The Marauder's map is an interesting concept, but ultimately unhelpful to Ed, unless Black decides to have another go at breaking into Hogwarts.
A raggedy man a big black dog sitting in Azkaban wizarding prison, Ed recalls. It was one scene of the hundreds that Truth had flooded his brain with when he had first arrived and he's been thinking about it non-stop since Zach and Elliot voiced their opinions on the meaning of Black's appearance in the castle.
There's no fucking way, is there?
Animagi are registered and their identities are controlled by the Ministry of Magic. Sirius Black is not a registered Animagus, based on Ed's preliminary research.
We're looking for the wrong thing.
When Hogwarts finally allows its students to return to Hogsmeade shortly before the winter holidays begin, Ed makes an effort to ditch not only Neville, but Fred and George, as he attempts to put his theory to the test. He tells them he's mostly going to be holed up in Tomes and Scrolls, which thankfully deters them from attempting to tag along.
He begins scouring the alleys and back roads of the tiny wizarding village in search of a dog, any dog.
Ed rustles through rubbish bins and checks to see if any cellar doors have been left unlocked. Unsurprisingly, the doors to the cellar of the Hog's Head are unguarded, but Ed finds nothing there except for an appalling abundance of mold and several crates of questionable liquid he's sure they pass off as alcohol.
There's no sign of a dog on his first attempt, although Ed does run into a fearsome-looking ginger cat with a squashed face.
He remains unbothered and unhurried; there will be plenty of time for dog-catching during the holidays.
* * * * *
"- and Gran'll kill me if she thinks I'm trying to avoid another family dinner and even more of her stuffy parties, but I suppose she doesn't have much else to look forward to nowadays."
Ed had asked Neville what his plans for the holidays were and Neville had responded with a detailed outline of events to come, courtesy of Augusta Longbottom, his grandmother and head of the family.
"Are you going home for Christmas, Ed?"
"Nope."
Ed is grateful that the Hogwarts dormitories remain open during the winter holidays, otherwise he'd have to be scrambling for a place to live right now. It also presents him with the perfect opportunity to go Black-hunting in Hogsmeade and the neighboring area. Maybe he'll finally take a look around the forest.
"Not planning on seeing your family?"
"Don't have any."
Neville stops in his tracks. "What did you just say?"
"I'm not going home for Christmas."
"After that, I mean."
"I don't have any family," Ed says quietly. "They're dead."
They're not dead, not dead. You have Al, you have Winry, you have Granny, you have Mustang, you have Hawkeye, … Ed continues to list the family he does have as he lies out of necessity.
Neville freezes. He doesn't immediately jump to pitying Ed or saying sorry as if he were responsible for whatever happened, and Ed's relieved, because he hates that kind of empty sympathy, even if he does get where it comes from.
"Would you want company?" Neville says.
Ed knows life has been tough on Neville, even if he isn't sure of the specifics, and Neville still somehow turned out to be one of the most thoughtful people Ed's ever met. He somehow navigates situations that make Ed uncomfortable in the perfect blend of compassion and distance, like right now, as he gives Ed the choice to not be alone during Christmas.
"Thanks for offering," Ed responds, biting back a smile, "but sounds like your grandmother is missing you and I have a lot of shit to get done while we don't have class."
Neville hesitates, as if debating whether to insist on staying, but instead, smiles a bit awkwardly and shakes the snowflakes from his head. "More books, I imagine."
"Can't let those Ravenclaws think I'm slacking, right?"
Neville laughs, his shoulders shaking at the thought of the pinched expressions the Ravenclaws shoot at Ed constantly, whether in the classroom or out of it.
Ed relaxes, content to let the sound of Neville's laughter blanket over the dull ache that reminds him he won't be going home for a long time.
* * * * *
The Saturday before Christmas, Ed walks with Neville and Luna, both of whom are heading home to see their families, to the train station. As they bid their goodbyes and the two younger students clamber on board the Hogwarts Express, Neville turns to call out that he'll write Ed a letter about all of the latest family drama.
"I know you're dying to find out what shade of brown Great-Uncle Algie picks this year!"
Ed spots Fred and George as well, along with three other redheads (including Ron from his classes), Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter. The twins wave to him, Fred blowing an exaggerated kiss that makes Ron stick out his tongue and pretend to gag and leaves Harry and Hermione glancing weirdly between Fred and Ed. Ed flips the twins off with both hands and he watches George's grin melt into easy laughter that he can hear over the commotion and swarms of people.
Fred pretends to swoon.
When the train is gone and he can't even make out the thin trail of smoke puffing out of its engine, Ed gets down to business.
He doesn't expect to find anything on his second attempt, but when he hasn't found a single trace of dog for the next six days, Ed's confidence begins to waver, which is a terrible sign, because Edward Elric is annoyingly persistent at his best and worst. Each day he returns to Hogsmeade, Ed stamps through newly fallen snow, in search of something that he doesn't ever find. He forgoes talking to anyone or asking if they've seen a dog recently, because he doesn't want to potentially reveal anything unnecessary or bring even more attention to himself.He even wanders into the fringes of the Forbidden Forest one day, but stops himself from going in much further, as the trees manage to block out daylight a mere 100 meters in.
Ed doubles down on his efforts a week and a half after the start of the holidays, making himself scarce around the school grounds, only coming back to eat and sleep and shower, all of which he can do more comfortably now since his dorm mates also left on the earliest possible train.
Hogwarts is quiet when it is abandoned, a distinct lack of chatter and excitement in its halls. But more than that, there's a lack of energy in the air, everything too still and cold and dead.
He ignores the fact that he misses his friends and he stops himself from thinking about them too often.
Or at the very least, he tries to, for the sake of his mission, but it's a difficult thing to do when his friends actually care about him too.
He gets letters delivered to him by an owl he guesses belongs to Neville's grandmother, because Neville insists he doesn't need one when he can use the school owls and he already has Trevor to take care of. Reading the pages upon pages of neat scrawl, that depict Hamlet-levels of drama-infused family dinners and uncomfortable conversations with distant relatives who can barely remember Neville's name, distracts Ed from the pressure of finding his one potential source of insider information on Riddle and from the stress over the ungodly amount of time it's taking him to get things done.
Fred and George send him a Howler on Christmas day that screams the entirety of a popular wizard Christmas carol, which echoes in Ed's ears for the rest of the day and gets stuck in his head for the rest of the week.
He doesn't hear from Luna, but doesn't think much of it, since her farewell at the train station had included a solemn confirmation that "I'll see you when I dream".
And then there's Blaise, who seeks him out one of the rare days he doesn't go out to Hogsmeade.
"Merry Christmas, dear," Blaise starts off.
"Merry Christmas, you cheery bastard."
"That's rather uncalled for."
"Nothing's uncalled for when you're involved."
Ed is sprawled on a chair in one of the unlocked classrooms, feet propped against the desk in front of him. His head is hanging over the back of his chair, so that he watches Blaise approach him upside-down.
"What'd you need?"
Blaise settles down behind him with perfect posture and a flash of a well-practiced smirk. "Do I need a reason to see my favorite delinquent?"
"Do you even know what a delinquent is?"
There's something different about him, Ed thinks as he glares at the Slytherin. He's looking at me differently.
And he is. Blaise thought everything about life at Hogwarts would be boring and ordinary and predestined. He knew he'd be a Slytherin, knew he'd be included in Malfoy's posse of powerful and rich pureblood associates, and knew he'd be totally uninterested by the whole seven-year ordeal.
From a young age, Amara Zabini had taught Blaise that life is a game and there can always be a winner.
"It's about strategy, about knowing the other players, and about knowing what you want."
Blaise is excellent at strategy and he's almost on par with his mother in understanding other people, the way they think and their motivations and all, but he's never wanted anything. He plays his part the way it will benefit him best, but there have been no moves that reveal him to desire anything more than a comfortable life in high society.
But he knows what he wants now.
Blaise thinks from time to time about his first interaction with Ed, his reason for finding the ill-tempered Hufflepuff interesting and potential for future entertainment. Ed had been an unexpected surprise in Blaise's otherwise comprehensive life plan and Blaise isn't one to let an opportunity so fascinating pass him by. It was surface-level investment in spicing up his own life that had kept him in frequent contact with Ed, learning how to best get a rise out of the Hufflepuff and leaving him baffled whenever he passed him in the halls.
And Blaise had been convinced that was all he really needed, until he had brought Malfoy to Ed's hospital bedside (at Malfoy's insistence) and got a refreshing taste of what Ed's thought process was like.
He spent some time avoiding Ed, trying to put into words the subtle ache of want that hounded him non-stop, the ache that whispered "in the end, not everything is about ambition or profit or winning."
It's not like Ed is the only person alive who has ever expressed that sentiment, but even Harry Potter, everyone's first example of a good person, hadn't looked particularly keen on rescuing Malfoy from trouble (that he had caused, to be fair).
So he's sitting here now, behind Ed, hands folded over the other like a proper gentleman, because he knows what he wants.
He wants to know what life is like when you can hate someone so clearly, but still put all of that resentment aside to save them.
He wants to know what life is like when it's not about winning.
He wants to know what life is like when you're Edward Elric.
"You'd be surprised to find that there is little I don't know when it comes to you," Blaise answers, unabashed. He watches Ed blush angrily – and isn't it weird to discover a person could blush angrily? – and he wonders what the Hufflepuff would have been like if he'd been ambitious enough to be a Slytherin."Shut up," Ed says, picking himself up and spinning around to straddle the back of the chair. He crosses his arms and rests his chin atop them as he scans Blaise's face for an indication of his intentions.
Blaise doesn't have any intentions. He's here because he wants to understand Ed.
"How have your holidays been?"
Ed shoots him a look that would make anyone else want to curl up and die. "Fine, I guess. You?"
They've never shared in a conversation as simple and small as this. It's always been about the banter and the snark and the big show of it to other students and professors.
Blaise smiles at the bizarre intimacy of it.
"Mine as well. Kind of you to ask, dear."
He can't bring himself to drop the curtain on the show, to just be the Blaise who wants to understand.
"You seem kind of weird. You okay?"
"Never better."
They're staring at each other. Ed with predictable suspicion, Blaise with a quiet fondness for someone who's ultimately a stranger. How do you get to know someone?
How do you become… friends?
"You look tired. Have you been sleeping properly?"
The question results in an agitated Ed, who leans back and away from Blaise.
"Yeah," Ed says slowly. "Yeah, I have."
Blaise clicks his tongue. "That's a lie if I've ever heard one. You look like death warmed over."
"You don't know the half of it," Ed snorts with a roll of his eyes.
"Fuck you," Blaise responds, still the picture of politeness.
In Amestrian.
"What the fuck did you just say?" Ed says, his tone soft and light and downright terrifying. His grip on the back of the chair tightens to the point that the wood creaks, threatening to crack.
How could he possibly know Amestrian?
"I should preface this explanation with the fact that I don't actually speak or understand your mother tongue. You just happen to use it a lot to make sarcastic comments, I'm assuming, and it doesn't take a genius to learn how to say 'fuck you'." Blaise taps his fingers against the desk. "Which I suppose is something incredibly rude, based on the frequency and fervor with which you say it."
The tension in Ed's demeanor is concerning, but Blaise almost wants to blush for admitting how closely he's been observing Ed since the start of school. He won't allow himself to do it though.
Ed takes several deep breaths and forces himself to relax his entire body with each exhale.
"I won't do it again, dearest, I didn't mean to give you a fright."
"Say it again."
Now Blaise is the tense one. "What was that?"
"Say it again." Ed lowers his forehead to his arms, obscuring his face. "Please."
"Fuck you?" Blaise's voice inflects upwards, turning the phrase into a question.
Ed's eyes are closed as he listens to Blaise's accented Amestrian.
It's brief and awkward and sounds not quite right, but it's the first Amestrian he's heard that hasn't been his own or any approximation of Truth's in months.
Neither of them move for a very long time.
When Ed finally gets up, pushing his chair back with a startling screech, he pauses to stand in front of Blaise, who's paralyzed by the smooth, blank expression on his face.
"Thanks," Ed says, loud and over-enunciated.
Blaise doesn't move even as he hears Ed stomp away. He doesn't think to move until he notices how low the sun is hanging in the sky.
He repeats the sound of the foreign language, how the odd syllables manage to fit together into the strangest song Blaise has ever heard.
"Thanks," Blaise commits to memory.
For the next time.
* * * * *
The majority of students who had gone away for Christmas return on the weekend before the start of term.The twins find Ed sitting in the same empty classroom he'd encountered Blaise, except this time, it's warmed by a crackling fire. He's positioned in front of the fireplace, book in his lap, his legs crossed over one another.
Fred is wearing a thick V-neck sweater with a "G" on the front, that's much too small for him; it exposes his midriff, the slight protrusion of his ribs, and the freckled skin of his collar bones. The sleeves stop just past his elbows. George, on the other hand, is wearing a loose-fitted sweater intended for someone his size, with a giant "F" on it.
Ed raises an eyebrow at the sight of them. "Didn't think you were the type for crop tops, George, but why is Fred wearing your sweater?"
Fred grins and puts his hands to his hips. "Nice view, isn't it?"
"View? Yes. Nice? Eh."
Fred gasps in mock offense, while George sighs. He takes a seat to Ed's left and draws his knees up to his face.
"You're the first to catch on," George says. "Everyone thinks the jumper is mine and that Fred is me."
"I'm not George, though, I'm Gred," Fred tacks on, placing a hand underneath his chin and batting his eyelashes, "do you think my belly button distracts from my eyes?"
George indulges Fred, who's striking coy poses like he belongs on the cover of Witch Weekly, with a smile.
"The sweater isn't yours?" Ed asks.
"Nah," George responds. "It's Ginny's, but she didn't like the V-neck on it so I gave her mine. Fred knew I wouldn't feel comfortable wearing hers, so he gave me his."
"Ginny? Does your entire family wear matching outfits?"
George lets out a huff of laughter. "They're called Weasley jumpers for a reason. Mum makes one for us every year."
Ed whistles softly. "Your mum makes these?"
"Like what you see?" Fred interrupts with a wink, before sidling up to Ed. Both Ed and George ignore him this time.
"She does," George answers. "She made you one too."
"She did?"
"She did," Fred confirms, slinging an arm over Ed's shoulders. "Ickle Ronny-kins blabbed, saying we were always spending our time around this idiotic new kid and she insisted. She makes one for Harry too."
Ed scowls and flips him off, while Fred cackles at the gesture.
Neither of the twins mention that Mrs. Weasley's initial impression of Ed had been founded on Ron's opinions, who still couldn't wrap his head around the idea of wanting to be friends with the Hufflepuff.
"He's the Muggle version of a Death Eater or something," Ron had explained over Christmas dinner. His mouth had been stuffed full of mashed potatoes, which he had then gagged on when Hermione had not so subtly elbowed him in the side. Harry had focused intently on his own plate of food, awkwardly trying to remove himself from what appeared to be a family feud.
"He's not!" both Fred and George had shouted.
"He kind of is," Ginny had added unhelpfully. Molly Weasley's face turned murderous.
Percy hadn't bothered to say what he thought of the little blonde menace, because he was too busy discussing current Ministry policies with Mr. Weasley.
"Is this boy threatening you?" Mrs. Weasley had then asked.
"NO!"
There had been an argument between the twins and the rest of the Weasley's that had lasted a week. (Harry and Hermione had wisely chosen to stay out of it.) A week of the twins isolating themselves from the rest of the family, despite it being Christmas, a week of Molly's tears and pleading and Arthur's attempts to reason with his sons. But in the end, the rest of the Weasley's gave up and grudgingly accepted the friendship, because it became clear neither Fred nor George was willing to sever their ties with the "Muggle Death Eater".
"He knows," Fred had said quietly to his mother one morning, "the ways in which Fred is Fred and George is George. Like he just knows when George is upset but holding back to be nice and will let him rant about whatever is upsetting him."
"And he knows Fred needs more time to read books and will read aloud for him when we're together," George had said.
(There are, of course, many other reasons the twins like Ed, but one of the things that caught their eye quite immediately was the way the Hufflepuff could discern who is Fred and who is George at any time, without hesitation. Fred and George can't exactly figure out how Ed can always tell them apart (and he always does so casually, as if it weren't a big deal), but they secretly appreciate it. Secretly, because they don't want people to know that it bothers them in the first place. Their own family gets them mixed up at times, so they've learned to shrug it off for the sake of others' feelings and ignoring their own. On top of that, it's pretty difficult to get attention when you're the middle children of seven, especially the middle of six boys, so there are times when Fred and George have slipped through the cracks, leading most people to think of them as similar in more than appearance.
It's even worse at Hogwarts, where they intentionally play up the "who's who?" thing, because when they're acting like themselves, people still aren't sure who is who at any one time and it's disheartening. It's always "Fred and George", even if they're alone, or "Mr. Weasley", removing the possibility for error.
Maybe it's better to say that people don't care who's Fred and who's George. To other people, they come as a package deal.
Not to Ed.)
The subdued admissions from her sons on that quiet winter morning had been more than enough reason to like Ed for Mrs. Weasley, who promptly began knitting a Weasley jumper for the twins to take back with them when she had learned from George that he suspected something had happened to Ed's family.
(Mrs. Molly Weasley loves all of her children and cares for them equally. But she hadn't known that George held back so much or that Fred had trouble reading. They had never mentioned it before.)
"Want it?" George asks. "You don't have to take it."
Ed can feel the lump forming in his throat. The twins had called them "Weasley jumpers" and the meaning of the gift makes him think if he were to cough right here, right now, he'd end up with his heart in his hands.
"I'll take it," he says with feigned nonchalance.The twins grin in unison as Fred hands him a sweater with a white "E" stitched on it. It's soft and perfectly made and probably too big for him, but the most important thing is that it's a familiar, eye-watering shade of crimson.
"George picked the color," Fred informs him. And George had done so after noticing Ed always keeps Luna's red strings wrapped around the end of his braid or woven into it. (There had been subsequent braiding sessions following the Great Hall slumber party, with Luna slowly working her way through different styles of braids on Ed's hair.)
Ed runs a gloved hand over the tightly-woven stitches of the sweater and he smiles briefly, before he stifles it. Fred and George catch the smile anyway, but they exchange glances and keep it to themselves.
"Thank her for me," Ed says.
"Going to try it on?" Fred asks, his tone suggestive.
"Constantly trying to undress me with your eyes is enough, don't you think?" Ed retorts, without any true malice behind it.
"Never," Fred declares.
"Ignore him," George says. "Just see if it fits."
Ed sheds his jacket and pulls on the sweater, which is approximately two sizes too large. The collar hangs off his shoulder if he's not careful and the sleeves extend over his hands, but Ed actually prefers it that way, because they hide his gloves.
The color is reminiscent of the jacket he'd donned ever since he first became a State Alchemist.
"It's great," Ed says.
He can imagine the feeling of the wool against his missing limb.
He hasn't felt this warm in a while.
* * * * *
When Ed meets Neville after the holidays are over, he hands him a simple glazed pot holding a small Creeper's Ivy. Creeper's Ivy, so called because the plant seeks out heat and will often wrap itself around human appendages, like a tiny hug.
"Merry Christmas," he says, his voice gruff and awkward.
Neville stares at the ivy, its tendrils happily curling against his fingers. The leaves are a healthy green and though the plant is young, he can tell someone has been taking care of it well.
It's also known to symbolize friendship and affection.
Neville looks up at Ed, who's looking sheepishly off to the side. His cheeks are faintly pink, as if he'd been out in the cold for too long. They're indoors, though.
"It's sweet," Neville comments, but he's not looking at the ivy. He grins widely. "Thanks, Ed."
"It's nothing," Ed says immediately. The pink dusting his face darkens slightly.
Neville takes a moment to memorize the embarrassed blush on Ed's normally scowling face, the juxtaposition oddly heartwarming.
"I've actually got something for you too!" He rustles through his pockets, before presenting Ed with a small rectangular frame. There's no picture inside of it, just a blank sheet of parchment.
Neville cradles it carefully, ensuring he's only touching the wooden edges.
"What is this?" Ed asks.
"They're called Subvenire," Neville says. There's uncertainty in his eyes. "The parchment inside is charmed to depict a memory." He pauses. "A lot of people use them to remember loved ones," he adds in a soft voice. He holds the frame out to Ed, who accepts it gingerly.
"Any memory will work?" Ed's voice is quiet.
"Yeah," Neville says. He rubs his nose with the back of his hand. "You can add one later."
Ed knows what Neville is doing and he appreciates that the other boy always seems to know how to give him space, while still showing he cares.
"Thanks, Neville. I mean it."
The two boys head toward the Great Hall to eat dinner.
Later that night, in the solitude of his bed, Ed pulls a memory from his temple with the tip of his wand and watches its pale blue glow soak into the parchment.
Within seconds, Ed sees Al, Winry, and him in their youth, laughing around the kitchen table in his no longer existing childhood home. In the background, a smiling Mom and Granny are bringing plates of baked goods to the table.
He slips the moving image into one of the inside pockets of his jacket and swallows the lump in his throat.
He'll have to thank Neville again tomorrow morning.
* * * * *
Luna is wandering the halls barefoot (by choice), humming as she bows slightly to the portraits that she passes by.
There's the sound of footsteps chasing after her, but she doesn't need to turn around to know who it is. Only one person at Hogwarts stomps around like that.
"Loony," Ed says when he catches up to her. "You could have waited for me."
"You caught up, didn't you?"Ed sighs in exasperation and she laughs.
"How were your holidays?" she asks.
"Fine," Ed responds. "Yours?"
"They were delightful," she says, "Dad and I spent most of our days trying to rid our mistletoe of Nargles."
"Maybe avoid mistletoe altogether," Ed suggests.
"What's Christmas without mistletoe!" She almost looks upset. "That's treason to the spirit of Christmas."
"My apologies, then," Ed says sarcastically.
"They'll forgive you, Fullmetal," she answers, sincere as always.
They walk down the length of the hall in silence, the sound of Ed's heavy footfall overwhelming the soft tread of Luna's bare feet against the castle floor.
"Did you need something?" Luna asks in the end, as they turn the corner. They're heading towards the main stairwell now, where they'll most likely part to head to their own dormitories.
"Just had something to give you," he answers. He holds out a fist and nods towards it. "Hand."
Luna extends both hands, palms up. Ed opens his hand and drops something sparkly into them.
There are several small metal charms in Luna's hands, twisted to look like the numerous creatures she had described to Ed in great detail over the few months they've been acquainted.
(Ed had created them himself with alchemy, thinking of nothing more than the simple fact that Luna would like them.)
"Oh," she says softly, her thumb brushing over the Nargle. "They're perfect."
"Figured you could use them for your jewelry," Ed says. "Merry Christmas."
He turns down the hallway leading to the Hufflepuff dormitory without warning and disappears in seconds, leaving Luna a bit surprised at the sudden gift and the equally sudden departure.
"He's awfully shy," she murmurs as she heads towards her own dormitory. "I suppose I'll give him his gift at a later time."
(When Ed wakes up two days later with a small package placed on his bedside table, he isn't even surprised Luna either managed to get into his room somehow or found someone to put it there for her.
It's a handmade pin, fashioned out of a bottle cap and a safety-pin. The bottle cap is metal – tin, Ed thinks – and it's painted a deep red. It features a slightly faded image of a sunflower.
A wearable portrait of Fullmetal, it says on the note attached.
He pins it to the front of his jacket and when Luna sees it over breakfast, she beams.)