got to making some. Just ignore the rather off putting expressions and they perched on the eaves as an impressive flock of stone monstrosity.

A drop of water hitting his snout knocked Ed out of his thoughts, a few more following behind as he noticed the darkening sky. He grumbled at the sight and the growing ache at his stump, his work cut short as he made for the owlery. No use in staying outside when the weather was getting bad. With his luck, he might as well get struck by magic voodoo lightning.

He climbed through an arched entrance, meeting the scent of centuries-old bird house and new straw bedding. A few owls flew in after him to escape the coming rain, delicately shaking their feathers, and giving the dragon odd looks before settling on some perches. Rolling his eyes, he shook as well to get the water off and rolled in the straw before they decided to ruin it as birds do. More and more owls were starting to arrive and Ed did not want to be surrounded by the unfortunately bigger ones than him, eyeing a positively massive yet beautiful white owl.

The increasing amount of birds wasn't the only thing he noticed as he snuck his way back into the castle. The teleporting elves were in a tizzy since noon, baking and cooking nonstop to his sampling pleasure. More wizards also showed up, carrying luggage and stationery supplies from room to room, telling him further that something was up. He knew deep down what was happening, but still did not look forward to it.

The school was about to start and the castle will be absolutely full of children and not just any children. Magic children .

Ed could already feel the frustration merrily building a headache at the thought of the magic bullshit he hadn't solved yet combined with wizard kids doing Truth-knows-what with it. He read enough of the prank incidents recorded in some torture room, and as much as they sounded cool and downright hilarious, it looked like a permanent maiming just ready to happen. The owner of said torture room also seemed to agree with him as he watched the scraggly old man skulk through the halls, muttering about annoying brats and their messes-to-be, but Ed took the thought back as the man looked weirdly delighted by harm coming to kids.

Fucked is what this place is. Utterly fucked.

Ed's stomach growled as a whiff of freshly cooked dinner caught his nose.

Best to bitch about it on a full stomach, though.

—————————

The gold dragon gnawed on the remnants of a chicken bone, gazing down over the trickle of black robed wizards wandering into the Great Hall from his hidden stone perch. Many of the kids and teens looked up at the enchanted ceiling littered with floating candles, expressions of nostalgia and comfort flitting through their faces as they settled down at the long tables decorated in different colors. Ed could admit that the admiring looks were well-deserved as he also appreciated the—he sighed— enchantment when he first snuck into the Hall. Granted, he found a clear sky filled with stars the first time around than the gloomy raining one now, but it was still pretty impressive, the artistry that wizards could make with their magic. He vaguely wondered if he could reproduce the look with infinity mirrors and dry ice, but quickly quashed the thought as a ribbon of lightning lit up the clouds. It was cool as shit, but unless he wanted to risk electrocution by poorly planned ceiling art, he wasn't going to make one anytime soon.

The murmuring of voices grew louder below him as adult wizards appeared from a door next to what he assumed was the staff table. They were an assortment of shapes and sizes, one delightfully small enough that Edward preened to himself, thin enough to make him wonder if they were sticks, and one giant man that made his eyes bulge out in disbelief. And he thought Armstrong and Sig were huge.

They sat at the head table, chatting to one another as the small wizard with a shock of white hair paused to pick up a stool and an old hat by it before sitting them down in the middle of the hall. By the time the short man arrived back at his hilarious seat atop a stack of books, a familiar wizard strode through the same side door, robes dyed in a shade more obnoxious than Amestrian blue and long beard billowing in his wake.

Ed sucked in a breath, "Dumbledore."

Albus Dumbledore . Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts. Whatever the fuck most of those titles meant, he sure had a lot of them, even more so than the Alchemist of the People himself.

The old man smiled at the sea of expectant faces, standing before a throne of a chair  that clearly belonged to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. The quiet thrum of unknown energy only the dragon could feel vibrated through him as even he thought the strange wizard seemed to exude a powerful presence without the sense, calmly commanding silence with a wave of a hand. The students obliged, sitting rapt at attention strangely towards the ratty pointed hat in the middle of the hall. But of course they would when the fucking dishrag of a hat began to sing .

"What the shit."

It's raspy voice echoed off the walls, spinning rhymes about Hogwarts and its Houses. It talked of loyal Hufflepuffs, smart Ravenclaws, brave Gryffindors, and cunning Slytherins, wondering aloud which student it would put where.

But Ed had only two thoughts. One, he once believed that the 'Sorting' was a made up fairy tale made to make kids excited when he read it in Hogwarts: A History, but he couldn’t be proven more wrong at the moment. Two, if the fucking bit about it just sitting on kids' heads then reading their personality through their mind was true, he'll shred it into tinder and light that shit on alchemical fire.

Mind magic. Fucking aces.

The bastard hat finally stopped its singing as he thought of its flaming destruction, silence permeating through the room. Standing up with purpose, Dumbledore applauded to the shit rag and addressed the Hall.

"What a marvelous rendition of our school's values as always. But let's not dilly dally any further, returning and arriving students! Let the Sorting begin!" His voice rang out.

Ed rolled his eyes and glared at the hat as a line of nervous kids filed into the middle of the Hall, the short wizard stepping back out with a scroll in hand. The line stopped a few meters before the stool as he stepped beside it, unfurling the parchment and clearing his throat.

"First years, when I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," He paused before announcing from the list, "Aspen, William."

The anxious boy in the front of the line nearly tripped over nothing as he made his way to the stool and hat, fidgeting on the seat when he arrived. Ignoring the little slip up, the wizard gently floated the hat onto his head with a wave of his stick, it nearly swallowing his whole head with cloth.

The dragon felt his scaled hackles raise as the hat animatedly moved and talked seemingly to itself, but before he could growl at the kids scared expression, it suddenly yelled, "Hufflepuff!"

After the hat lifted off the kid's head, the room watched him scamper off the stool and to the applauding group decorated in yellow and black, a relieved smile on his face. The next kid in line got called, repeating the actions from before and then the next and then the next. Half an hour in and it was definitely a bit repetitive and predictable, but Ed still squinted at the hat as if trying to deconstruct it via eye-laser alchemy.

"Wilson, Amelia." The dwarf announced, rolling up the scroll.

Sorting the last kid with a shout of 'Ravenclaw!', the hat was finally put away. The students chattered excitedly to themselves, talking to the new students and catching up with the old ones before the main door swung open, the few late arrivals catching Ed's eye.

A stern adult witch lead the group, addressing the two students following her, before making her way to the head table. The way she carried herself and the looks of respect sent her way definitely gave similar vibes to his own alchemy teacher, Ed deciding to himself that he wasn't going to mess with the lady if he could help it. The two young teens she left only looked at each other before joining the House table decorated in red and gold—tasteful colors, of course—trying to avoid drawing attention. They failed spectacularly though, causing whispers to erupt as they chatted with a red-haired boy.

"Something's up."

"I heard he passed out on the train."

"From the dementors?"

"Wow, really?"

"Of course Harry Potter would be so dramatic."

Harry Potter . The-Boy-Who-Lived. The only survivor of the gunshot equivalent of magic and the accidental killer of the magic terrorist Voldemort.

Ed's nonexistent eyebrows shot up to his horns as the name of a familiar celebrity baby was mentioned, noting the subtle wave of energy coming off him. Looking down on the scrawny, dark haired kid with nerdy glasses that came in, he could scarcely believe that the baby version of the twig did anything but destroy someone.

Is this what people thought of the alchemist when he first introduces himself? He could... kinda see it. But as reasonable as it was, that wasn't going to stop him from being pissed off at those who doubted his credentials, though. He'd still shove a spear down their throat if that ever happened.

"Welcome!" The room quieted again, knocking Ed out of his thoughts as Dumbledore stood up to speak again, "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast..."

Ears perked up in attention, Ed noticed the grim tone under the cheerful welcome which didn’t sound comforting.

"As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

Hogwarts Express: the train to the school. Dementors: really fucked up creatures Ed brushed over in a book. Azkaban: bad wizard prison absolutely full of the damned things. Ministry of Magic: wizard government and in charge of Azkaban.

If that didn't scream 'something is majorly fucked in wizard world', he'd make like an ouroboros and eat his own tail. The old man disguised it well, but Ed has seen enough of pretending politicians and Mustang to know that the wizard hardly enjoyed it either under the genial smile.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," He continued, ringing alarm bells in Ed's mind, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises—or even Invisibility Cloaks," Ed's eyes squinted at the specific bit that seemed pointed, "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and everyone one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors."

Ed rolled his eyes. Like a glorified teacher's pet could stop an incident like that from happening.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

A crumpled looking man with enough scars to suggest experience despite his timid wave received little fanfare, the Potter kid and his neighbors strangely applauding the most. The alchemist didn't miss the poisonous stare a fellow teacher made at him across the table, though, wondering what beef the grease-dipped wizard had with the quiet man.

"As to our second new appointment, well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs," Ed snickered to himself at the irony, "However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

The gigantic man sitting at the edge of the head table blushed and stared down, the loud applause carving a smile under his unruly beard. Ed grinned softly at the conflicting sight, the new teacher reminding him an awful lot like a shy Armstrong. He just hoped he wasn't a hugger like him for the kids' sakes.

Dumbledore relaxed into his seat, "Well, I think that’s everything of importance. Let the feast begin!"

A shiver ran through the back of the dragon, making him grip his perch in surprise as food appeared on gold plates and goblets. The wizards just tucked in, not caring for the fact that they trusted the stuff that appeared from thin air.

Apparently one of the limitations to Summoning was that a wizard couldn’t summon food, but what the fuck is this? Is it just teleporting already made food? So maybe things can teleport—er, apparate, not just the elves? The most basic question is how.

Ed was definitely working on a theory for how nonliving things apparate as they had wizards to control their destination (he's not going to even think of their superficial 'conclusions'), but couldn't begin to think of a theory applied to actual people. He could see things being transported via a fucked version of atom recreation if they had a stupendously unthinkable amount of energy and knowledge for it, but could only see the process resulting in cosmic sludge and enough stray radiation to nuke the country millions of times over if a person so much as existed in the proximity. The amount of math and raw energy needed for that shit wasn't setting a good example for how wizards dealt with their powers, 'used for thousands of years' or not. 'Wish really really hard', his ass.

Astonishingly wack bullshit aside, he'll have to stack that thought away as he had to face the now shit situation. They have soul-sucking dementors 'guarding' the school full of children for some reason and the wizard ministry was heavily involved. If anything, it practically reeked of government fuck-up, most likely dealing with someone being protected within the school like when he had to be guarded from Scar. Except that he didn't have nightmare-inducing monsters. The only two people he could see being worthy to protect would be Dumbledore or Potter, the teacher being more likely as he was pretty fucking important according to history books, but Ed paused in his thinking. It could also be Harry as he didn’t have the same power the Headmaster clearly had, even if he felt a suspicious wonky energy coming from him.

Ed heaved a sigh before rubbing his tired eyes, hoping that he could finally get his claws on a newspaper within the next day. Not knowing much in crazy wizard world was driving him mad as he sorely wanted some hard facts in his hands before he does something unforgivable to a book. But with his luck, it might just be a propaganda newspaper. Who fucking knows what going to happen next with this shit!

The back of his neck tingled in a familiar way, raising his scales in the place of hackled hair. He frowned as he searched for the person he felt watching him, a bit grateful for his old ability despite the implications. His roving eyes stopped on a pair of silver ones staring back, belonging to a young blond witch staring at him from the blue and bronze— Ravenclaw table. Shuffling nervously in place, he curiously couldn’t find it in himself to break eye contact as the girl did nothing but cock her head in question, her housemates amazingly not paying attention to her weird staring. But Ed finally scooted away from the edge of his perch when she blinked, shaken by her silence and wistful expression.

Great. Already spotted by a wizard and by a kid no less, but she could tattle for all he cared. At this point, Ed is frankly unbothered at being seen and was pretty done with this steaming pile of shit.

Too tired to dodge elves for food again and too frustrated to even think about going to the library, the cool air from the owlery came to mind, a relaxing place as any outside the rain. The owls would probably be subdued in such a rainstorm and if they did kick a fuss, he could easily bat them away.

Ed grimaced, the strong signal of energy radiating off of Dumbledore coupled with Potter's reverberating through his brain.

Alright, definitely time to go.

—————————

Fawkes yawned, stretching his wings far above his head. His partner's room was empty without the old human wandering about in it, worrying and planning as he always did, but the phoenix was fine with the absence. It was the start of another year of teaching young humans which required Albus to welcome them in under his wing with food and warmth. Fawkes, once upon a time, would have also liked to participate with the meals if it weren’t for noise and attention he would get all at once. He never knew how the owls handled it when they delivered messages and, of course, asked them over the centuries, but still couldn’t understand what they thought. He just guessed it was because they were just easily as Mild as the next domestic creature, albeit with a touch of magic.

Zing!

His head shot up, snapping this way and that at the unknown yet disturbingly familiar tinge of energy. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he fanned his tail feathers to feel the air, his magic sense far better in them. The portraits of headmasters past stopped their idle gossip to look at his alert form, noticing him tilt his tail in every which direction.

"Fawkes?"

"Dear phoenix, what's wrong?"

"Strange," One holding a painted book said, "He's never done that before."

"You think it could be Black?"

Many gasped, "So soon? It can't be!"

Fawkes quietly crowed, melodic and low to hush their growing whispers. He could hardly care about some human criminal on the loose when his partner was all that he needed and was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but this was important.

Fawkes thought it was a few one-off blips of magic that tended to pop on and off in the castle, but grew more intrigued as the pulses of something strange continually happened. They tended to occur in the kitchens, in the walls, outside on the roofs, and mostly in the library. And it was different. Blessedly different . In all of his life, spanning millennia and centuries, never had he felt such a unique brand of magic and it piqued his undying interest .

Fawkes quietly huffed as he thought that that curious quality in himself was currently amplified by his human partner's own personality, but put away his pride at the thought of something finally new .

The phoenix locked on to the last pulse of magic, feeling it a distance away inside the owlery. He trilled sweetly at nothing before building his flame, letting himself melt into his magic. With a whoomph, a puff, and a last surprised gasp from a portrait, he rode the flow of fire to his destination just outside the owls' nest. Pulling his form back together, he solidified near an open window with his magic aura suppressed, startling a small brown owl coming in from the rain. He narrowed his eyes as the falling rain hit him as well, not liking water in any form even if it evaporated instantly off his feathers, but he quietly flew into the tower without a fuss to investigate.

Immediately, Fawkes was met with a shocking sight, one that he definitely has never seen before in his long life and would remember forever.

The phoenix hovered in place, looking down upon a small creature that seemed to have been sculpted out of polished gold and shine in the torchlight. It sat on the floor bedded in yellow hay, thoroughly putting the color and sheen of it to shame with its mere presence. And he idly wondered in awe if his own golden feathers could compare to the drop of sunbeam until his attention was drawn to its curious form. It was in the shape of a regal dragon downsized to a cat, scales shimmering in the dim light with every move, wings delicately folded on its back, and horns growing to treacherous points from its narrow head. A shocking observation caught him though, noticing that the gorgeous creature was missing a leg, its left hind one cut off to a stump as it sat haphazardly on the other. Fawkes nearly sang mournfully at the fact that something marred its perfect body, but refrained at the look in its eyes. Without trying to catch its attention, he peaked a look into its eyes, delighted to find them just the same color as its body, but most importantly, he saw true intelligence in them. Determination and vigor showed in their molten gold eyes, intriguing the phoenix all the more.

This was a sovereign creature. One that was equal to him if their warm yet striking aura of magic told him otherwise.

Fawkes felt an old but familiar feeling rise within his chest, his mind racing to figure out what he was looking at. It has been a while, many centuries in fact, since he's been this excited before and he was not going to let this chance of a potential new peer and source of knowledge slip away.

He hovered to an acceptable height away from the creature, not wanting to startle them badly when he finally asks—

—————————

"What are you?"

Ed spun around, hands at the ready when he gawped in surprise. He craned his neck up to see a gorgeously plumed bird hovering in the air and staring down at him with a curious expression. It seemed almost like ethereal fire in the torchlight, gold and red feathers adorning its body as long crimson tail feathers flounced with every wing beat. Calm intelligence showed in it's amber eyes, seeming to see straight into him. The resident owls in the tower only looked at it warily, some curiously with respect and fear, but it suddenly registered that the sudden warm energy he felt and the smooth voice somehow belonged to the gigantic bird as Ed crouched down in suspicion. He was starting to get a bit too used to the amount of 'magic shenanigans' to his liking. With this, though, he'll chalk up the weird talking to magic animal bullshit and call it a day.

"Are you one of those strange animal spells? No, you are solid and true. A magicked statue? For a body to be spun out of gold, I highly doubt it." He spoke again, Ed catching the words that weren’t words through trills and chirps, "You can’t be a true dragon for dragons have never been that small—"

"CALL ME TINY AGAIN, YOU FLYING FUCK. I'LL SHRED YOUR FEATHERS!" Ed snarled.

Ed flared out his wings and hissed to his own chagrin, clapping an electric display in warning. Arcs of lightning zapped between his horns, making the tower glow in bright blue. The flock of owls who watched the confrontation squawked in alarm before taking off into the night, them wanting to risk the lessening rain rather than an angry dragon. The bitch ass bird still hovering in front of him deigned to only blink in reply, somehow even looking more curious.

"What are you?"

"It should be ‘who are you', you rude piece of shit. What is up with this place? Do you guys even have manners?" Ed snarked back.

Like he had room to talk, but the alchemist wanted some form of civilized conversation out of the place, even if an annoyingly large magic creature was the one talking.

The bird seemed to have a look of realization pass it's features, "You question about 'who'. Not 'what'. Have you been Mild for a long time?"

For some fucking reason, Ed heard a capital 'm' in the confusing question, "Mild? The fuck does asking 'who' mean I'm mild? Like calm? I've hardly been calm since I've been here, prick."

The bird shook his red head, "Ah. It is the opposite of Wild. How rare for a sovereign creature such as yourself to have always been Mild."

"Wha—"

"I am also a sovereign creature. A phoenix."

"Who—"

"I am called Fawkes."

"Mild?!"

"Yes, currently for my human friend."

Ed released the active array as he dragged a hand down his snout, "Fucking hell, can  I please get a goddamn break for once?"

Fawkes tilted his head in silence, lowering himself down onto a wooden perch. He watched as the gilded dragon seemed to deflate from his previous anger, wings drooping down to the floor and shoulders hunched in fatigue. Fading thunder echoed throughout the room as the smell of fresh rain did nothing to calm the dragon's fried nerves.

Fawkes quietly asked, "Who are you then?"

Ed's ears pricked up, a variety of emotions passing over his face in quick succession.

Who is he exactly? Especially now? He isn't going to share his true name, it's for the real him, the human him. For all he knew, true names would hold power over him with magic shenaniganary and it'd also suck as a name for a goddamn dragon. Hard pass.

His alchemist title? Fullmetal was admittedly a bomb ass title despite the way he got it…

Ed lifted his head and pointedly met the eyes of the bird, "Fullmetal."

The phoenix slowly blinked at the strange name, not the weirdest name he's ever heard, but strange still.

"Fullmetal?" Fawkes tasted the name on his tongue.

The dragon scoffed, "Yes, Fullmetal. What? Were you expecting one of those magicky names?"

The bird paused as he closed his beak, silence only answering Ed. A scowl rested on his scaly snout, annoyed at the weird stop in conversation. What's up with him?

"I was just wondering if that’s how dragons name themselves. The only times I’ve ever met your kind was when they were close with humans," Fawkes answered, a bit subdued.

Ed rolled his eyes, "The amount of shit they don’t know and just assume is fucking ridiculous. Why take their word for it?"

The bird stared back at him with a new gleam to his eyes that the dragon couldn’t quite place, "The Mild trust our companions."

Ed sat on his haunches and threw his arms in the air, "Again! What the fuck is being 'Mild'?"

"When a sovereign creature decides to hide their true nature to better live with and understand humans." Fawkes lightly chortled at the dragon's curiously human actions.

"And being 'Wild' is the opposite?"

"Yes. It is to be free to do as you like, without human dictation and baser instincts unbridled."

"Pfft, then I'm Wild," The dragon huffed, "I definitely do as I like and if a wizard tries to stop me, I'll kick their ass."

The phoenix seemed to not know what to think about the crude statement, tilting his head in question again. True, even to Ed it looked like he was driven by his wants but it was obvious that it aligned well with how humans typically acted if Fawkes believed he was Mild. But he'd worry about it another day.

"What does 'sovereign' mean?" He asked.

"The highest caste of creature, of course," Fawkes chirruped, "Ones who have the intelligence and power to rule over all like ourselves."

"And you know I'm one because...?"

"Your use of language explains for itself and your magic is strange yet stro—"

Ed cut in, flabbergasted, "MAGIC? I don’t got magic!"

"Of course you do, silly dragon," The phoenix's eyes crinkled in amusement, "We would not be speaking otherwise and you would not even understand our conversation either."

Ed made to debunk the condescending bastard, but clamped his jaw shut in realization. He was talking with a bird. Something totally nuts and uncalled for but it was happening . And holy hell, magic would explain the weird blips of energy he could detect without doing a goddamn thing. It felt definitely different from alchemy as it didn’t seem to pull from tectonic energy, but it was insanely similar and it was there . But how? How the hell does he—

Truth.

His mind was reeling with questions and theories, making him sink into the hay with a hand to his head. Fawkes looked concerned for a split second before the dragon shook his head with tired eyes.

Ed snorted, managing to look back up to the bird with a wry grin, "Well thanks for clearing that up for me, Fucks."

"It is Fawkes and did you truly not know you were of magic?"

"Yeah yeah, Fawkes. Got it." He seemed to dazedly at his tail, "And no, I didn’t even know magic existed until I—er, got here."

"But you're a sovereign!"

"What part of 'I never fucking knew' do you not get?"

The phoenix shifted in place, remarkably looking sheepish despite its regal aura, "Excuse me, I just never met such a conundrum like you, Fullmetal."

The dragon huffed, "Yeah you won’t be the last one to think that, Fucks."

Chapter Text

"Unnecessarily crude language aside, it still begs the question of 'what' you are!"

The dragon opened then closed his mouth, not knowing what to say. Fawkes preened in victory at his speechlessness, glad to have gotten the better of the creature and finally gotten to the question he wanted answered.

"I don’t know, some kind of dragon or something?"

It was Fawkes' turn to be speechless.

Fullmetal chuckled, "Better close your beak before you catch a fly."

"Wh— How do you not know?"

"How did you know?"

"I was hatched by my hen-mother, of course. How would I not know I was a great phoenix?" Fawkes seemed scandalized, "Again, how do you not?"

"Maybe because I have never met another thing like me?" 

The bird asked, disbelieving, "Have you not had a mother?"

Ed gritted his teeth, not expecting that hit to the gut. Of course he had one... the very best.

"No..." He managed to say steadily, "I hatched alone."

Technically he wasn't lying, but it still made him feel like shit for hiding one of the best people from his past.

Fawkes paused before looking at him with that pitying look that always made Ed feel like he was eleven and in a wheelchair again, which of course, pissed him the hell off.

"Don't give me that look, I was—am fine without someone babying me. I took care of myself, fuck you very much."

The phoenix huffed at the curse before pointedly staring at his stump, "And how did that work out for you?"

Ed flinched as he looked away from Fawkes, focusing on the straw between his toes. Shit. Right after talking about his mother, too. It was one hell of a double whammy to the heart if Ed ever admitted, a sudden wave of exhaustion hitting him like a truck. Running on a couple of naps in the cold tunnels after he couldn’t find his horde room, he was starting to feel it bite him back in the ass during this long 'chat'.

"Fullmetal?" Fawkes quietly asked him.

"You know anywhere quiet I could sleep? Somewhere hidden and not a junk pile or... here?" His voice cracked.

"Ah, yes I know of one." The bird looked very guilty, "I apologize if I brought up a sore subject. I only meant to tease—"

"Yeah, no shit. Just... don't ask about it again, okay?"

He nodded, "Of course. I would not want to cause pain for a companion."

"Co-companion?" The dragon stuttered. 

Fawkes tilted his head, "We are of both the same status and have had civil conversation, have we not?"

"Well yeah—"

"Then you are my friend as we sovereigns are few and you gave your name in trust." Fawkes stated matter-of-factly, puffing his chest out.

Ed surprisingly had no argument for that, only chuckling softly at the prideful look the weird bird had on his face before it changed to apprehension.

"What’s that look for?" The dragon squinted.

"I know a location you could rest in but… it happens to be a space also used by others." Fawkes then hurriedly appeased, "Now I know you dragons have a notorious need for large territory and hate interlopers so it’s perfectly understandable if you would refuse, but it seems like the best choice of—"

"Yeah, sure. Where?"

"—action that would hide you best…" Fawkes petered off. 

Ed gave a shit-eating grin as the bird visibly blanked, him almost hearing elevator music playing in the background. Ah, how satisfying it is when he breaks expectations into crumbly bits, watching the aftermath like a fireworks show. He never expected to use his special brand of mindfuck to poke a legendary magic firebird , but here he was. Somehow.

"I can set up camp just about anywhere." Ed shrugged, "Just point the way and I'll deal with whatever."

Fawkes ruffled his feathers with a sigh, "A questionable philosophy, my friend, but one I can understand. It is beginning to look like I must rethink about treating you like a dragon and more like Fullmetal."

"Hmph, damn straight. I'm not my species—er, I am whatever I am."

"Indeed."

And it was sometime later that Fawkes was fully convinced that Fullmetal was uniquely different as he guided the dragon to a place of rest, while bombarded with ludicrous questions.

The phoenix sighed, an eyelid twitching, "Magic comes from within, some creatures having more naturally than others."

"How—"

"It just does and no, it does not have another source. Not like your 'tectonic energy'."

Fullmetal huffed, "The hat—"

"—is not a creature and no, you may not 'shred' them. They are a friend I often talk with and are enchanted to keep the young ones' minds secret."

"The paintings—"

"—are harmless and no, you cannot just 'blast' one with magic to make them and are not made of human souls."

"Ghosts—"

"—are also harmless and no, I will not tell you about the poltergeist. He has enough resources for trouble as it is." Fawkes almost rolled his eyes to his own chagrin.

Ed opened his mouth then closed it in thought.

"Have I answered all your questions, Fullmetal?" 

"Hell no," He ruffled his wings, "Gotta lot of shit I need to know and doubt you can answer them, but…"

The bird tilted his head in question, secretly miffed that Fullmetal questioned his knowledge.

"What's up with the Dementors 'guarding' the school? Who are they guarding?"

"Ah, those things." Fawkes' golden crest flared, "It seems like a dangerous human escaped from their grasp and may come to hunt the Light Child."

Ed's eyes widened, "The Potter kid?"

"Yes, I have heard as much from my human partner."

"Why the hell would a criminal be aiming for him? In a fucking school no less?"

The phoenix huffed, "I do not know all human matters, Fullmetal. Only those that affect my partner."

"So you know jack shit—"

"—Jack?—"

Ed ignored his question and bulldozed on, "Dumbledore is in charge of Hogwarts' protection, though. How do you not know?"

"Albus," He hesitated, "can be a tad secretive and I can be quite busy relegating messages for his work at times. I am not always there to observe."

"I'll have to snatch a newspaper. There has to be shit there at least." He tsked.

Fawkes drooped, "I am sorry I cannot help you more."

"Don't worry about it." Fullmetal grinned, "You did plenty for me! Would’ve been stuck in the library a lot longer tearing my hai—er, scales out and you showed me a great hideout. The Hogwarts books didn’t talk about the Familiar Haven being a thing."

"Of course humans would not know of it. It exists simply for our comfort."

And what comfort it was. Fullmetal couldn’t stop his jaw from dropping at the hidden animal haven below the owlery, filled to the brim with creature comforts and the creatures themselves. He couldn’t help but think about the field day Al would’ve had at the sight of so many cats lounging around in floating hammocks and playing with magic mice. Colorful platforms and cat shelves littered the air as they casually trot back and forth, a couple of ferrets chasing each other on them as well. Random waterfalls sprouted from the walls with greenery growing in the stone, a variety of toads and frogs happily sitting in leaves or in the ponds they poured into the floor. A separate stone shelf held a miniature sun hovering over it containing a few basking snakes and lizards. 

Ed was a bit tempted to join the reptiles much to his own surprise when vague whispers reached his ears.

"Oh! How shiny!"

Fullmetal reared back in shock as the words the animals spoke reached his mind when he could physically hear them meowing and hissing. 

"Another ssssscaled one?"

"Ssssssmells like metal."

"The Fire King!"

"Ashesssss and ssssstone."

"A Scaled King?"

"I hope it doesn’t have a taste for fur."

"I smell chaos from it."

"Another busy year it ssssseems."

His brows furrowed as an eyelid twitched. Ok, maybe he'll have to rethink his temporary camping spot if that gossipy shit will keep happening.

As if sensing his growing ire, the animals quickly found more interesting things to talk about, like how their humans bought luxury treats or the annoying poltergeist pulling their tails again.

Fawkes sighed, fully aware of how sovereigns like themselves were seen as sources of animal interest. He'd liked to go just one day without hearing rumors about how visiting the Malfoy Manor once ended up with him siring chicks with a white peahen of all birds! The audacity! He bet that jealous little tit of a peacock spread that annoying nugget around.

Thankfully for Fullmetal, the familiars only used the Haven as a day hang out and returned to their humans' quarters during the night, leaving a conveniently empty basking shelf for the golden dragon. If you told Ed a few months back that he’d love to sleep in a sand bed under a bright ass light, he’d have laughed at your face and maybe punch your crazy lights out. Now, he’d snuggle into the warm grit and cover his body with it like a slippery blanket of heat, not noticing his own purrs of contentment.

Now, to get himself fully settled and to hunt some shit.

—————————

Ed found himself once again, banging his head on a shelf in the library, books vibrating away in contentment. He took his time researching and fixing tomes along his way, two full shelves of knowledge happily buzzing in his mind, until he found nothing and something. Still no leads to the guy he was supposed to tangentially off, nothing further for the Hallow shit, but on top of that, another fucking serial killer targeting a child! His claws threatened to tear the moving print of Sirius Black, his deranged image looking around for something or particularly someone . The dragon glared at the newspaper he found before snarling and giving in, ripping it to shreds as pieces of paper drifted in the air. The books immediately quieted at the sight, a huffing dragon with sparks of lightning running up his horns as he reduced the pieces to ash .

“Fucking figures.” He growled, “No wonder they got off-brand reapers here if this bastard is aiming for the kid. Can’t make anything easy!”

The library cautiously returned to humming as his increasingly familiar pacing ran the length of a shelf, his muttering and targeted hisses filling the air. Almost in an angry trance, he clapped and fixed books as arrays and contingencies running through his mind.

“So, continue magic research, learn how to fly, learn how to fucking breathe fire, talk with the animals, oh maybe make an information ring with the animals, question Fawkes, search for the relics, the cheater guy, watch the kid, and fuck up Black. Sure! Great! I could totally do that! If it weren’t all at the SAME. FUCKING. TIME!”

He slap-fixed books with each task on the itemized list, quick bursts of thanks ringing through his horns. It did calm his rage just a little, to hear happy humming through the air, but was starting to find it fuzzing his mind with the sheer amount of joy targeting him.

Ed shook his head, trying to grab his thoughts back, “Alright, that’s enough for tonight, guys. Thanks for pointing out the paper, I’ll be by tomorrow or something.”

There were token protests yet reluctant farewells buzzing in the air as he turned tail and trotted off to find a bare stone wall. Hop a few shelves, slink under chairs, and bingo, an uncharmed and unwarded exit with a clap of clawed hands. Fullmetal yawned as he continued tunneling through walls, listening in between arrays to hear any disturbances. There were the expected snores of sleeping paintings, a few pops of apparating elves in hidden rooms, and whooshing murmurs of phasing ghosts. When passing by what was the entrance of Ravenclaw Tower, soft tones of children and teens barely registered. He mostly regretted not scouting the house dorms before the students came, but didn’t see the need now that they are here… except maybe for Gryffindor Tower. His hands paused as he was about to clap, tail flicking in quiet thought. It might be best to check out where Potter was set, just in case he had to find him before Black did. That, and maybe find out why he felt wonky around the kid. So Ed huffed, turned around and started tunneling towards the loudest dorm in the school. Joy…

Clap. Tunnel. Stop. Listen. Path. Array. Clap. Tunnel. Stop. Listen. Path. Array. Clap. Tunnel. Stop. Listen. Path. Array. Clap. Tunnel. Stop. Listen—

A yeowl split the silence, “Unhand me, you blasted bilge rat!”  

“Now, now, Mrs. Norris!” A nasally, echoey voice tutted, “Be a good kitty and lemme glue ya’ tail to the wall!”

Helloooo acceptable target! Meet righteous anger!

Fullmetal burst out the ceiling without warning, teeth bared in a mean smile. The two creatures struggling in the hall could only jump as a golden blur streaked towards  transparent hands grabbing a scrawny tail, a clawed slice doing no harm yet startling a familiar annoyance into letting his feline prey go.

Ed clumsily landed yet snarled up at the apparition, tail lashing, “Oh for fuck’s sake, of course it’s the fucking poltergeist! Can’t have shit in wizard world!”

A colorful yet transparent ghost floated in the air, an annoying little man in jester’s clothes and jingly decoration. His pinched face screwed up in anger as he glared down at Fullmetal, thankfully paying no attention to a fleeing cat. Rescue made, but now for this asshole.

“What the— Argh!” Peeves shouted, pointing towards a swiftly disappearing tail around a corner, “You made me lose Filch’s stupid cat! You little—”

“WHO ARE CALLING SO SMALL, HE CAN FIT IN A TEACUP!” The dragon screeched.

The airtime would’ve been pathetic with one hind leg, if it weren’t for his wings snapping open to boost his jump to claw the fuck’s face off, but Peeves cackled as the attack predictably did nothing. 

“Silly, lizard! Nobody can touch old Peevesey!” The poltergeist’s mirthful grin, turning into a malevolent smile, “But old Peevesey can touch you .”

“Now that just makes you sound like a pedophile, fuckwit!” Ed snapped, yet backing away as the ghost made clawed hands towards him, “How the hell haven’t the wizards gotten rid of you?! Back the fuck up!”

The dragon only touched his paws together as blue lightning zapped up his horns, the sight shocking the ghost still as a stone pillar drove through his head. Peeves yelped, phasing through before another got him from the wall. But Ed growled as he helplessly transmuted pillar after fist after spike after wall at the damn jester, backing away as the flamboyant fuck kept recovering faster with each surprise.

“Wowey! Now that’s shocking!” Peeves giggled as a middle fingered fist tried blinding him, “Fancy lizard’s got fancy magic! Oh all the best pranks I could do with you!”

Ah. 

“Come to Peeves, you teeny weeny—”

That bastard.

“—itty bitty—”

That fucking bastard.

“—ickle wickle—”

Of course Truth would…

“—silly little—”

…fuel his fire with rage .

“—lizaaa AAAAAAHHH !”

Blue hellfire streamed from his maw as Peeves screamed and flew back in pain. His clothes scorched and eyebrows burned away behind cobalt light, frantic hands trying to snuff burning pants. Fullmetal would’ve cackled with righteous glee, but could only push his fire forward with abandon, doing what he could to scare the shit away with his quickly depleting breath. Flame licked at his mouth and threatened to suffocate as it ate the oxygen left in the hall. Burn the bastard quicker please! Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck—

Peeves screamed one more time with abject fear, fled down the corridor, and straight through a wall, his cries echoing satisfyingly out into the castle. Multiple people, living and not, suddenly found themselves feeling vindicated for no apparent reason. They would see the next day brighter and full of unforeseen joy in life, but for now, their avenger tried to get his fucking breath back.

Ed expelled the last ember left in his chest, heaving air into spent lungs as his unknowingly flared wings flopped to the floor and his back-up, off-brand flame array faded away with the lightning on his horns.

“Fuck…hah, you… huh, Truth-damned… hueh, bitch.” 

“Morganna’s saggy tits!” A voice croaked out.

The dragon spun around, claws digging into stone as he spied a scraggly old man and an equally shaggy cat staring wide-eyed and jaws dropped straight at him. And then to the thoroughly scorched and stone-warped hall. Thankfully, only scenic paintings frequented the walls, but it didn’t make him feel any less guilty to hear one suddenly fall to the ground in burnt splinters. Presumably Filch clutched his head in horror.

Fullmetal gulped and wryly grinned, “Oops.”

No warning, he clapped and let the floor swallow him whole along with his quiet embarrassment. 

—————————

The array spread throughout the whole hall, however, the alchemist not mindless to the mess behind. In front of Filch’s and Mrs. Norris’ eyes, the wrecked corridor seemed to set itself to rights. Unsightly pillars and offensive stone hands melded into walls, floors, and ceiling, seams perfectly fit back into smooth shape. Bricks and stonework flipped in place to reveal unscorched surfaces, the floors almost unnaturally buffed to a shine, and paintings straightened in place. Except for the poor oil landscape of a grassland with a single tree. It was still utterly in fire-damaged pieces and the only sign of some event that had happened in the seemingly pristine corridor. And the caretaker and his cat boggled once more in awe, nearly unbelieving at what they witnessed then and there.

“Mrs. Norris,” Filch breathed out in reverence, “Did we just see a small dragon smite that damned menace and fix up almost all the mess in the aftermath? And somehow make it look acceptable?!”

Mrs. Norris gave a raspy yet clearly positive meow, “Sure did…”

A pause. Then a plan emerged.

“Keep this quiet, Mrs. Norris. We’re having that darling dragon if that’s the last thing we do.”

And Mrs. Norris could only nod, thoughts of golden scales alongside her fur strangely appealing.