Chapter Text
The air at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had decidedly transitioned from the blanket of warmth and humidity that had covered the grounds at the start of term to a brisk wave of chill that hung on the skin. Gone was the ease of summer to be replaced by the flurry of fall, bringing with it the standard onslaught of homework and exams. Except that nothing about this school year could be considered standard by any definition of the word.
Minerva had long been a woman of routine, having grown accustomed to a certain set of procedures and scheduling brought forth after many years of teaching.
She enjoyed a cup of tea in the morning.
She had eggs and toast for breakfast.
Her lunch was usually spent with the newest issue of Transfiguration weekly.
Evenings were reserved for marking the work of her students before she retired to her quarters with a cup of warm water and honey waiting next to the fireplace for her when she arrived.
Everything had a purpose.
Every action had a reason.
This made life easy in a way that discarded uncertainty. She had never been a woman of risk or adventure. For her, it was the simple pleasures in life that made each day worth it.
The joy of seeing a student’s happy face after successfully completing a difficult spell.
Learning of the newest accomplishment in the field she had dedicated her life to sharing.
However, this year she had been challenged in her role as Deputy Headmistress in ways that were so far foreign to her thirty-eight years at Hogwarts.
Not only had the Triwizard tournament been a large thorn in her side on account of the copious time spent in various meetings with both ministry officials and foreign diplomats alike, as well a general logistical nightmare in regards to the planning, but in the span of a few weeks the number of students roaming the halls of Hogwarts had increased substantially. The extra bodies brought with them even more issues. Just the other day she had had to separate two seventh-year Gryffindors who had decided to fight it out over the heart of a Beauxbatons student. Needless to say, they received detention for a month.
As if this hadn’t been enough to deal with, Albus had been even more on edge since the previous week. An emergency meeting had immediately been called with the heads of houses after Potter and Elric’s names were drawn from the goblet. It was only after much persuasion from the headmaster in the following days that they managed to avoid an international incident with the visiting schools, both of whom had begrudgingly accepted the two additional competitors.
Unfortunately, this wasn’t even the extent of her troubles. One of the talking points that had come up in her discussions with Albus was the youngest addition to Hogwart’s staff – Edward Elric.
“Minerva I’m afraid to admit that I’m quite worried regarding Edward’s reaction tonight,” Albus had confided after dismissing the rest of the staff.
“Surely you cannot be surprised. Edward has never been the most reserved of people and he cares deeply for his brother,” Minerva thought back to the incident with Moody at the start of the term. There was not much she knew about the younger aside from the various articles released over the summer. Albus had been surprisingly tightlipped about the Elrics, and she hadn’t pushed him on the subject.
“Be that as it may, I am reluctant to admit that I have still not been able to fully understand the boy or his motivations. Nicolas had never mentioned his apprentices, and his behaviour so far has been volatile, to say the least. In such a delicate situation we have found ourselves we must tread carefully.”
Minerva had to resist the urge to laugh. Volatile was putting it lightly. The look on the boy’s face earlier that night had been nothing short of murderous. She was convinced that if not for the boy’s younger brother, he would have burnt the whole place to the ground and not batted an eye.
“What is your plan?” Because Albus always had some form of strategy bouncing around in his head, endlessly formulating and plotting his next move. She had never won a single game of chess against the man for a reason.
“We must keep an eye on the Elrics. I have already asked Severus to watch over young Alphonse, but we must also be on the lookout for Edward. I have a feeling more trouble will find its way upon us over the course of the term.”
This was how she found herself carefully analyzing the assistant groundskeeper over the following week. If the boy – because yes, she had no doubt in her mind that Edward Elric was still a child – wasn’t already akin to a volatile spell on the verge of blowing up, then he certainly became one over the course of the week. By Thursday it was clear as day that the boy was struggling. She watched as he ate in silence, gold eyes narrowed, and shoulders tense as he glared at his surroundings. Not even Filius dared to strike up a conversation from beside the blond. After barely eating more than a couple bites, the boy slammed down his cutlery before stalking out of the great hall, curious eyes from the students and staff following him.
Later that night at their weekly staff meeting, the boy was no better. Minerva watched as he spent the entire hour glaring daggers at Dumbledore’s head. His hands clenched tightly into fists, knuckles stark white.
Edward Elric was indeed a landmine waiting to be set off.
Sighing she approached the walking bomb with a purpose as the meeting ended. This needed to be dealt with before the situation became irreversible.
“Elric,” She spoke up from a few feet away. She had to remind herself to breathe as the boy steeled his glare in her direction. “A word in my office, please.”
She felt a bit of tension leave her as his gaze broke briefly into surprise and then reluctance.
“Whatever.”
She could work with whatever.
The brief walk to her office was spent in silence, but the incredibly non-discreet glances sent her way spoke volumes. She motioned to the chair in front of her desk as they entered, to which the boy promptly sat, eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“Biscuit?” She offered, taking the seat behind her desk.
“No thank you,” The words were indeed polite, but the tone dripped with suspicion. “I take it the old man told you to talk to me?”
“No, Albus did not instruct me to speak with you,” Minerva replied curtly, too tired to deal with teenage angst. “I merely wished to inquire into how you are doing Mr. Elric.”
Blond eyes widened slightly before glancing downwards. “I’m fine.”
Minerva scoffed. It didn’t take a genius to be able to distinguish between ‘fine’ and the boy’s current state of mind. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t waste my time. I may be old, but my eyes work perfectly well thank you very much.”
She let herself feel a slight tinge of satisfaction as the boy across from her made a small choking sound in surprise. “Let me ask again, how are you doing Mr. Elric?”
“Just call me Ed.”
Minerva sighed before reminding herself that her newest colleague was in fact a child, even if he tried to present himself as an adult. “Alright Edward, should I repeat the question?”
The boy shook his head, fidgeting slightly in his seat across from her. “I am fine,” He spoke as if the words were being forced out of his mouth. “Not that I doubt my brother, but how dangerous is this tournament?”
She thought this over, briefly registering that he had once again deflected her initial question. Clearly, the boy was worried about his brother, that much she had already known. If she could succeed in calming his nerves, perhaps that would have to do for now.
“The tournament has been held for centuries, and although I will not lie and say that there have never been any incidents where students have faced harm or injury, it is never our intention to put our student’s lives at risk for the purpose of a competition,” She said, carefully thinking over her words in order to put the boy’s mind at ease, but also convey the reality of the situation. “It will not be easy, but none of the tasks are expected to inflict fatality on anyone involved.”
Across from her, Ed nodded, slowly digesting her words.
"I understand that you are frustrated and angry, but I hope you can see that we are doing everything in our power to make this situation right. We don't want any harm to come to you or your brother."
From the look on his face, she was unsure if he believed her. After a minute of silence, he spoke up, eyes burning with a fire she hadn’t noticed earlier. They blazed with the ferocity of a fire hungry for fuel.
"Why did this happen?" he asked. "How did someone put his name in the Goblet of Fire? And why?"
McGonagall sighed. "I'm afraid I don't have all the answers. But I can tell you that the Goblet of Fire is a powerful magical object, and it is not easily fooled. It is designed to only accept the names of those who are eligible to compete, and we are unsure as to how someone managed to circumvent its protections."
The boy slumped, as if in resignation. Golden eyes had softened from their earlier state of hostility yet were anything but accepting. "We didn't sign up for this."
“I know,” She didn’t know, given how little Albus had shared about the boys. However, she could still very well decipher when someone wanted to be there, and the eldest Elric seemed as if he would rather be anywhere but Hogwarts.
“So, what do we do?" he asked, his voice low.
McGonagall gave him a small smile. "We do our best, Mr. Elric. The tournament will continue, and we make sure that you and your brother are as safe as possible. We will do everything in our power to help your brother through this."
Ed nodded, seemingly feeling a small measure of relief.
"Thank you, Professor," he said, standing up from the bench. "I appreciate your honesty."
McGonagall nodded, standing up as well. "If you ever need to talk, Mr. Elric, my door is always open."
Ed gave her a small nod, “Goodnight, Professor.”
“Goodnight Edward.”
…
It happened quickly and without warning. Really, he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Double potions with the Slytherins had always been the bane of his existence. Why would this year be any different? If anything, this year had so far taken the cake for some of Harry’s worst days at Hogwarts. At least in previous years, Ron had been by his side. Now the only thing he had to look forward to were the cold shoulders and biting comments from not only the one person he thought he could trust, but also from the rest of the school.
Indeed, Malfoy seemed especially pleased as one of the many ‘Potter Stinks’ badges stood proudly poised on his robes. Next to him, the Slytherins howled with laughter. All except Elric who had taken a spot in the back of the crowd, face dark and disapproving.
Harry’s scowl deepened. At least Malfoy had the guts to spout off to his face. Whereas Elric just always stood back with an air of pompous righteousness. Whatever Neville thought he saw in the git couldn’t be anything more than a load of rubbish.
He ignored the twinge of jealousy at the unfairness of it all. At least Elric had the unwavering support of his fellow housemates, whereas even the majority of Gryffindors were under the impression he had entered his name in some farfetched pursuit of fame. The glares of his dormmates were growing older by the day.
“Shove off Malfoy,” Harry spat, already on edge from the nightmare of a week he had just had.
“Want one Granger?” Malfoy continued, standing taller as laughter continued from a group of Slytherin girls behind him. “Careful where you touch though, wouldn’t want a Mudblood rubbing off on me.”
His wand was in his hand within seconds, the anger that had been bubbling under his skin for days now burnt in a fresh wave of rage. However, what should have been a spell directed straight at Malfoy’s annoying face was instead redirected as it collided with the blond’s own spell. The next thing he knew the hall was enveloped in a different sort of chaos. Across from him, Goyle’s hands had shot up to his face, desperately trying to hide the boils sprouting from his nose. A whimper next to him was followed by a shout of “Hermione!”
Ron rushed forward at the same time that Snape decided to make an appearance.
“What is this all about?” The soft and deadly voice of the potion master rose up, full of vindictiveness. “Malfoy, accompany Goyle to the hospital wing. Detention tonight with me Potter, 6 o’clock.”
“But Professor! Malfoy attacked Hermione too, look!” Ron spluttered indignantly.
Indeed, despite her best attempts to hide it, her two front teeth had grown comically large, not akin to a beaver.
“I see no difference.”
The words were said with such apathy and disdain that it was no surprise when Hermione turned and ran down the hallway, tears falling from her eyes. Harry watched her go, feeling a burning hatred for the Potion’s master. Next to him, Ron was bristling, clearly seconds away from his own outburst.
Someone beat them to it.
“With all due respect, Professor, that wasn’t nice.”
Silence.
It echoed throughout the hall as everyone’s breaths caught in their throats.
Harry’s head snapped up, eyes as wide as saucers. He watched in fascination as Snape’s face transformed from its usual lacklustre pale to a fiery red. His nostrils were flared out and his eyes narrowed to slits as his brain processed what it had just heard.
Next to him, Ron looked like someone had just committed murder, which honestly, judging from the look on Snape’s face, they might just get to witness. The redhead’s mouth gaped open and close, like a fish struggling for water.
As Snape turned around, it was as if time had slowed to a snail’s pace. The students behind him parted way as if burned, revealing the unapologetic face of Alphonse Elric. Indeed, the blond stood firmly, defiance painted across his face.
“Excuse me.”
No one moved.
“I said, with all due respect, Professor Snape, that wasn’t very nice.”
Several people gasped. A fourth-year Slytherin fainted.
“I’m not sure what exactly you learned under Flamel, Mr. Elric, but here at Hogwarts, students are expected to treat their professors with respect. Is that understood?”
Elric looks about ready to argue, but then seemed to decide against it. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. You will join Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley in detention tonight. 6 o’clock.”
“Yes sir.”
Without another word, Snape turned and strode into his classroom. Harry watched as Zabini flung himself over Elric’s shoulders, guiding him into the room. Next to him, Ron was still shaking, no doubt still seething over the injustice of it all. If not for the fact that the redhead also turned away, sitting next to Dean, Harry might have felt things had returned to normal.
Sighing, he sat down at the only empty table. The seat next to him remained empty.
It was halfway through class as Harry was contemplating the numerous ways in which he might be able to get away with murdering the Head of Slytherin, that his thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. Colin Creevy nervously poked his head inside.
It was only after Colin’s persistence that both Elric and he were required along with the rest of the champions that Snape begrudgingly dismissed them.
Of course, this wasn’t without reminding them of their upcoming detention.
“Isn’t it amazing, you’re a champion, Harry!” Colin’s voice echoed annoyingly through the hall the second the door to the dungeons shut behind them.
“Yeah, it’s awesome.” Harry rolled his eyes.
Lucky him.
…
Margaret Cresswell had seen many things in her 67 years in England. Therefore, she liked to think she knew quite a lot. At the very least she knew what war looked like; all too familiar in the sunken eyes and grizzled scars of many of the patrons that had frequented her bar over the years.
Therefore, when a regular of hers had dragged in the unconscious form of a man, who had at first seemed so normal on the outside, yet later revealed to be so troubled underneath, she knew it without it being spoken; He had seen war.
Even before he had woken, the cuts littering his body and the stab wounds through his palms were easy enough to decipher. Coupled together with the blue military uniform and it wasn’t difficult to construe that the man had just been in a serious fight.
So why had he been in the alley outside her bar? Despite being a predominantly muggle village, Little Hangleton did on the rare occasion receive the occasional wizard passing through; perhaps he had apparated there? Yet, the blue uniform that had adorned his figure screamed muggle.
Who was this man?
Of course, she took him in any way. When she had been a young girl her mother had often scolded her for taking in strays; it seemed that hadn’t changed.
It took nearly a week for him to wake up. The fever had been strong, and his injuries severe. She had nursed him carefully, making sure to bandage the wounds and keep the man hydrated.
The first time he woke, he was half delirious and spouting nonsense about a hawk.
The second time he woke, his eyes were coherent, but guarded. Even in his state, he had bombarded her with questions. Oh, what a joy it was to be young and so full of vigour. It wasn’t until he had asked one particular question that she found herself stumped.
‘Where is England?’
Now, Margaret had always liked to give people the benefit of the doubt. Yet, no matter how many times she spun those words around in her head it didn’t make any more sense than it had five months ago. Even the smallest country in Asia knew of England.
Perhaps the man had amnesia? But weirdly enough he seemed to know his name and what he had been doing up until that point, the details of which he hadn’t divulged.
By process of elimination, and mainly because of a lack of other possibilities, she settled on the idea that the man had been obliviated. After all, it wasn’t unusual for the spell to mess with other areas of memory, especially if the caster wasn’t experienced in the spell.
Perhaps it was her history of caring for stray dogs, but she hadn’t hesitated to offer the man a spare room for board in exchange for some help around the bar. That’s not to say that at her age she couldn’t handle the responsibilities of caring for her establishment, but an extra hand never hurt.
That was five months ago.
And instead of getting better, the man had seemed to shrink in on himself with each passing day. Which led her to her next train of thought.
The man had seen war.
It hadn’t been anything obvious; no grand reveal or incidents, but rather small things here and there.
It was the rare occasion that she was woken up as the man struggled through another nightmare in the room next to hers.
It was the times he jumped when a rowdy customer would break a glass or knock over a chair.
It was the increasing agitation when someone asked about his past, or his family.
It was the way he cradled a glass of whiskey as if the cup was his only lifeline.
It was the fact that the man was always on alert, hypervigilant to a fault.
Perhaps most striking of all, was how lost the man felt. The dullness of his eyes, the listlessness of his movements, the simple way he hadn’t expressed any desire to leave. He woke up each day, wiped the tables, and swept the floors as if the dust bunnies were as much a purpose to live as any.
She was tired of it.
Later that night as the last customer left the bar, she set two glasses on the bar top.
“Roy, a moment please.”
Dark hair shrouded his eyes as he sat next to her, body language closed off.
“Drink.” She poured a shot of whiskey into the glass in front of him.
“Again.” She ordered, refilling his glass as he downed the first.
This time she filled her glass as well.
“What are you doing here?” She had never been one to mince words.
He seemed to consider this for a moment before settling on. “I can’t return home.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Can’t, or rather I don’t know how,” He explained, sighing heavily.
“So what? Are you just happy to stay here forever and ignore your problems? You can’t run away forever. Surely there must be people missing you, even if they are far away, there are ways to get back.”
“It’s not that simple,” Roy grounded out, voice curt. “I can’t just hop on a bus and go back.”
“Oh, Bullocks!” Margaret’s voice rose an octave, no longer in the mood to sit back and listen to the man’s self-pity party. “Stop wallowing in your own misery and get off your arse. What can you hope to achieve if you don’t try.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand well enough that you can’t accomplish anything by staying here. Unless of course, you hope to find the answers at the bottom of a bottle. I didn’t take you to be such a pathetic bloke as to give up on those who care for you.”
This seemed to take the man by surprise. He lifted his head, eyes alight with emotion that had thus far been absent from the onyx pupils.
“Hey Maggie,” Roy spoke up after a few moments of contemplation.
“Yes, Roy?”
“I think you’re right.”
“You can bet your boots I am.”